What Happens When You Jump

Yesterday was Don Horacio and his son Horacio’s birthday celebration. He invited me to the mass at the church at 1. At 1:45 as I arrived at his house, a a small procession of family members was leaving the gate. I enjoyed seeing I was in perfect time - not an easy place for me to drop into, when I’m oriented towards punctuality. Don Horacio and Horacio were carrying a low table with two long handles extending out towards the front and back. The table was covered in a white cloth punctuated by several large bright embroidered flowers. A statue of Mary Magdalena was secured onto the table and over her head was an arc of seven pink balloons and the family name. I joined the silent procession and we walked slowly up to the church, different men taking turns carrying the Magdalena.
We arrived before the pastor named Horacio and once the statue had been placed in the church, Don Horacio came and sat with me on a metal bench in front of the doorway to chat.

Soon Horacio the pastor arrived in plain clothes, carrying a large, stuffed plastic shopping bag. Soon he appeared in his white robe with embroidered trim. He asked us to all move back, way back along the path leading into the church. When we’d gone far enough back he told us it was enough. Then he explained why he wanted us where we were. Horacio told us that we are Pilgrims, and that every time, all the time in our lives, as we approach the church or anything, we do so as pilgrims, and that the walk of a Pilgrim is a difficult one. He wanted to bring our consciousness to this as we approached the church together, walking slowly, singing a song inviting the Magdelena to come join us.

The mass was long and interesting, as always when it is pastor Horacio’s service. He spoke of the difference between city and village life and how those brought up in a village are closer to divinity through community involvement and regular contact with nature. At the end he asked Don Horacio if he wanted to say anything and the elder conceded. He spoke of his political work for indigenous rights and of his recent research which culminated in a huge vinyl sign being made and hung on the church wall the day of the village’s annual celebration of its patron saint, Mary Magdelena, July 22. I had seen this sign and read its long text with awe and pride that I live in this village and that there is such an awareness and expansive view of the Magdalena’s significance in the world and to this place. Here is a rough translation of Don Horacio’s text:

This shrine (currently the iglesia) was dedicated to Mary Magdalene in the XV1 century, who was a friend and disciple of Jesus. Although the evangelists make few references to her, other sources shorten data about her life and work. As always, there exists various versions about historical fact. Documents from the first century reveal much about her family and the value she has for the spiritual lineage in the world.

Just as Jesus was descended from the house of David of the tribe of Judah, Maria was a descendant of the royal Hasmonean family. She was born in Magdala, the place of the tower from which one could view and monitor the herd. Maria understood the message of Jesus, followed him to his death and was the first to see him resurrected.

The day when she is revered, July 22, is not a casual day, because astrologically, the sun enters the sign of Leo, so it is the special day of light, the lordship of royalty. Nor is it a coincidence that this temple has been consecrated to Mary Magdalene as well as “Place of the amáte trees.” Amatlán can be interpreted as the Place of the original mother … the root of love, as well as the creative mother, which means the primitive form of the universe … and even before creation, so much wisdom existed, as the womb from which emerges transcendent light.

Amatlán may be like this, the Place of the cosmic mother, wise, watchful, tower, the Magdalena manifest in woman, goodness, fertility, Easter, spring, nobility, just like Ce Topilzin-Acatl Quetzalcoatl represented the real lineage of the Toltecs.

“I am the light of the world follows me will never walk in darkness” said Jesus. (Jn 8, 2) Jesus put emphasis on the light and has always been sought by all men.

The light is kind, shines at dawn and allows us to work at night, illumines us with joy at celebrations, the light reaches everyone, poor and rich, the light of truth triumphs over the dark forces. Because of that, s/he who follows the light of Jesus, may acquire the ability to order their existence attributing things and concerns where they belong.

 With the light, one triumphs over the darkness that one carries within oneself. If we are filled with light, this floods every corner of our existence, making us luminous and full of joy and peace.

After the mass, we processed back to his home where we feasted on barbacoa de res, rice, beans, salsa, tortillas and tequila. I

The entrance to the iglesia on fiesta day

imagine Leonardo arrived in the evening and played his romantic ranchero songs on his guitar, but I left early as I had to get up early today for another ceremony, the raising of the cross for Don Felipe, a friend who was murdered one night in his tienda, exactly a year ago.

Nine days ago I had arrived at 7 in the evening to participate in the first of nine nights of saying the rosary for him. I wasn’t able to come the other 8 nights but it felt important to be there for the raising of the cross and to suppor  Sofia, Felipes wife for it.

Every night of the rosary the people of the community who arrived brought candles and flowers which were lit and placed accordingly in large erns borrowed from the church. I watched as Verna unrolled a piece of parchment on the floor, smoothing the wrinkles. I didn’t know then what this was for.

This morning, when I arrived at 8, a black metal cross about one meter long had been laid over the parchment. Over the iron bars had been laid white flower petals. Maria, another neighbor and the woman charged with conducting ceremony for the village, led the prayer today, which lasted several hours and included a call and response prayer in addition to the rosary. It was lovely, poetic, simple, and surprisingly, didn’t strike me as very Catholic!

At the end, Noberto, Verna’s husband passed the veladoras (large votive candles in glasses) to me and I passed them to the rest of the participants. We held our candles and prayed for Felipe’s safe departure from pergatory and safe arrival with G-d. The cross was slowly raised to standing. Verna on one side and Noberto opposite her, each held an arm of the cross and gently brushed petals from it onto the parchment on top of which it had laid. When the cross was free of flowers, they leaned it against the heavy erns of flowers and began a process of sweeping and cleaning: the closing of this nine day ritual. While Maria rose from the dirty pillow she’d been given to kneel on, the floor in front of the altar was scraped of wax drippings and swept with a specially made small broom. The flower petals were pushed into a heap in the middle of the parchment and then lifted and poured into a cardboard box that had been covered in purple tissue paper for the occasion. All the love, good wishes, devotion and positive energy that had been collected by the flowers the previous 9 days, were now in the box and would be taken to the cemetery after the mass, along with the metal cross which would replace the temporary wooden one. Then we lined up and one by one approached the cross, held by Noberto and Verna and kissed it, then blessed it with the copal smoke emanating from the popoxcamal.

After this I had to leave for an appointment. When I returned several hours later, the group had reconvened at Sofia’s house and were feasting. A two man group was entertaining the guests with romantic ranchero songs Felipe would have loved, singing in harmony while one played an electric keyboard set to sound like an accordian. I used to dance with Felipe and really wanted to dance with someone to honor this aspect of the man. He loved to drink sometimes, and dance. I told Sofia I needed someone to dance with and first she suggested their son, Felipe, but he didn’t want to. Sofia recommended Felipes older brother, Juan, and we set to dancing…the first ones on the dance floor! We danced and twirled one another and it was so joyful and spirited and full of emotion. The song was about how there was no more potatoes, no more beans, no more vegetables from the harvest…but the harvest of women never ran out!! Then something about “I don’t want coco rallada”…grated coconut…which I suspect is a saying for something, but no one I asked knew for what. After the long dance, Juan and I talked of Felipe and my eyes grew wet as I recalled my friend and dancing buddy. We remembered and honored Filepe together through that dance, and it was a good healing, a letting go.

I used to see the people of my village as Catholic, not indigenous. Even Don Horacio who wrote the text about Mary Magdelena as the divine feminine, wanted to go to church and have a mass on his birthday. What I saw and felt through these two ceremonies is that there is an indigenous knowing that is being demonstrated through these motions. It is the knowing and continuing of actions in order, done in a specific way, in relation to the world, the spirits, gods, nature. It is beautiful, a way to navigate through our life cycles and so very alive.