Mayan Ruins of Copan, Honduras

Lessons from Copan

The magnificent Mayan city of Copan is destroyed. Three thousand years of humanity’s aspirations, loves, dreams, and accomplishments wiped out. Humans ruined the life sustaining environment by clear cutting the forest for firewood, to build homes, and to plant crops. Subsequent soil erosion polluted the streams and rivers killing fish and wild life that provided nourishment. The air was polluted with constant smoke from cooking fires and slash and burn farming. A protracted draught caused crop failure and a large number of people died of hunger. Those remaining lost faith in their rulers, their gods, and in themselves. They abandoned this once majestic imperial city. From being the “rulers of the world” they fell so far down that they ended up digging roots and eating grubs to survive. They left a legacy. Is anyone listening?

Unrestored Copan after destruction

Today the ruins of Copan are tranquil and peaceful. They are a major archaeological attraction in Central America. Tikal in northern Guatemala is referred to as the New York of its time, for its commerce and control of distribution of goods throughout the Mayan world. Artistic Copan was the Paris of its time due to its exceptionally fine sculptures, complex carved stelae, elaborate decorative glyphs, and one of a kind hieroglyphic stairway. Because of the extensive layout, even with tour buses arriving, it’s possible to find a secluded place to lose oneself in the Mayan world. The atmosphere is serene, evocative, and belies the struggles that took place ages ago between humanity and nature.

Serene and evocative Copan 

Numerous highlights are found at this skillfully excavated ruin. When first entering Copan you’re greeted by ten foot realistic stone Mayan rulers. Their names, important events and dates, history, and heroic deeds are intricately engraved on the side and back panels. Continuing through the grounds you come upon one of the finest ball courts ever found. You can visualize and hear this game of life and death being played. It was a ritual game similar to soccer but only hips were allowed to touch the heavy rubber ball in an attempt to drive it through a stone ring. The “pelota” (ball) game was played to depict the endless struggle of the good and dark forces. The losing team paid with their lives by being decapitated for all to watch.

Ten foot stelae of one of the kings of Copan

Another king still looks out over his imperial city

Details of dates, names, accomplishments on side panel of stelae

A third king commanding respect and honor

Intricately carved stelae announcing to the world heroic feats

Another king: with a beard, slanted eyes, and modest nose

He doesn't look Mayan. Does he look Chinese to you?

Back panel of stelae with a finely illustrated story to tell

The unique hieroglyphic stairs recorded the passage of time, historical and significant events of Copan. Deciphering and interpreting it will take years. Assorted temple and plaza complexes are still being excavated. New discoveries are being made and continue to add to our understanding of Mayan culture, history, and cosmology. 

Unique hieroglyphic stairway

A history carved in stone

Detail of glyphs

The glyphs are still revealing their secrets

I discovered a secluded temple plaza behind the “Zona Residencial” (Residential Zone). This area is where the elites and rulers lived. The Maya buried their died under the buildings where they lived. Archeologists found numerous tombs of nobility. In this area was discovered the burial site of the last king of Copan. The plaza is not on the route of organized tours. It’s hidden by other pyramids, so not many people find or visit it. I was the only one there for over two hours and decided to write. The Copan River runs behind the plaza complex and it’s bordered by a chain link fence and barbed wire, so there’s only one way in. I positioned myself at a vantage point to see who entered.

"My" secluded temple plaza

The Copan River runs behind the ruins

I heard the rushing river going over rocks. The sounds of numerous, diverse birds reached my ears - bluejay like squawks, quick chirps of a bird calling for mates, and a response from a similar species. Another bird is sounding like a fog horn, with a steady, repeating honk. I hear canaries singing. An unseen bird high in an ancient ceiba tree calls out with a slow, low sharp pitch ending with a singsong high note. I hear and see mosquitoes buzzing around me. They’re fat, squat and slowly hover getting ready to attack. I’m able to grab them out of the air and squash them before they bite and suck my blood. I also hear a rooster crowing in the background. It sounds very distant and coming from the direction of a local farm.

A dozen yellow butterflies are slowly flying from plant to plant. An occasional orange butterfly with black markings on its wings intermixes with the yellow ones. It reminds me of a tiger swallowtail, without the hanging tail. A spectacular iridescent blue Morpho butterfly with its metallic, shimmering shades of blue and green wonders over from a coffee plantation to give me joy. I interpret as a positive omen, since they are rare in this part of Honduras.

A countless number of orchids are growing in the trees. A few have fallen to the ground, rotting and decomposing into the soil, to renew and give nutrients to the next plant or tree that grows there in the future. It’s very humid. As I write my glasses fog up. My shirt is beginning to become soaked with sweat. Perspiration is dripping off my forehead onto my writing tablet. I’ve brought water to stay hydrated and it’s almost gone. I continue to write without thinking about paragraph structure or words. Thoughts are appearing on the paper without me consciously composing them. I’m inspired and driven by some mysterious force.

Something or someone possessed Manny de to write the story you're reading

I close my eyes and try to detect lingering Mayan images, atmosphere, memory and sound waves held in the stone temple block I’m sitting on. I hear a bird moving closer and closer, repeating a creaking sound, like a rusty door hinge being opened and closed. It’s almost upon me, though it’s in the forest canopy and I can’t see it, only hear its call. It’s directing its appeal towards my direction. Is it studying me, warning me, or trying to shoo me away? Rain is coming. I smell it in the air. The blue sky that started the morning is gone. It’s now a gray sky with small amounts of white, and overcast. I smell decaying forest, wet mildew on the temple stones, damp mud, and trampled grass.

