#Chihuacoatl

[banfrancop]

Les dejo mi oración para el altar de muertos:

En náhuatl:

-Ni con in tlahpaloa tlanahuatihke Tonatiuhichán, Cihuatlampa, Mictlán ihuan Tlalocan

-Non huei tlanahuatihke ihuan akime on chanchihua

-Ni con zehlia no tlahtol ipam non tlanahuatihke nemiliztli ihuan mikiliztli

-Ni mo tlatzohcamati ihuan nik tlahtlani in nahuak keman ni kin tlamanilis no cohcolhua

-Iehua non ompahuitze can o chanchihke

-Tonantzi Chihuacoatl ma kin huika non keman o chanchihke ipam Tlaltipactle

-Keman mokaki atecocoli ihuan cocoxtza ieliztli ni kin tenehua no cohcolhua

-Iehua ma kicakica no tlahtol ihua ma con mo tekilika tlan o ni kin onmanili

-No ihua copalpoctli ma kin mititi ohtle ihuan cempolxochitl makin tlahuili

-Ihuan nochi tlan oni kinmanili ma con masehuika ihuan ma casika can mo iek zehuiske.

En español:

-Saludo a los señores del Tonatiuhichán, Cihuatlampa, Mictlán y Tlalocan

-A los altos señores y a quienes los habitan

-Hago llegar mis palabras a los señores de la vida y la muerte

-Agradezco y pido permiso para ofrendar este altar a mis ancestros

-Para aquellos que se encuentran en camino a su recinto

-Que la Madre Cihuacóatl lleve consigo a quienes alguna vez habitaron el Tlaltícpac

-Con el sonido del caracol y el ruido de la naturaleza hago mención de mis ancestros

-Para que escuchen mis palabras, para que se sirvan de mi ofrenda

-Que el humo del copal despeje su camino, que la flor del cempoalxóchitl alumbre su trayecto

-Y que todo lo que ofrendo sea de su provecho, para que encuentren al fin el descanso esterno.

[jj-baruch]

Ripples in the Pond: A Young Jabez Story

It was June and already warm, promising a long, hot summer ahead. But for now, Jabez was enjoying the breeze as he sat atop the pile of dirt at the park that fellow kids called the Mound. He’d only ever overheard them, not really feeling welcome there when others played. But, today, it was all his. Or almost.

Great-Uncle Ruach was in town! He lived up in Kansas, a retired geologist, and had brought Jabez a gift: A hound’s tooth golf cap in grey and white! It was just like Ruach’s and Jabez felt special because of all the great-nephews and nieces, he was the only one who got one. He adjusted it slightly in the breeze as he looked down at his uncle and the one cousin who’d insisted on joining them. Rupert.

Rupert was all of two months older than Jabez and lorded it over him. Rivkah, Rupert’s mother, was less than two years the senior of JJ’s mom, Priscilla. They’d never liked one another very much, and had passed on something of that rivalry to their sons. Jabez was smart enough to see what was going on, but hadn’t yet figured out what, if anything, he could do about it. So he played along. Even so, he felt no ambiguities at all where it came to Great-Uncle Ruach.

Rupert doesn’t care about rocks or stars or math or anything that matters, Jabez thought, watching the pair stroll around the park’s little pond where it bordered on the service road near the southern terminus of I-44 that led away to Lawton and points north, maybe even to Topeka where Ruach lived. JJ wasn’t sure. He was still learning about maps and had hoped his great-uncle would spend some time with him on those wondrous representations of reality.

He could hear his cousin below, rambling on about some girl he thought was cute. We’re 6 and you’re ugly! Jabez wanted to shout down at Rupert. That wasn’t strictly speaking fair, even JJ had to admit. It wasn’t Rupert’s fault he was blond, unlike all the real Beit Hayudah. But did he have to be so stupid, too?

Ruach and Rupert were making the last corner by the service road and walking widdershins along the little path that would take them closer to the Mound. Thirty feet above them, JJ noticed a strange thing, an oddity. He almost wrote it off but it appeared again. A small string of ripples showed in the brown pond water that went against the wind. They dove, and then came on again, bigger, faster this time, angling toward a spot where the path passed close to a steep edge of the path where Ruach and Rupert walked, the boy closer to the water.

Jabez wanted to scream out a warning. Jabez wanted to help whatever was in the water. A face, filled with sorrow, the hair streaming behind and hands all of water reached out toward the land, screeching as she rose in a white roil of motion.

Splash!

Jabez found he couldn’t move, so great was the shock. Madly screaming, shrilly begging for help, Rupert was half in the water already before Ruach grabbed his wrists and tugged. A healthy, hale man, or as much as he could be in his 80s, he tugged mightily against whatever was in the water to save his great-nephew as might any man. Though hearing, JJ couldn’t understand what the old man was saying. Slowly, with great strain against whatever was thrashing just below the surface, his strength prevailed and Rupert was once again on dry land, exhausted, chest heaving, clothing soaked.

As JJ ran down to them, heedless of the sudden drops in the Mound’s sides, he heard Ruach admonishing Rupert. Vos hob ikh gezogt, plimenik?” Ruach asked.

Rupert, able, just barely, to understand the old family language but not speak it, replied, “Yes, Great-Uncle Ruach. I’ll be more careful.”

Out of breath, JJ insisted, better informed of tradition, “Aber ikh hab gezen…”

“You saw your cousin slip and no more, plimenik.” Ruach was firm, staring the boy in the eyes, and would brook no objections. “Now, lozn aundz zen, is he injured?”

Rupert was unhurt but filthy, and, once home, Nana made him strip and hose off behind the house. Meanwhile, Ruach took Jabez into Reb Claudius’ study. The door tightly shut, Ruach studied his great-nephew with care before telling the boy to sit down in one of the great overstuffed leather chair the Reb preferred.

“Zi hat file nemen. Llorona, Cihuacōātl, Nigheag na h-Àth. Apkallu. Zi iz dedli geferlekh. And you will never tell your cousin about it, and talk about it, aoyb ir muzn, only with me and with the Reb. Andere veln lakhn. Mir veln farsteyn. Now go. Rest. Dinner will be soon.”

Jabez, unsure what else to do, did as he was told, still in awe at being addressed as an equal by a man he respected little less than Gramp Rebbe.

Emerging from the shadows, Claudius looked at his brother-in-law, coal-dark eyes burning for a change. “He’s too young. Too…broken.”

“Then patch him up, Reb. Or it’ll be too late. We both know vos…ver ikh gezen.”

Neither man had to say that what had been seen in the water was the least of their concerns.

For this and similar stories, visit me at https://patreon.com/jjbaruch

[chieftrece]

Chihuacoatl. Ink on paper finally finished.. . . . #lowbrowart #lowbrowpopsurrealists #illustration #instaart #artoftheday #arton #drawing #dibujo #surrealismo #inkdrawing #abstractart #abstractarts #art_we_inspire #create #artes #popart #losangelesart #artist #artistsoninstagram #instaart #surrealism #allseeingeye #discoverart #desing #lowbrowartist #lowbrowartist #Diablas #sketchoftheday https://www.instagram.com/therealchief13/p/Bv58sKhAqDy/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=v0znfe9h0av8