e are the Chosen, the People of the Sun, the Collaborators and Sustainers of the Gods. Without the Gods, we would not be. Without us, the Gods would not be. We live for the Gods and they live for us. That is how it has always been and that is how it always will be. The Gods have Chosen Us as Their servants and we are responsible - it is our sacred duty - to sustain and nourish Them. None of Them must ever go hungry or grow week. If They did, They would die and our life on earth would die with them.
We each in our own way aid in sustaining the Gods. I, as priestess to Huitzilopochtli, have my part to play as well. This is because of my three sisters. Rare are we. Four are we. Dedicated to the Sun and Moon and all the Stars. My three sisters are dedicated to other Gods. That is how the Priests wished it. That is how the Gods wished it.
According to the Sacred Texts, Coatlicue, the Goddess of the Earth, became a Priestess in the temple, living a life of retreat and chastity after having given birth to the Moon and Stars. One day while sweeping, She found a ball of down which she tucked away in her waistband. When she finished her tasks, she looked for the ball of feathers, but it had disappeared. Then She knew She was pregnant. When Her Children, the Moon, Coyolxauhqui, and the Stars, called Centzonhuitznahuac, discovered this, they became so furious that They determined to kill Their Mother.
Coatlicue wept over Her approaching death as the Moon and the Stars armed to kill her, but that which was in her womb spoke to her and consoled her, saying that when the time came, He would defend Her against all.
Just as Her enemies came to slay Her, Huitzilopochtli was born, and with the aid of the Serpent of Fire, the Sun's Ray, He cut off Coyolxauhqui's head and put the Centzonhuitznahuac to flight. So it was that when the God was born, He had open combat with His Brothers, the Stars, and His Sister, the Moon; armed with the Serpent of Fire, He puts Them to flight every day, His victory signifying a new day of life for men
That is the Divine Battle which takes place in the sky every day at dawn. For Huitzilopochtli to be victorious each morning and ensure a new day, He must be strong and vigorous, for He must fight against the unnumbered Stars of the North and South and frighten Them all off with His arrows of light. We are the People of Huitzilopochtli; the Chosen People of the Sun charged with the duty of supplying Him and all of the other Gods with food. In this manner, We are the Collaborators of the Gods who must aid in maintaining the Order of the Cosmos not only for Ourselves, but for the rest of the world as well. That is what the Sacred Texts say, that is what has been written, that is what will always be.
And this time we four were to play important parts in sustaining the lives of the Gods. When we were young, we discovered that each of us shared the thoughts of the other three at times of stress and joy. While playing apart from my sisters one day, I fell and slashed my leg. Apart from the other children and unable to move, I knew that the fangs of the great cats would find me soon. In my pain, I cried out but not aloud wishing to keep the claws of Death away from my flesh for a time. Soon to my surprise, I was found and brought back to our calpulli - our village. My three sisters had heard my cries, felt my pain, and sustained cuts of their own in exactly the same way. We four healed at the same time and those of our village knew that we were special, Chosen of the Gods for greatness. Soon we were sent to the Great City which numbered over two hundred thousand with all its color and smells and noise. Dedicated to the Temples were we. Each of us to be a Priestess of the Gods. Ready until a certain Day that would surely come. To the Sun, the Hunt, and the Rain, each of us dedicated and waited In calmecacs - the priest school - we were taught. And not unlike the boys-priests. We learned all. The special numbers; the sacred numbers, we learned to use. To tell of the moon and the planets and the rains and droughts.
We are by some accounts beautiful. But if we weren't, that would not matter. We found as we grew older, my sisters and I, that we could Speak over the great distances that separated Our Temples. Likewise it was found that we Spoke to the Gods. That was why we were Priestesses in separate Temples to the Sun, Rain, to War and Fate and to Xipe Totec, the Flayed God. These were important Temples for without each, none could survive. The Rain was needful for the crops to grow. War fed the Altar Stones. The Sacrifice itself of Xipe Totec for the Gods to live. And the Sun we must have for Life itself. We neither gloried in our fortune nor strove to be better than one another. Our Honor was to serve and that we did very well.
