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.

Agriculture and Industry and Wednesday in Guatemala

Wednesday was the day I crossed over into unalloyed enjoyment of this trip. 

On Tuesday night, I had woken with the feeling of suffocation I associate with anxiety. It was probably a combination of anxiety, altitude, and the fact I hadn't taken my allergy medication since I got sick. I did some outdoor pacing to try to calm myself back to sleep. While out on the patio, I nearly collided with Don Otto, my host father. He looked concerned. "Te duele tu estomago?" 

"No. Solomente me preocupo." He touched my head gently for a moment, and then went back to bed. 

I felt soothed, as by a parent. Back in the house, Sharon prayed for me briefly, and after a while, I sank back into sleep.

Wednesday morning was a lovely thing. My host family wished to play dressup with their visitors. They dressed us in the traditional clothing of Guatemalan women. We're only a bit too tall for it!

Keli and me, Tuesday night, dress rehearsal

Sharon and me, Wednesday morning. See how much happier I am?

Mitchie's favorite nook

Lilies in Basila's garden! In January!

Mist on the mountain

All delegates, Guatemalan and American, boarded the tour bus for our overnight field trip! Finally I was on the bus as a healthy, attentive traveler.

We made a brief stop in Antigua to change our money. A word about Antigua:

Antigua is an absolutely gorgeous city. It's got lovely architecture, a cheerful, modern vibe, and plenty to do. And we were completely content to breeze through it once we had our money.

Why? Well, partly because the town was filled with tourists. It was clearly a town intended for tourists. We noticed police whose uniforms read, "tourist security." We wondered if that meant they didn't serve the local population, or if they just gave especially careful service to tourists. Also, we were accustomed to towns of indigenous Guatemalans, and seeing such a huge amount of loud, usually English-speaking tourists was a bit of a turn-off, to be honest.

Our first stop of the tour was at Valhalla Farm! From their website: 

The Valhalla Project is a Guatemala based organization that seeks to reverse global warming, assist indigenous people in developing self-sustaining agriculture, and educate the public about the environment. We accomplish this mission by planting trees. The Valhalla project introduces ungrafted Macadamia seedlings to indigenous people as an alternative to slash and burn agriculture, which contributes to global warming.

We felt we had left North American January worlds behind us and landed in Eden. 

Unripe macadamia nuts

Ripe macadamia nuts, drying. 

Once they're dry, workers have to sort the nuts by size so that the mechanical (non-electric) machine can remove their shells. 

I played with the machine for as long as seemed appropriate. It was kind of engrossing!

The macadamia nut farm had a restaurant, where we ate their most famous dish: macadamia nut pancakes!!

with macadamia nut butter on top, of course!

Sharon was a pretty satisfied customer. 

In Guatemala, there are no leash laws. Dogs who belong to specific people, dogs who belong to no one in particular, and dogs undomesticated but wary just roam around freely. We encountered surprisingly few who seemed interested in menacing us, though. And, all of us got attached to a particular free range canine at some point during the week. Even me. 

I wanted to bring this guy home:

I named him Spot. After, well, my readers will know.

Even the bathroom was Edenic

This plaque was hanging in the shop. I've no idea why. But, it said some things I really needed to hear. 

The view from the top of the hill at Valhalla. I want to go back!

I just couldn't get over the flowers in January!

After the tour, our Guatemalan hostesses set up the grill and set to cooking a delicious meal. 

Roasted chicken & homemade salsa! I did Dona Basila proud with my portion size. My appetite was back in action. 

Soon this casual chat became a formal meeting. 

We talked, with the help of our translators, for probably about an hour. We covered the history of our churches' relationship, where the relationship was now, and where we'd like it to go. This was the less practical of our two meetings; we spoke from the heart about our gratitude for each other, and there were few dry eyes. 

The whole team. Top, from left: Maureen, Kim, Sharon, Carrie, Me
Bottom: Lucia, Basilia, Otto, Jacinta, and Letty

Many of the men of SAI had to work. We were to meet with them on Friday.

We left Valhalla reluctantly, but there was a long drive ahead to get to our next destination: Ruth and Naomi. Ruth and Naomi is a cooperative formed when destitute widows of the Guatemalan civil conflict of the 1980s asked a Methodist minister for alms and help. He was able to help them charter a business to support themselves. They sell handcrafts, cloth, clothes and shoes at extremely reasonable prices! There are gardens on the grounds, and animals.

Pastor Diego Ramos told us the long story of the cooperative's history. 

The climax of the evening I find difficult to convey in this form, but here goes. As Pastor Ramos was telling his story, we were clinging to consciousness with increasing desperation. Several of our Guatemalan companions had surrendered and were sleeping quietly. But then Pastor Ramos told us something that woke us up abruptly. As they cooperative workers were preparing the ground to build one of the families a house, they encountered a container of... and here Pastor ran out of the room and returned with a cardboard box. From the box he lifted a variety of ancient looking clay containers. Mayan artifacts! He told us they'd had them dated: they're from about 700 years before Christ!

He told us that within each vessel was, preserved, corn kernels, many of which later sprouted when planted. "The abuelitos!" murmured our Guatemalan parents. Dona Jacinta rose up in the most Galadriel-like way and began to testify in rapid Spanish. The gist, our translator explained, was this: the ancestors have given us a gift. You don't take the gift of the ancestors and keep it in a cardboard box! You have to build an alter. People have to know. You have to respect the ancestors.

The other SAI committee members murmured their agreement. 

It was a holy moment. One of many. I don't know whether the artifacts will stay in the box or not. But it was good to hear Jacinta advocate as she did. It was a noble defense.

I fell asleep that night after a warm shower, on the top bunk of a comfortable bunk bed, with darkness and cool mountain air and cricketsong and, starting around 3, roosters crowing all night, into the most restful night I'd had in days.