Popol Vuh creation myth
Humans created from maize; balance with agriculture and nature.
In the beginning there was only sky above and sea below. The face of the earth had not yet appeared; silence reigned, and the sky lay empty of sun and moon. Then the gods of creation gathered: Heart of Sky, Heart of Earth, Maker, and Modeler. They spoke among themselves, saying, “Let there be earth, and let it be formed.”
At their word the mountains rose, the rivers coursed, and valleys spread wide. Green shoots broke the soil, and trees clothed themselves in leaves. Birds nested in branches, deer leapt in meadows, jaguars prowled in the forest shadows. The gods saw that the world was beautiful, but it lacked those who would remember and praise them.
So they formed the first beings from mud. They shaped arms and legs, faces and mouths. But the bodies were soft and weak; they crumbled when touched by rain and dissolved when placed in water. The gods saw their failure and let them return to earth.
They tried again, carving figures from wood. These stood firm, and their voices rang. They walked, multiplied, and filled the world. Yet their hearts were hollow, their words empty. They did not remember their makers, nor give thanks. They abused the animals and forgot the balance of life. Seeing this, the gods sent down ruin. A flood swept the wooden people away. Their dogs turned against them, their grinding stones rose up, their cooking pots struck them, crying, “We gave you sustenance, yet you gave us no care.” And so the wooden race was destroyed.
For a time the earth lay quiet. Then came the secret of maize. From the mountain of Paxil, the gods found white and yellow corn. They ground the kernels into meal, mixed them with water, and formed flesh from dough. From maize dough they shaped arms and legs, from maize blood they gave life. Thus were the true humans born, children of corn.
Four men were made first: Jaguar Quitze, Jaguar Night, Not Right Now, and Dark Jaguar. From them all people descended. Later the gods fashioned four women as their companions. They were strong, they were grateful, and they raised their eyes to heaven in praise. The gods rejoiced, for at last there were beings who remembered.
From that day forth, the Maya knew themselves as people of maize. To plant and to harvest was not only survival but an act of reverence, for their very flesh was born of corn. The fields were temples, the kernels sacred. The story was told in every household, recited in ceremony, whispered at planting and reaping: that humans are the fruit of the maize, bound forever to the earth that nourishes them.
So the *Popol Vuh* speaks: not of conquest or crowns, but of humble grain ground in stone, mixed with water, and raised to life — a tale of origin that binds people to their land as surely as flesh to bone.
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