I open my eyes and the blue Morpho butterfly, with its black tipped wings flies over me, heading in the direction of the river. It’s wing span is six inches across, as big as my hand. It turns and flutters towards and away from me. It’s teasing me as I reach for my camera. It’s gone. It is more concerned with finding food and drink then having its photo taken.

Brown ceiba trees of different sizes surround me and the temple complex. Some are thick and over two hundred feet tall. They look ancient and must have been here during the time when Mayans ruled Copan. What would they tell me of the Maya? They’re observing me and have observe everyone who passed this way. Are they laughing at our folly, or crying at our reckless behavior towards the environment? Other ceiba trees are thinner, shorter, and growing out of and on top of the temple ruins. They’re younger and seem more optimistic with a lower canopy of leaves still visible from the ground, undaunted by the idea that they may be uprooted if the pyramid where they grow is ever excavated. 

Ceiba tree rooting itself to the side of a pyramid

The urge to survive under any condition is strong

An optimistic younger tree unconcerned with excavations 

or restoration of Mayan temples

Half inch size flying red ants are landing on my writing tablet, attracted by the white color. I swat them away without killing them. The sound of thunder is in the distance, or is lingering reverberations of Mayan rituals from antiquity? I hear an occasional footstep on the pyramid stone blocks, but see no one. The grass and green foliage on the ground is moving, as if being stepped on, but there’s no breeze. I see a shadow move in the temple across the plaza. I go and investigate. I see and hear no one. I sit back down on “my” spot where the last ruler of Copan was buried. I perceive a faint wailing lament coming from under the stone structure I’m sitting on. I sense a vibration. I bend down and put my ear close, without touching the moss covered stone block. There’s a distinct low rhythmic rumble.

The ball court of life or death

A rubber ball was bounced off the slanted 

walls using only hips into a stone ring.

The winners live. The losers die.

Moss covered stone block where I heard a rumble

and felt vibrations coming from underneath

I’m not frightened. I feel calm and tranquil. A peaceful déjà vu aura comes over me. The blue Morpho butterfly is back, hovering and dancing in front of me. As it flies higher and higher, a pair of three inch orange butterflies takes its place, dancing the same back and forth figure eight. The bird which sounds like a creaking door hinge is joined by a host of others. They’re singing a chorus, announcing something unknown to me. Are they telling me their stories they pass down from generation to generation about their experiences with the Maya? It sounds like they’re sharing with me that the Maya appreciated and valued their sounds and songs.

The birds are saying that the Maya lived here once, worked here, created art, built homes and lived their lives. Now they’re gone. Having somehow and for some unknown reason upset the harmonious balance of nature and their gods. The birds are warning me! They're attempting to raise my consciousness to the sensitivities of not allowing my culture to go down the same path. Their chirps sound more urgent. All of a sudden they stop.

Is it the Maya communicating across time to me? A caution not to repeat their errors, to learn from their legacy, to move humanity towards a different outcome. They were once “masters” of their universe, or so they thought. Now, the Maya still live, but no longer are the masters in their own countries -- Guatemala and Honduras. Contemporary Mayans follow leaders who rejected and defeated their culture in favor of modern technology, western culture and values. I hear a loud cry, like a cow howling, agreeing with my theory. A cock crows, it concurs.

I visualize a Mayan king walking out of the palace across the grassy plaza, through the corbel arch. He’s dressed only in a jaguar loin cloth, jade ear plugs, hair pulled back in a ponytail, held in place by a brilliant golden hair clip. His thick leg muscles and shoulders are bulging and contracted. He carries a jade and gold scepter in his right hand. His left hand is resting on his obsidian blade, tucked into his jaguar belt.

Corbel arch from where a Mayan king appeared

He was powerful and commanded my attention

He seems anxious and ready to pounce on whatever displeases him. He looks confident, powerful, without fear, and knows he exercises complete control over this palace complex. He’s looking directly at me and smiles, nods his head slightly with approval. He’s about to speak . . . . A group of American tourists arrive on the scene, speaking the foreign sounds of English and distract him . . . . He’s gone.

The Americans are chatting about were to eat, what to do next, since they’ve “seen” Copan. They chit chat their banalities about the humidity. Someone shouts, “Look there’s a butterfly.” They look and quickly turn away to continue to decide if they should eat at the restaurant in the museum, or go into town and find a place that serves cheeseburgers. They’ve missed sensing the lingering atmosphere of Copan. These citizens of the strongest, riches, most powerful nation that the world has ever known, are too focused on consuming the familiar, to heed the lessons and warnings of the Maya. A voice in the group says, “Let’s go to town and eat hamburgers and fries.” They all agree and they leave. When their chatter stops, the birds resume their chorus. The Maya king is disappointed, but is aware that things repeat in cycles, that’s the way it’s always been. It cannot change. A cycle ends, a universe is destroyed, and a cycle of renewal starts again, with a renaissance, optimism, and clarity that the opportunity to create begins anew. To define our world is not only the work of gods. The details are controlled by humans. The outcome is left to the gods and goddesses and their folly. I’ve listened to the lessons of Copan.

The first king (second from left) handing the ruling scepter to the last king of Copan

A royal eagle proclaiming the might of the rulers of Copan