Xochiquetzal and Tlaloc
Goddess of love and fertility, taken and restored, themes of longing and desire.
In the high valleys of Anahuac, where volcanoes crowned the horizon, the people told of Xochiquetzal, the Flower Feather, radiant as spring itself. Wherever she walked, blossoms opened; wherever she laughed, hearts quickened. She was patron of weaving, song, and the pleasures that renew life.
Her consort was Tlaloc, lord of rain. His voice was thunder, his tears the rains that nourished maize. Together they formed a perfect union: her flowers and his waters, her beauty and his bounty. Fields flourished beneath their balance, and the people rejoiced in both love and harvest.
Yet harmony seldom lasts among gods. Tezcatlipoca, who delights in chaos, cast his eyes upon Xochiquetzal. Envy burned in him, and he wove a net of illusions. One night he stole her from Tlaloc’s side, carrying her into shadow.
Bereft, Tlaloc’s grief shook the skies. The rains ceased, fields withered, and famine crept across the land. Men and women prayed desperately at his shrines, offering jade and blood, but the god’s sorrow was too great.
At last, through struggle and sacrifice, Xochiquetzal was restored to her place among the gods. When she returned, blossoms leapt from the soil once more, and the rains fell in gentler measure. Yet the wound between her and Tlaloc remained, for trust once broken cannot be fully mended. Some say she wandered often, her beauty stirring both devotion and jealousy, her presence ever fleeting.
Still, the people honored her with garlands of marigold and songs of courtship. They invoked Tlaloc with offerings to the mountain springs. Together, the lovers embodied the truth of the Mexica world: that love and fertility, like rain and flowers, are blessings easily given but just as easily lost.
Their story was retold in festivals of renewal. Dancers adorned with blossoms became living emblems of Xochiquetzal, while drums thundered like the voice of Tlaloc. The people remembered that their own lives hung on the fragile thread of divine love — that passion could sustain, but jealousy could wither, just as surely as drought follows rain.
So the tale of Xochiquetzal and Tlaloc endured, bright and sorrowful, a lesson that love and fertility must always be cherished, lest they be carried off into shadow.
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