CHAPTER 4: COPAN (House of the Bats) There Comes a Time in Every
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CHAPTER 4: COPAN (House of the Bats) There comes a time in every journey that a person needs to descend into unknown regions. On a pilgrimage, a person needs to plumb the dark depths of the soul and go places where even angels fear to tread. Such was the case for us when we crossed the border from Guatemala into Honduras. The dog at the border appeared to be a Cerberus-type watchdog, guarding the gate that led to the underworld. The inscription above the gate to Hades came to mind: “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” We had to pay to leave Guatemala, and we had to pay to enter Honduras. They’ve got you coming and going. A map on the building wall let you know that you were near Copan (ancient kingdom of Xukpi, “corner-bundle”). We were at the outer limits of the far southern and eastern end of Maya territory. Copan Ruinas was the nearby town, the gateway to the ruins of Copan, and as I was to soon find out – the gateway to Xibalba. The dog was the first sign that we were entering unfamiliar territory. The second sign was even more sinister. I continued following Elsa and Susie past the welcome sign to Honduras, and then I saw a reminder of the health concern that had almost canceled our trip to the Maya world. We had to go through a health check-point. It was a reminder that the swine flu epidemic was a world-wide concern. I remembered that the lords of Xibalba brought all kinds of disease to plague mankind, and cause death. We passed the medical inspection and were allowed to proceed. After we checked into the Yaragua Hotel, a block away from Parque Central, we went to explore the small town that had been built for the archaeologists who had descended on the ancient archaeological ruins of Copan. That was when I saw a third sign that was like an unfavorable omen, a premonition of impending doom. At first, the singing coming from a colonial white church across from the park sounded inviting, and I was drawn to it. It sounded sorrowful, like a plaintive dirge. When I entered the church, I did not notice the coffin at the front near the altar under the crucified savior on a cross. The people had just finished singing, and they started to exit the church. My attention was drawn to a painting of the trinity on the left wall. It was a three-in- one trinity that I had never seen before; God the father in a white robe was in the middle, God the Son in a blue robe was on the left hand, and God the Holy Spirit in a red robe was on the right hand. They were One Person – Jesus. The only differences were the colors of the robes and the symbols placed picturesquely in the center of his being: a sacrificial lamb, a heavenly heart, and a descending dove. It was when the parishioners had assembled outside the white colonial church that I realized it was a community saying goodbye to a deceased person. I watched as the coffin was carried out of the church – across the street – to be placed in the back of a pick-up truck, the kind that carried standing passengers and had a crossbar to hold onto. Death was a universal phenomenon – it was for everyone. However, the Maya saw death as a gateway to life, and life as a gateway to death. It was a cyclic event like the sun-god descending into the underworld (at night) and rising to a new day (at daybreak). Even the story of the crucified savior had a “harrowing of hell” (Hades or Sheol) episode, when he descended into the darkness of the underworld and brought the righteous souls into the light of day with his resurrection from the dead. Afterwards, we enjoyed pupusas in the park. A lady vendor opened her basket and showed us the warm pupusas, which had beans and melted cheese inside a corn tortilla. Elsa liked her pupusa encurtido-style: with hot pickled veggies like cabbage, carrots, onions, beets, and a side serving of hot salsa. The day would not be complete for the ladies without a cool refreshing cerveza. That’s what they had after a long walk to the Copan River and back. They enjoyed the beer of Honduras: Salva Vida (Life Saver). Next morning, we headed out for an adventurous excursion of the ruins I had read a lot about. We had already walked around the area the previous day, just to get a preview and to find out how far from the hotel it was. It was only one kilometer away, a pleasant ten-minute walk along a raised footpath that runs parallel to the highway. There were a few stelae and altars placed along the footpath