Love in Mictlán

Preface: The ancient Mexica or Aztec people had different stories for the way a soul travels into the underworld [Mictlán] to be laid to eternal rest. There are myths of 9 levels through which the soul must traverse to meet the King and Queen of Mictlán, Mictlantecuhtli and Mictecacihuatl, the gods of death.

Marigolds covered the roads of Tenochtitlan. The festivities had begun. They were carried out to welcome the return of the warriors, those who came bearing victory and the jewels of the conquered. Children danced in the street waiting for their fathers, wearing apprehensive smiles, as some warriors would not return. Parents made their offerings for their sons to the God of War, Huitzilopochtli. Priests gathered in regalia offering copal to the four directions and gratitude to the elements. A young warrior not ready for battle ran into the courtyard and shouted—the warriors were approaching!

Eztli, eager to welcome her husband Itzcoatl from his long battle, prepared a meal. It had been six months since they last locked eyes and now she was due to give birth to their first child. The bells rang, she extinguished the fire, fixed her huipil and walked to the temple courtyard. With great joy, families welcomed husbands, fathers, sons and brothers. Itzcoatl was nowhere in sight.

Eztli felt a wrenching pain. She could not contain her grief and returned to her home. Her mother and grandmother accompanied her, knowing the fragility of Eztli’s condition. She wept until she could no longer keep her eyes open. In the evening, she dreamt of an obsidian serpent slithering in her bed and awakened to the hoot of an owl in the light of the full moon. She screamed and noticed herself laying in a pool of blood. Her grandmother ran for the midwife. They prepared for the birth of the child, Eztli feverish and vomiting. The women sang and prayed for her safety. Finally, the son was out of her womb and as she fell unconscious she named him, “Huitzilin,” meaning hummingbird.

Eztli awoke cold. The mist resolved into her childhood dog, black and hairless Xoloitzcuintli. A river roared, loud and close, and the landscape opened: dark mist, black water, current rushing.

Was she at Apanohuaia? The river of the dead?

There was no avoiding it. She had lost her final battle.

She recalled the stories from childhood: her dog would be her companion to cross the river and the nine levels of the underworld. She realized her beloved, Itzcoatl, has also gone through these different realms and if she could make it, perhaps they would be together again but now in Mictlán. For are not lovers destined to meet beyond death as well as in life?

Following her beloved Xolo, she waded across the rushing Apanohuaia. She found herself at the foot of monstrous hills, Tepeme Monamictlán. This is the place where the soul must wait: the hills would open, remain open for a spell, and then slam shut. Perfect timing was needed to make it across alive. The earth rumbled at her feet as she tracked how long it took for the mountains to open and close. Although Eztli was a housewife, she was always enamored by mathematics and had studied with her father, a great priest, to understand the calendar of time. She found her moment and ran.

She felt sharp pain throughout her feet, and knew she was on the obsidian road, Iztépetl. Jagged edges dug into her toes, she ran until she could no more. Her feet bled crimson.

A chill ran through Eztli’s spine as she felt drops of snow on her face. A sadness came over her and her tears froze to ice. At last she was on the fourth level, Cehueloyán, the place of remembrance. To get through this level she would have to face her most sorrowful memories. And she’d have to bear the pain to continue. All around, she heard the cries of those who failed. She remembered when she lost her husband, a great warrior, to the enemies of her people. She recalled his absence, the moment she knew he was gone, her hatred for those who took him from her—and she let go, releasing her grief into the air as she let go of the grudge.

The last painful memory Eztli had to endure was that of losing her life in childbirth. In Aztec culture, childbirth is considered a battle that not every woman wins. Women who died in childbirth and warriors who died in battle join together to take the sun down into the underworld. There the sun will die, and be reborn again each dawn. Remembering this story brought calm to her heart as she knew she would join other courageous women and men in this great honor. Perhaps even her beloved. A sense of relief filled her as she remembered her son, Huitzilin the hummingbird, the life they had bought with their own. She advanced.