Because we were Sacred Priestesses to the Gods, none of us could be part of the Xochiyaoyotl - the "flowery war" as it was called by those not Chosen. But we could watch and did. We saw each warrior dressed in his best finery displaying rich panaches of feathers and armor, and standards and shields sumptuously adorned with feather mosaic work and precious stones, copper plates, and golden bells. And each warrior fought hard and well for it would be unseemly not to. Nor was it a shame to be captured - a great privilege that was. And we joyed when such were brought before us each to provide Teyolia to satisfy the Gods. For it is Teyolia, also called the Divine Fire, which sustains us, shapes our sensibilities, and stimulates our thinking patters. We know from the Sacred Records that when a person dies, his or her Teyolia travels to the world of the dead, also known as the Sky of the Sun where it is transformed into birds.
Each captured warrior was treated as a god, a beloved guest, the responsibility of which was ours. They were treated truly and royally for that was what must be done. Soon they would take our pleas to the Gods and reside in Tonatiuhican, the House of the Sun. There in gardens filled with flowers, they would become the daily companions of Huitzilopochtli. They would fight great battles and tell wonderful stories; and, when Huitzilopochtli rose in the East, they would greet him with shouts of joy and beat their shields loudly. When they returned to earth after four years, they would be transformed into hummingbirds and other birds with exotic plumage and would feed upon the nectar of flowers. They would be the Privileged Ones whom Huitzilopochtli Himself had chosen for His retinue. They would live a life of pure delight. The Sacred Texts said this was so and we knew They did not lie. Had not the Gods told me and my sisters this? That was why we knew the Texts were true.
We learned much in the calmecac where priests and we were taught the numbers to determine which days would be lucky for War and Plantings. We learned the 260 day religious calender and the 365 Sun calender which together marked the beginning of the 52 year cycle. We were fifteen when that cycle began. The Ome Acatl it was called. A special ceremony was that for us. I as Chief Priestess for Huitzilopochtli watched as the special warrior stately dressed in beautiful feathers ascended the Hill of the Star. I watched as he came. Young he was. Not much beyond my fifteen summers, he came with bared, muscular shoulders and strong arms which could thrust a spear through heavy sinew to take the life within. I felt something stir within my bosum and even lower as he advanced. For the first time, I felt sorrow for the one who had chosen death. Beautiful, he looked to me as he neared. Almost I cast my eyes down but could not for that was not seemly for a Priestess of Huitzilopochtli. I looked at the High Priest who watched as the Seven Sisters {the Pleiades} neared the meridian. The timing must be right. Time which had flowed slowly for most of my years now seemed to push me in its speed. I watched spellbound as the priests - my priests - grabbed the victim’s shoulders and pulled him back. The High Priest did not wait long but struck a solid blow to his breastbone. As he struck, I shuddered wakened as from a dream. In one motion, the still beating heart was torn from the beautiful man's chest and thrust into the waiting bowl. No flame smoldered within that bowel. Indeed no flame was present within the Aztec kingdom. They had been extinguished the night before. The “new fire” ceremony now took place where the High Priest kindled a new fire for our land. Drilled it was with a fire drill. I aided in supplying fire materials of wood and flint. Soon the new fire was rekindled in the empty chest cavity of the young warrior. As the flames grew, torches were lit and passed from one to others so that by nightfall all hearths could be in order and the feasting begin. But that night even as my sisters listened, I thought of how his hands would have caressed me and what his flesh would have been like under the moonlit skies.
That was not the last time I wished to hold a man before their sacrifice. Nor the last time for my sisters. We would watch, each at her own temple, as men, their smooth bronzed bodies glistening in the warm sun, strode lightly the steps of the pyramid. Their feathered head dresses standing proud barely moving as step by step each assended the heights to lay on the Altar Stone before being tumbled to the base as their still beating hearts were thrown into the flames for the Gods.
Then came one day the rumor, a tale told by a merchant from the coast of Gods of Light which were seen one day on the shore. Gods they must be for they came from the West with strange beasts and shiny metal and metal that sounded like the thunder from the Rain God. My sisters knew of these strangers at the same time as I. We laughed when they said the metal tubes moved on wheels for we had developed wheels long ago. Only for children's toys were wheels designed for our valleys, mountains, and forests rendered them useless. Fascinated were we by the stories especially of the giant beasts with four legs and two heads. I must say I suppressed more than one giggle when I heard the rumors for after all we were Priestesses and giggling was unseemly.