to whet the appetite for an extensive tour of the ruins. One of the signs describing the archaeological discovery said that there was a “rich 6th century tomb found in this locale.” It even said that “archaeologists have uncovered an extensive building complex and dozens of burial sites here, not far from the Acropolis.” Finally, the large sign along Honduras highway CA-11 welcomed us to Parque Arqueologico Copan Ruinas. We were anxious to enter the site. The exchange rate was 18 Lamperas for $1 US. A two hour tour with a registered site guide was $25 (450 Lamperas), and a combined ticket to enter the ruins and the tunnels was $30. We paid at the Centro de Visitantes (visitor’s center), where we met our guide Marvin. The visitor’s center had a welcoming statue of a young corn god. “That’s the Maize God,” said Marvin, who noticed me looking intently at the stone sculpture. “He is called Hun-Nal (Ear of Maize) or Wak-Kan-Ahaw (Raised-up Sky Lord). You can see the maize growing out of the top of his head. There is a story that the Lords of Death killed the Maize God and buried him in the ballcourt, but the hero twins brought him back to life.” “I was looking at the upraised and downturned palms that are similar to the mudras of fearlessness and protection that the Buddha used,” I remarked. The hand gestures seemed to be mirror images of what I had seen in India. “It is also a blessing for the corn to grow,” added Marvin. “The maize god is meditating on the death and life of the corn seed that dies when it is planted in the ground and lives when the green sprout rises above ground.” Marvin showed us the model of the archaeological site, pointing out the main features of the ceremonial civic center: (1) plaza principal, (2) campo de pelota, (3) escalinata jeroglifica, (4) plaza occidental, (5) plaza de las jaguars, (6) zona residencial, (7) tunel rosalila, (8) tunel los jaguars. The entrance to the site was graced with several squabbling scarlet macaws greeting our arrival. “That’s the sacred bird of the Maya people,” said Marvin. “It represents the rising and setting sun, and the blue sky. Yellow, red, and blue are sacred colors.” “They’re also the primary colors,” I added. We walked past a sign that gave some information about the forest as a sanctuary. I noticed that the site was now a UNESCO World Heritage site. Further on, we stopped at another sign to read about the principle group: the royal precinct. “This is the epicenter of Copan, a vast architectural complex that was the focus of ceremony and gatherings. It includes the most extensive hieroglyphic writings and elaborate sculpture in the Maya world. The inscriptions on the ancient stone stelae, altars, and buildings carved from volcanic tuff, describe royal genealogy and history, dates, and rituals of sixteen rulers over a period of almost 400 years (A.D. 400-800). The ancient Maya of Copan, as elsewhere, used architectural relationships to mirror their cosmos, often building repeatedly on the same spot, using similar patterns and rituals. What you see today has been excavated and restored over many decades, an ongoing process to fit together a puzzle made of stone.” Someone had painted a picture of the model of the archaeological site, which gave a bird’s-eye view of the city-state known as Copan, including the river that flowed beside it. Later, that river was diverted by the archaeologists to save the structures from erosion. A beautiful blue morpho butterfly flew by us as we walked towards the ruins. “In ancient times, the Mayas believed that the warriors who died in battle turned into butterflies,” said Marvin. “That was the way of thinking of the ancient people.” “They’ve done their fighting, and now they get their wings of freedom,” added Elsa intuitively. “Have you seen any other Maya sites?” asked Marvin. “Yes,Tikal, Chichen Itza, Tulum, Coba,” answered Elsa. “You know what? This is the best,” stated Marvin. “They all say that,” said Susie. “It’s the Athens of Central America,” stated Marvin. Our first stop was at a ceiba tree. “This is the tree that connects heaven and earth, and Xibalba, the underworld,” said Marvin. “Xi (she) means skull, and dark, too. “Place of the Skull. Place of the Dead. Place of Darkness.” “Golgotha, place of the skull,” I whispered to myself. “It was not the same concept like hell,” continued Marvin. “According to our concept, Xibalba, the place of the dead, actually means life. What a contradiction.” “Well, the place of the skull is your brain, and that’s where all your life is,” I suggested.