“One ceases to be when one forgets all those who did not know how to remember you, and remains where the image and memories are cultivated at all times”The Messenger
By Ariadne Gallardo Figueroa
It is important to start this story with a reflection, imagine that you have the opportunity to travel to the past and explain to someone what was written about history in their time and realize that the story does not coincide with what that person tells you because the route of the species began as a feat of madness and later became an established trade.
In your head, you will discover that the collapse that had been foreseen in one place, ended up in another place and that the movements that caused it were not the ones that the history that you learn in universities; however, every beginning is like that until your stories have become the structure that everyone else follows, without surprises and shocks.
Most of the towns have already achieved systems to preserve themselves, at the moment they are part of the status quo, they monitor their institutions, those that did not exist for more than two thousand years with all the cost of lives, tragedy and pain for many inhabitants until the process was established.
Today we go to the ceremonial spaces and we are happy to visit them, but many of them were human sacrifice sites, not tourism centres, now they are preserved fortresses and leave millions of tourists visits and this happens around the world. Its sensory charm is lost among the noise of the vendors, those who tell the official story and those who charge for you to take a replica of the place.
Now join me, to the temple of Coyolxauhqui at that time lost in history, which is part of my story wrapped in the veil of fiction and dotted with flashes of the history we know:
That night the stairway looked covered on both sides by torches, Dressed in white Erandi stands with the crosier in her hand to ascend to the central platform of the temple, behind there was her husband carries their daughter in his arms with a few weeks of life, they do not go up, Erandi needs space to invoke to the forces of light and shadows.
The ceremony involves two aspects, one which all the people know as part of a celebration of the new moon, is the one that asks the forces that dress the image of Huitzilopochtli’s mother to give her again the fire that illuminates her and make it shine faced to the world known and to be known.
The other one, the hidden part known only to Erandi’s closed circle is celebrated so that she knows how many of the men surrounding the man who bent his rod need to be visited by Dayami to complete the circle.
Upon reaching the esplanade, the custodian of the Ometeotl temple and the Priestess of the Temple of the Moon raises her crosier in memory of that moment that made her turn her attention to the Sea where the Sun rises.
For Erandi, the East was a covered point for the veils of mystery, like the South that the Nahuas considered the house of the Sun, through which Painani travelled, were the vital routes through which her emissaries moved, places far from her vision but not from her perception.
Under the protection of a moon hidden from the face of the warrior Huitzilopochtli, her son, to Coyolxahqui was easier to express herself and take all requested messages to Erandi.
Erandi loudly exclaimed the words of praise and special request to whoever was being illuminated by the ceremonial torches, in the eyes of the people that was the only ritual to celebrate, everyone should a silent pause before the rumbling of drums.
The moment the Priestess of the Temple struck once with her crosier on the esplanade, the drums should stop and wait …
At that precise moment, Erandi utters words without being heard by everyone, waiting for a sensory force to take over her being to leave for a moment of being there and becoming the message that the circle of ascended present at the ceremony has to know.
The silence is impressive, the wait is prolonged, everyone is waiting …
Dayami knows it, the oceanic current hits the Portuguese slopes with force until bursting with frenzied energy towards the rivers that bathe that region. Then the spirit of the river deity sends the message:
< Two men need to know about me to get to the third, the one who bent your rod, they have named him Zila>
Erandi and the ceremonial crosier
So far we do not know if Erandi hears every word of Dayami what is clear is that she is in a trance and possibly when she returns from that moment she does not remember anything, something is perceptible and visible to everyone at that moment, when she hits the crosier on the esplanade: One, two, she makes a pause and finally affirms the crosier upon striking it a third time.
The confirmation has been made, there are ten men, Dayami, Erandi and the fire, thirteen elements that are much more than a symbol. Hopes are renewed when a new group of enlightened ones is born in the place where the Sun appears before the flames of a bonfire.
The strength of the cardinal points does not reside in locating ourselves on the planet, but in becoming magnetic forces, aware of its essence.
Archive photograph: The image of the Sun’s mother, Coyolxauhqui qui
Composición fotográfica de la autora con filtro libre de PicsArt: “The Ceremonial crosier of Erandi”