Yet as I thought on the rumors, a foreboding thought entered my mind which I was unable to suppress. Foreboding, it was and formless. No words could I put to it nor could my sisters. And on this for once the Gods remained silent. I only felt this and not my sisters though we shared everything else. Why this was I do not know.
The rumors grew as time passed. An old prophecy of a white god from the west - Quetzalcoatl - took hold of the People. They gloried that the Time of Fulfillment was at hand. But I did not share in this. Other rumors told of tlacamictilitzli being practiced without sacrifice. To some it meant little, to me it told much. Tlacamictilitzli is man-killing. But without the Tecpatl and Techcatl, it held no meaning other than murder. And murder is an abomination to my People.
Our leaders sent emissaries to meet with these White Gods and to see what was to be seen. This I knew because I was Priestess. I passed this on to my sisters as well for we must be prepared for what was to come. I have had Visions before of the future. Many of them come true. It is my Gift beyond what my sisters bring to their Temples. Each of us has her own Gift apart from the other. Healing, Sight, Hope, and Love we four possess. And we know that without all four, the other three were useless.
On this night when the emissaries were sent, I received my Vision. I knew its meaning but pondered the consequences. If I told all that I Knew, my People would parish. If I withheld all that I Knew, my People would parish as well. Part of what I Knew must be told and part withheld. But which part? I Spoke with my sisters of what I Knew. I felt their Love, their Healing and found peace again. Resolved we three together to do this. For ourselves. For our People. For Our Gods. A Sacred Sacrifice must be performed. But only four could be chosen. Only four volunteers to be sacrificed. That was what we imparted to the Priests. Reluctant they were to accept this. Reluctant to accept for we Spoke with the Gods. Reluctance turned to acceptance when the few emissaries returned. Messages confirmed the rumors of the killing - the murder - of 200 nobles and priests. We knew and now they knew and accepted my sisters and I as the Sacrifice for the morrow.
That night we prepared for Sacrifice. Each in her own Temple we prepared. Knowing that we were to die as one for our People gave us more joy than would seem possible. None of us had known a man so we were even more acceptable. That was what was proper. That was as I had seen in my Vision. As Uauantin, the Striped Ones, we were painted. Red and white were our colors. White down was pasted on our heads and black circles painted on our eyes. Our mouths received the Sacred Red Paint we had applied to others. Then alone except for our shared Mind, we were led each to the foot of our Tzompantli or pyramid near our Temples. Each of us one at a time would be led to the Sacred Place for Sacrifice. I would be the last to be sacrificed, the last one to ascend the Tzompantli. That was so I could complete the Vision. This I had been told by the Gods.
Healing (for that was her name now that we were to be Sacrificed), the Priestess of Xipe Totec, was led before the outer wall of the Temple to Xipe Toec, the Flayed God. Standing stark, alone, I could feel her joy in dying for our People. I told this to the Priests nearby. Her fear I assuaged with Hope from my Vision. To the Gods we would soon ascend. That was what was Promised. That would surely come to pass. She stood waiting as the Warrior Priest drew and waited. The release and thud of the arrow into her breast caused pain but it was replaced with tender feelings for the one who had missed. Another shot and miss altogether for deep in his heart he loved her and would not see her die even in Sacrifice. She held firm as a second and a third arrow missed the mark of her rapidly beating heart. She faltered as the pain washed over her but rose to stand steadfast waiting for the final arrow to take her to the Gods. As each arrow struck, the pain mounted but still she stood resolved to give no hint of what the bleeding was costing her. She kept her hands at her sides throughout until the twentieth arrow pierced her heart. Our hearts stopped beating as one and I felt her joy as she departed her lovely body to join with the Gods. The God spoke once, twice, and I was gladdened for my Vision proved true.
