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Spirits. All of our crystals came out of their little velvet bags and were<br />
placed on the altar. We worked quietly <strong>with</strong> a sense of reverence, as an air<br />
of hushed spirituality permeated the farm even before the Primicia began.<br />
When every detail was complete, Panti summoned us to stand around<br />
the altar. I brought the atole from the kitchen and Claudia handed him his<br />
bag of jícaras, gourd bowls. Tenderly, he placed the nine bowls on the altar.<br />
He used the tenth bowl, called a julub, only as the serving tool, filling the<br />
others a third of the way <strong>with</strong> the corn atole. He was portioning it out as a<br />
mother would the last remaining nourishment to her hungry brood.<br />
He turned to see that all were present. Greg, Crystal, James, Lucy,<br />
Claudia, and I stood around him, holding our breath for the <strong>Maya</strong> mass to<br />
begin. I could hardly contain my excitement. I felt privileged to be standing<br />
next to my maestro at this candlelit altar at the edge of the <strong>Maya</strong> rainforest.<br />
With the Tzibche branches in his hand, he brushed each of us, forming<br />
nine crosses on our bodies. He explained that this was to protect us from the<br />
powerful presence of the spiritual Winds. They do not intend to do harm, he<br />
assured, but sometimes if people are weak, sick, or in a negative emotional<br />
state the presence of the Spirits can make them quite ill. But the brushing<br />
<strong>with</strong> Tzibche was sufficient protection. He murmured a <strong>Maya</strong>n prayer, <strong>with</strong><br />
only “God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost” heard in<br />
Spanish.<br />
After the brushing, he motioned for me to stand at his side in front of<br />
the altar. I took my place, feeling like a child taking the stage, nervous<br />
about remembering my lines. He made the sign of the cross over his chest,<br />
held his hands out in front of his body, palms facing outward, and began the<br />
lilting prayer of the sacred Primicia. The rest of us were completely drawn<br />
into his presence and power. His words were unintelligible to all, but the<br />
emotion, love, and faith of this man needed no translation.<br />
I was electrified standing by his side, feeling each word take flight into<br />
the air around the hillside mound. Greg placed more Copal on the coals, and<br />
we savored the pungent sizzle summoning the Spirits to come inhale and<br />
listen to Panti’s holy chants. Tilting his head back, he sang out what<br />
sounded like a shrill bird call, “Ki-ki-ri-ki-kiiiiii.” He continued chanting<br />
until he bowed his head and made another sign of the cross. While waiting<br />
for the Spirits, it began to rain.<br />
Sheets of water washed across us, forcing Panti and Claudia to seek<br />
shelter in the kitchen, still watching the altar over the half-wall. The rest of