Itzcoatl had been stuck in Cehueloyán for what seemed like eternity. Memories of war plagued him. The sadness of killing and torching villages was all he could see. Crying and unable to control his emotions, he wandered calling out for forgiveness. At one instant, he thought of his loving wife Eztli who bore his first son. From afar, it seemed that he conjured Eztli’s presence. He saw a young maiden who resembled her likeness and he knew he had to persevere in his own quest to attain eternal rest at the feet of Mictlantecuhtli. He embodied his warrior spirit and felt the presence of peace within.

The cold had left and a gust of wind pushed Eztli into the middle of Pancuetlacalóyan. The level of gusting winds. The soul must be grounded and assured to advance. If not, it blows away and has to start all over again. Eztli closed her eyes and listened to the silent echo of her husband’s voice in her ear: “Everything is just and perfect, you keep going.” The wind stopped. Filled with an otherworldly thirst and hunger, she made it to the next level.

What happens to those who we may have wronged in our lives? Timiminalóayan, the 6th level of the underworld addresses this. Arrows thrown from unseen hands try to obstruct the soul’s crossing. Each arrow symbolizes a person that had some type of influence on the soul. Eztli was a sweet girl growing up, independent, and kept to herself. Opinions of others never bothered her.

Arrows struck at Eztli. She dashed as quickly as possible, remembering tricks her husband taught her while he was preparing for battle. Itzcoatl knew that neighboring tribes sometimes targeted Tenochtitlan. A moment passed—Eztli was hit! There was no blood but a scorching sensation of heat. She pulled out the arrow and sped to the finish.

A huge roar came from the shadows. Eztli entered into the seventh level, where all worldly desires are devoured by a fearsome Jaguar. The silence pierced the ears of Eztli as her heart beat grew intensely. She knew this was one of the last steps before she was freed at last. Yellow eyes appeared from nowhere and charged towards her. Kneeling down, the jaguar pounced, ripping open her chest and tearing out her pounding heart. To Eztli’s surprise, there was no pain but quite the opposite, a feeling of peace. Cempaxochitl, a marigold, grew in her chest.

She felt herself transforming out of her flesh. She glided slowly to the eighth level, Apanohualóyan, the place where the soul witnesses their life in full. There it was: from the womb of her mother to a young girl helping her grandmothers make tortillas, to a teenager falling in love. She saw it all. She felt it all. She cried in joy, knowing that her life was exactly what it needed to be. She came to the day of her death. Tears burst from her eyes but unlike any tears she had cried before. These tears rang like chimes. Quickly, she was transported to another place.

Eztli stretched her limbs and noticed she was only bones. A shout from the darkness: Itzcoatl, now a skeleton, swiftly embraced her. Eztli reacted in shock. Could this truly be? Had she been reunited with her beloved for all eternity? Huge doors opened as, hand in hand, they walked into Mictlán.

The King and Queen of death Mictlantecuhtli and Mictecacihuatl greeted the couple. They had been watching both their journeys through the underworld, anticipating this reunion. They saw themselves within Eztli and Itzcoatl and felt compassion for their stories. They had arranged for them to be together again. Music played and people danced. This was the place of eternal rest.

Eztli sang an impromptu song to her beloved, knowing they would be together in the underworld forevermore.

Brave warriors at their deaths transform through Mictlán to become like hummingbirds, drinking sweet nectar.

Each day, the sun, Tonatiuh, meets its death carried by the brave warrior women who have died in the battle of childbirth.

The sun goes to rest and becomes reborn at dawn by the hands of all of us.

Deanna is an Indigenous educator and Vedic mystic oracle. Founder of LA Casa de Luz. Herstorian writer at Underground Realms. Experimental Artist and Musician. IG: @dayadharadd. More of her work can be found at http://lacasadeluz108.com