Sunday, June 19, 2011
Maximon Atitlan
June 2003
Disembarking from the Santa Catarina at a small dock in Santiago Atitlan, I was greeted by a gentleman named Francisco who asked me if I needed a hotel 3 times. He followed me, followed by 2 boys asking for ‘uno quetzal por favor.’ Maybe 30 steps away from the dock he stealthily asked me if I wanted to visit Maximon, the regional harbinger of sacred virtue and vice.
I knew enough to know that the only way I could hope to see Maximon (pronounced Ma-shee-mon) was if a local brought me to the private home in which the icon was housed for that particular year. I graciously accepted his invitation.
The proud keepers of the statue standing on either side of the four foot wooden ‘God of the Maya’ adorned with candles, an offering plate, incense at his feet and music playing in the background, I was keenly aware that my higher power never seemed to look like this in my own reflections of piety and good fortune.
To the left (my left) of the alter was a Christmas light and music decorated coffin of, I think, the father of Maximon. Lonely planet, no more. To the right (my right) was four female saints all draped in cloth. Maximon's regalia included a fat unlit cigar, two black cowboy hats and many many ties and various other pieces of cloth tied around his neck. Crepe paper streamed across the ceiling, joined by an assortment of party decorations.
Francisco said people make offerings in exchange for health, wealth, and other life sustaining requests. My offering was in gratitude for Francisco's guidance to Maximon.
Disembarking from the Santa Catarina at a small dock in Santiago Atitlan, I was greeted by a gentleman named Francisco who asked me if I needed a hotel 3 times. He followed me, followed by 2 boys asking for ‘uno quetzal por favor.’ Maybe 30 steps away from the dock he stealthily asked me if I wanted to visit Maximon, the regional harbinger of sacred virtue and vice.
I knew enough to know that the only way I could hope to see Maximon (pronounced Ma-shee-mon) was if a local brought me to the private home in which the icon was housed for that particular year. I graciously accepted his invitation.
The proud keepers of the statue standing on either side of the four foot wooden ‘God of the Maya’ adorned with candles, an offering plate, incense at his feet and music playing in the background, I was keenly aware that my higher power never seemed to look like this in my own reflections of piety and good fortune.
To the left (my left) of the alter was a Christmas light and music decorated coffin of, I think, the father of Maximon. Lonely planet, no more. To the right (my right) was four female saints all draped in cloth. Maximon's regalia included a fat unlit cigar, two black cowboy hats and many many ties and various other pieces of cloth tied around his neck. Crepe paper streamed across the ceiling, joined by an assortment of party decorations.
Francisco said people make offerings in exchange for health, wealth, and other life sustaining requests. My offering was in gratitude for Francisco's guidance to Maximon.
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