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LISTENING
"An Ode to MayaWorks"
I'm listening to new sounds:
Children's crisp tinkling laughter as they
skip beside us, mimicking the strange sounds
of our language.
Wild laughter that bubbles with joy
through torrential, cleansing rains
that nourish crops, sweeping away
the dormant dust of the dry season -- a
laughter that washes away monotonous boredom.
The soft slap of skin across damp earth
as the young boy silently, bravely
bears his load of fire wood home to his mother,
or to market for sale.
The intermittent slapping of blue-green waves
against smooth rocks as mothers and daughters --
as all village women -- beat soiled laundry,
while secretly giggling about today's gossip.
The hushed slap of warm hands, shaping
pieces of corn dough into perfectly round
tortillas that take away hunger.
I'm listening to new prayers:
Joint prayers that bless new schoolrooms
and a young girls' educational center,
both offering ongoing opportunities
for learning and growth.
Individual, personal prayers beseeching
favors from Maximon, the Lord of Looking Good,
or intercessions from Mary,
Mother of God, to cure the infirm
or ease a mother's burdens.
Quiet prayers chanted along broken
stone streets, prayers offered up
by solemn men carrying the host,
together with lighted candles, to
community shut-ins.
Prayers offered to God in thanks
for His glorious day and creation,
for safe journeys and well being.
Gratefulness for spiritual and physical
nourishment, companionship and new
opportunities that bring security.
I'm inhaling:
The pungent smell of copal, burning
in clay containers, drifting heavenward
-- an intercession to the Gods.
The vibrant colors of the rainbow
woven into warm shawls and ceremonial
blouses called huipiles.
The fragrance of bougainvillea, flowering
hibiscus and canna lilies that grace and
decorate the yards of simple adobe huts.
The tantalizing aroma of grilled chicken,
black beans slowly cooking in a blackened pot,
steaming bowls of soup -- all part of a feast
prepared in honor of our MayaWorks visit.
I'm absorbing images:
Silver smiles of strangers who extend friendship,
hospitality in a land where we walk briefly.
The waving, not just of arms and hands, but waves
that sweep across the landscape of mountainsides
terraced with coffee, corn and beans, waiting to be
harvested. Harvested like our new friendships.
Warm waves of welcome that bind us in new ways to
Guatemala's verdant land -- a land of contrasts
and hopes for a brighter tomorrow.
The emerging smile of the proud artisan who at last,
fit together the pieces of a delicate corn husk angel,
after dressing it in fragments of a huipil, in her own image.
Women shyly covering their mouths with
well-worn shawls or creased hands, embarrassed
to speak in public, in their native language,
a strange language we cannot understand. Yet we
touch the spirit of her accomplishment, her pride.
I'm listening to:
The clack and clatter of the loom that
weaves our lives together with bright tapestries or
silent stoles spun into stories that speak about
the brotherhood of peace.
The hum of determination in stringing,
counting multi-colored, shimmering beads,
transforming them into dazzling jewels
and iridescent creations.
The irregular beat of the drum, calling citizens
to worship, to honor the fallen who unwittingly
gave their lives for peace -- that others could
return to a life interwoven with freedom, not fear.
To the spoken dreams of young girls, who aspire
to be teachers, secretaries, nurses, doctors --
their leaders of a bright, new tomorrow.
To the joy of a woman, empowered by a small loan,
who finds new economic freedom in raising pigs
or chickens, selling home-made food in tiny stalls,
setting up a corner store or growing new cash crops.
The tenacious spirit that honors a sense of commitment --
not only to family, but community.
I'm listening to our hearts -
they beat together as one --
clattering like the loom,
interweaving our friendships
and lives together as one.
Marcia K. Lang
Santiago Atitlan
October 13, 1999
©2000 M. Lang & MayaWorks
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