por señor Connolly
The Popol Vuh teaches us that beings made of sticks,
hombres de palo, once populated the Earth.
They were fruitful, but as soulless, senseless sticks,
they ignored el Formador, and ended up suffering a sodden fate.
Palo, imperfección. Palo, pecado.
Alebrijes–born from wood and worked with human hands–not brittle like sticks or mindless like mud. Our human touch, flecked with corn, gives sticks soul.
Wood for craft, resin for ceremony: mirthful myrrh of Mesoamérica.
Alebrijes ripen in the sun of the Oaxacan valley, where copal trees bear fanciful beings instead of fruit.
Alebrijes take shape from sueño–dream and restlessness–sleep both connective and consuming.
Whimsically dancing, alebrijes remind us of our power
to create and demonstrate our debts to our creators.
Palo, pasión. Palo, peregrinación.
Flesh, flight, fancy, Formador.
Not ‘former,’ born of extinguished suns,
but ‘Former’ who finds worlds in
wood and set them free.