Translated from the retelling of a popular Mayan folktale, told by Subcomandante Marcos at the Chiapas conference on Anti-sistemic Movements that took place in December 2007.
I’ll tell it how it was told to me. Was some time ago, long ago. No calendar in which to locate it. The place in which it happened has no geography to indicate it. Shadow, the warrior, was not yet warrior, nor was he yet Shadow. Riding the mountain was he, when they gave him the news.
“Where?” he asked.
“There, at the mountain’s cleft,” came the vague reply.
On rode Shadow, who was not yet Shadow. The news ran through ravines from end to end.
“The Moon. Dropped. Just like that. As if she’d fainted and come to fall. Slowly she came, as if not really wanting to. As if don’t look at me. As if take no notice. On we watched. A slight pause on the hillcrest and then she rolled down to the bottom of the canyon. There she went. Clearly we saw it. For it was light, the Moon it was.”
Shadow arrived at the edge of the canyon, dismounting his horse. Slowly he descended to the bottom. There he found Moon. Wound his mecapal rope around her. On his back he carried her. Up they went Moon and Shadow mountain above. Shadow over path, Moon over Shadow. They reached the highest point of the hill. For throwing her back into the sky, said Shadow. So that once again Moon would ride the paths of the night. Don’t want to, said Moon. Over here I want to stay, with you. Warm will be my light for you, in the cold night, fresh in the burning day. You will bring me mirrors to multiply my shine. With you I will stay, here. Shadow said no, the world, its men and women, its plants and animals, its rivers and mountains, need the Moon to see well their way in the dark, to not get lost, to not forget who they are, from where they come, to where they are going. They argued. Time belabored. Their murmurings were dark lights, luminous shadows. Who knows what else was said. They belabored. At dawn Shadow rose and with mecapal threw Moon up to the heavens once again. Angry she went, upset. High up, in the place the first gods gave her, was Moon. From there Moon cursed Shadow, saying:
From now on Shadow you will be. Lights you’ll see, but never be. Shadow you’ll walk. Warrior you will be. No countenance, nor home, nor rest for you. Only road and battle; you will vanquish. And yes, you’ll find someone to love, your heart in your mouth when you say “ I love you.” But Shadow you shall remain and never find one to love you. You shall seek, but not find, lips that know to say “you.” So you shall be, Shadow, the warrior, until you cease to be.”
Since then, Shadow is who he now is: Shadow, the warrior.
Who knows when and where he went and will be.
There is still missing that calendar, still that geography to be invented.
Still missing to learn to say “You.” Still missing what is missing…
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