My sister, Love, was next. She was the Priestess of Rain. For herself, she wanted no bindings of wrists but ritual demanded it be otherwise. I felt her joy in dying for our People. Again I told my Priests so they could tell the Priests of her Temple. No prodding did she need to approach the Sacred Pool. Like a bird, she stepped into air and scarcely a ripple passed as she descended to the mud at Its bottom. Through her eyes I saw the countless skeletons of those who had gone before her over the ages. Yet she was resolved as I knew she would be. At first fearful to accept the Sacred Waters into her lungs, she was fearful. Again I Spoke to her of my Vision. Still she was fearful. I could feel the pain in her breasts as her lungs wanted release from its pent-up reservoir containing nothing but stale air. She tried to pull her hands free but ceased as I Sent my Love to her. I knew she could not have freed herself from the muddy bottom in any case. And when she finally released the vapid air to the waters, I Knew her joy as the Sacred Waters filled her lungs. Her eyes did widen but she was fearless at the last. The God spoke and that part of my Vision proved true. I was glad.
My sister, Hope, was next. Priestess of Tezatlipoca, God of War and Fate and capriciousness. The Smoking Mirror whose sacrifice, my dearest sister, ascended the stairway of the Tzompantli to receive her reward. I felt his coldness, that of Tezatlipoca, the Sower of Discord, as the stone knife cleaved her chest. Her heart was ripped from her as she, smiling, was thrust to the dust at the foot of the pyramid. But unlike the other Gods and Goddesses, Tezatlipoca took not joy in Hope’s sacrifice. It was as if he turned his head away from us. I knew then another piece of Vision would be true and was saddened.
And then it was my turn.
My turn to be escorted up the steep stairway of the pyramid. Slowly I was led. I could see the Techcatl, the Sacrificial Stone upon which I would be stretched. This Techcatl we knew had dropped down from the heavens at the beginning of Time. It was high enough to sit on but that was not its purpose. As I reached the top, my High Priest, my Quetzalcoatl, seized me by the shoulders and two others thrust me back over the Techcatl, with great speed and precision. I could feel the cold Stone pressing into my back. I felt no loving thought to take away the pain. Only my belief in my Vision held me steady as I was bent backward under great tension. Four of my Priests bore down, each on an arm or a leg while a fifth crushed my neck, pressing down on my throat with a long implement. My High Priest who held the Tecpatl, which I knew as one of the nine Lords of the Night, hesitated. My bare breasts were waiting, eager for the blow to be stuck that would smash my chest but it didn't come. The Tecpatl was already formed as a core before attachment of the jeweled haft. I had watched as the High Priest had flaked the core. New born it was for me. And afterward, it would be destroyed. This would be its only use. I its only life.
"Please," I cried coarsely. "Strike now so I can complete the Vision." I saw the jeweled haft sparkle in the rays of my God and then the sudden pain as the Tecpatl smashed through my breastbone. Between the ribs on the left side he thrust. Then twisting the Tecpatl, he opened a passage to my still beating heart. I had watched as he had done this to others. Now I was the one to join with the Gods. I gasped as he thrust his hand into my chest cavity which he had opened and ripped out my Teyolia, my still beating heart. I smiled as he held my heart high as an offering to my God, Huitzilopochtli, the Sun. A film seemed to cover my eyes as I saw him fling my heart into the Sacred Bowl especially designated to collect hearts. As my body was tipped off the stone to go tumbling down the steps, I had my final Vision. My People would be saved, the Gods told me. As I reached the bottom of the pyramid, I smiled and remembered no more.
Time does not pass in this place. I joined my sisters and we sought our Gods. We seek them still. Yet deep in the heart I do not have, I sense our futility. My Vision told of what was, what is, and what was to come. Our People lived on; but, in one sense, they died. And the Gods may be no more. The Vision. Yes, the Sacred Vision. Indeed the coming of the Quetzalcoatl - the white men of prophecy - came to past. But my People, the Aztec, are no more. They are barely remembered though their Old name of Mexica now names the land. A strange foreign God lives in the land of my People. They speak some words that I spoke but most are lost in the sands of time. That is what my Vision foretold. Before the white men came, we bathed daily, washed the countless streets, and made the city of over two hundred thousand the sparkling capital of the Aztec people. Lake Texcoco was full of life and clear. Now it is so much silt and dirt. I have found their cities filthy and small. Their temples are no better. And they call us "savages". My sisters and I have searched but still have not found the God of the whites. They took all and left nothing of ourselves. Not even our Gods. It is as I foretold. It is as the Sacred Texts stated. Without Us the Gods would die. That is my Vision to you, the someone I sense nearby who will write these thoughts as words. If you are Aztec, return the Gods to life. If you are White, .....
-AlOmega