Carrion.
The fall of the large fluffy mammals has left plenty of carrion for the scavengers to thrive. The balancing act of the Keej that with Tz'ikin climaxes in a freefall leaves us on the ground with this stark option: scavenge what is left, what is there, adapt, survive, carry on, and thrive—or die. Our hearts are and have been swollen by the love and sensitivity that descends from spirit regardless of the situation. We want things and we want them in a certain way; we need them and we need them to be how we need them. Yet all needs are not met, and we are left with the wise lesson of today's nawal: make a choice, take one of the things you can have and leave the other, or choose nothing and get nothing. This is where most end up, for it is our nature.
Regardless of the day, this lesson gets taught in life once or a hundred times; like any nawal, it is a step in the process we cannot go without. Life and love are also about adaptation, and that means learning to do and eat what you dislike, recognizing that this is a better choice than not eating anything whatsoever. Take what is there and see the abundance in that. If life gives you rocks, build a home. Love is not only loving what you already love; it is also learning to love what you didn't, what needs your love. Learning this lesson is the path to true sovereignty and abundance.
Walking with the candle of the wisdom of the Ajmaq is understanding that the sacred manifests from the outside, too. It is not only within your vision and your grasp to manifest and create that which is sacred. Life will crumble that and show you another way; learning to embrace that and make the best of what is given—even if it breaks our sensitivity and forces us to betray who we were—is the work. We all want community and connection, and a life back in balance that includes and does not rape and exclude our mother earth. But to get there we must accept what we have right here, like these letters on paper or a screen.
The Vulture / The Condor / The Sin Eater / The Day of Forgiveness (Ajmaq) represents the carrion eater, the one who purifies the energetic residue of the community, forgiveness, ancestral memory, the collective shadow, and the deep wisdom of humility that comes from confronting decay. It is the nawal of spiritual cleaners, ancestors, reconciliation, and those who transform the waste and mistakes of the past into renewed life. In its tenth position (Lajuj), it introduces the frequency of manifestation, the completion of the cycle, the grounding of responsibility, and the test of taking full accountability for what remains after the collapse.
To embody Ten Ajmaq is to walk among the bones after the fall without turning away in disgust, recognizing that even the wreckage holds the sustenance needed to survive. It demands that you drop your pristine expectations, forgive the shattered illusions of your desires, and feed on what is actually present in the dirt. At this tenth station of the trecena of Keej—descending from the high flight of 9 Tz'ikin—Ajmaq arrives as the vulture of truth, reminding us that true sovereignty begins when we accept the carrion and build our survival from the ruins.
Carrion.
The fall of the large fluffy mammals has left plenty of carrion for the scavengers to thrive. The balancing act of the Keej that with Tz'ikin climaxes in a freefall leaves us on the ground with this stark option: scavenge what is left, what is there, adapt, survive, carry on, and thrive—or die. Our hearts are and have been swollen by the love and sensitivity that descends from spirit regardless of the situation. We want things and we want them in a certain way; we need them and we need them to be how we need them. Yet all needs are not met, and we are left with the wise lesson of today's nawal: make a choice, take one of the things you can have and leave the other, or choose nothing and get nothing. This is where most end up, for it is our nature.
Regardless of the day, this lesson gets taught in life once or a hundred times; like any nawal, it is a step in the process we cannot go without. Life and love are also about adaptation, and that means learning to do and eat what you dislike, recognizing that this is a better choice than not eating anything whatsoever. Take what is there and see the abundance in that. If life gives you rocks, build a home. Love is not only loving what you already love; it is also learning to love what you didn't, what needs your love. Learning this lesson is the path to true sovereignty and abundance.
Walking with the candle of the wisdom of the Ajmaq is understanding that the sacred manifests from the outside, too. It is not only within your vision and your grasp to manifest and create that which is sacred. Life will crumble that and show you another way; learning to embrace that and make the best of what is given—even if it breaks our sensitivity and forces us to betray who we were—is the work. We all want community and connection, and a life back in balance that includes and does not rape and exclude our mother earth. But to get there we must accept what we have right here, like these letters on paper or a screen.
The Vulture / The Condor / The Sin Eater / The Day of Forgiveness (Ajmaq) represents the carrion eater, the one who purifies the energetic residue of the community, forgiveness, ancestral memory, the collective shadow, and the deep wisdom of humility that comes from confronting decay. It is the nawal of spiritual cleaners, ancestors, reconciliation, and those who transform the waste and mistakes of the past into renewed life. In its tenth position (Lajuj), it introduces the frequency of manifestation, the completion of the cycle, the grounding of responsibility, and the test of taking full accountability for what remains after the collapse.
To embody Ten Ajmaq is to walk among the bones after the fall without turning away in disgust, recognizing that even the wreckage holds the sustenance needed to survive. It demands that you drop your pristine expectations, forgive the shattered illusions of your desires, and feed on what is actually present in the dirt. At this tenth station of the trecena of Keej—descending from the high flight of 9 Tz'ikin—Ajmaq arrives as the vulture of truth, reminding us that true sovereignty begins when we accept the carrion and build our survival from the ruins.
