Holy, holy, holy

Thursday was a peak, in more way than one. For one thing, we traveled to a part of Guatemala that, at about 7,000 feet above sea level, was higher than either Ciudad Guatemala or San Andres Itzapa.  For another, the day was one of majestic beauty and awe that seemed to unfold further all day. 

Pretty morning pines at Ruth and Naomi

We left Ruth and Naomi bright and early and rode in our trusty tour bus to the ruins at Guarmaarcaaj, not too far from Chichicastenango. What first struck me when we got off the bus was the strange mixture of spring-like, refreshing weather, and the copious Spanish Moss on the trees. I don't usually associate Spanish Moss with April-like weather, but the combination was delightful. 

Combine that with this birdsong, the like of which I'd never heard before, that seemed to float down all around in half-steps for half an octave and then start up again, somewhere else in the atmosphere... and we were pretty well enchanted. 

Julieta checks out the park rules. 

We didn't even need the park rules, one pane of which described the appropriate reverent behavior for the park:

My favorite new rule

 ...And the other pane of which advised park visitors about appropriate things to offer to the ancestors for one's ceremony.

Above are appropriate steps for one's ceremony, and below are appropriate offerings. 

There was something primeval about the park. 

One expected a dinosaur to come round the bend at any moment. 

What I really wanted to do in this space that felt like an outdoor cathedral, was yoga. I asked Brian if he thought it would be disrespectful. He said, "No, but people might look at you a bit weird."

I've never let that stop me before.

Apparently, Carrie snapped a few pictures. I was in the zone. It was a truly holy place.

I remember thinking, I can balance, I have my center, even here. Even at altitude 7000 feet, 2700 miles away from my home. I am centered even here.

You better believe I'm savoring that sunny, perfect here in this grey, rainy winter day.

Wild dogs ranged all over the park. They kept their distance, don't worry. 

I have no pictures of the actual Mayan ceremony that we did at the ruins. It was far, far too holy. I mean, I don't usually take pictures of church, either. Don Otto communed with the ancestors and felt their approval of the spot he chose. 

This was the spot. I did a lot of praying here. 

The ceremony that day was like the ceremony we did on Monday, but much longer. We acknowledged the ruling ancestor of the day: the eagle. Which, Don Otto noted, was a symbol for the United States, so he felt the ancestors' especial welcome of his American guests. We offered strings to the fire for relationships, multi-colored candles to honor the diversity of nature, etc. We offered to the fire things for which we wished to be forgiven, and we again remembered (and greeted) our dead by giving their names to the fire. I remember him talking about the dead, specifically (at that moment), those that had been killed in the violence of a few decades past, and proclaiming that they are more powerful now than they were when they were alive, that they are in the air, in the water, that their blood is in the earth. I remember feeling very, very, watched. 

In a good way.

We were also told, with conviction, that the ancestors would watch over our return home. We would arrive safely. I hadn't realized I was nervous about it until I sighed with relief, then.

After the ceremony, we were both tired and very, very calm. And when the women handed us grill-cooked corn on the cob, we realized we were powerfully hungry!

That food was amazing. 

We had a long, luxurious picnic, with lots of friendly talk and comfortable lounging.

Steak with tomato salsa and cucumber salad. See, now you're hungry too!

Can you imagine a better spot for a picnic? 

After the picnic, there was one more sight to see; the cave. 

We help each other down the steep hill. Except selfish me; I raced down with Don Otto.

This picture (borrowed from Carrie!) looks toward the entrance; the actual cave is miles long. The story that Don Otto told about the cueva is that it enabled armies of Mayans to cross from one Guatemalan "state" or tribal area to another, so that one tribe could assist the other to drive off the Spanish. We were not equipped for an underground venture, so we backed off before we went too far in (besides, I thought I could hear a distant Balrog. You can't be too careful). 

The drive back to San Andres, though not that far in miles, makes for a terribly long drive. So, we had to leave my new favorite outdoor church before the afternoon had advanced too far.

The party. Some more visible than others. 

That long long bus ride, we joked, reminded us of a high school field trip. We Americanos all sat in the back of the bus so we could chatter away; the Guatemalans sat in front and listened to a Spanish-language religious station. 

The five of us women were feeling so close, and so emotionally high, and so filled with adrenaline that we planned out like two years' worth of activities for our committee to do once we were back in Virginia. We want so much to rejuvenate this program, to make the congregation know what a treasure this relationship can be. We have high hopes of bringing a delegation from Guatemala up to the states as soon as we can muster the funds. 

tour bus selfie

And up there, at what felt like the top of the world, all things felt possible.