Excerpts From The Journals Of Paul Coze "Koyemsi"

Excerpts From The Journals Of Paul Coze "Koyemsi" Life will now turn green

In the winter, the Hopi Mesas are gray. Since the So Yalangwu in December, the sun has stopped its backward motion and is now moving to stay with longer hours in Hopi Land. It is too cold yet (there are still patches of snow) to plant beans or corn. Tawa, the Sun, is growing warmer every day and the sky is becoming a true turquoise color. Through this night of February, one moves from Kiva to Kiva - early in the evening at First Mesa, later at some, well past midnight at the others. The Powamui (beans) Dances and the Kachinam, by their first appearance, bring blessings; the impossibility of an early crop of beans or corn is made reality by the extra power of the Messengers of the Gods. Built-in benches are all around the overheated room. On three sides of the Kiva sprouts the green forest of premature life. We hear a noise from the hatch and soon we see her coming down the ladder: Ha Hai-i Wu-Hiti, the Mother of Them All. Happy looking, with a falsetto voice, she reassures the people of the coming Spring. During the Powamui powa-muya, the Moon of purification, in all the Hopi villages Kivas start filling with sacred activities. "Have a Good Heart, and things will come to you. Believe and respect. Follow your clan's leaders, and listen to the Elders. The other Moons will follow. Life will come to you. Food will come to you. Children will come to you, for happiness is here.

JOY ARRIVES WITH THE SUN A shaft of sunlight illuminates the frozen ground. Here and there doors are opened and wide-awake children come out. They do not seem to mind the brisk air. All the eyes are looking toward the Kiva. The "Indian Santa Claus" is coming. Because a new year starts now, the children's rolling murmur fills the joyous moment.

The Kokoleum are here. All soft and white in their buckskin dress collared softly with fur and faces as yellow as a sunlit cliff with roundly curved eyebrows: corn growing. The round mouth is all loving, giving. With great expectation the children can see only the many gifts that the Kachinam brings: colorful rattles and the bullroarers, bows and arrows, or plaques or candies of any kind until there are no more gifts nor children; and the Kokoleum have mysteriously disappeared.

THEY WALKED A LONG WAY

The awaited white-bodied Kachinam arrive after a long journey. Their faces resemble the Kokoleum, bringing touches of gold as a row of flowers in motion. The heavy white underwear molds their young bodies. They are carrying burden baskets full of bean sprouts. Spring is here! Four Kachina manas, with their hair loosened down to their waists, help them. But the trip has been so long! They have walked so many days that their gestures are slowed down. So tired! They can hardly move one foot before the other. Barely can they follow the leader. No, they cannot! They are almost falling asleep; and the first one slowly goes down. His hand holds the strap which supports the basket as he sits down. He now lies down. One by one they all settle with feet touching the shoulders of the one in front. In the silence they are a long ribbon on the cold ground. As slowly as they started, one by one, in turn they get up rested. One foot there to advance then the next one. Then the next Kachina and the fresh greens follow their trail significantly bringing the rebirth of the planting season.

SO MANY HAVE COME

This day is Pachava of the Initiation Year. Boys will be men; and the great procession will come. So the people are like ants; at an unscheduled hour, somehow, everyone knows it is the time.

Here she is! The Zuni Warrior Maiden, the Joan of Arc of the pueblos, black and white, the dark indigo dress and cape decorated with the two crosses made of corn husks, The dark face crowned with warrior feathers, the surprised yellow monacles, the sharp teeth and hanging red tongue. Her maiden's whorl hairdo. On the other side, her waist-length mane swings in the breeze, undulating with each step; she brandishes the bow and war-arrows. Men were out of town when the enemy came: Her hair undone, she left her mother, called the women to battle, and saved the village. The unexpected surprise for youngsters, the satisfaction of their parents to see one Kachina after the other come out of the Kiva roof, every time of many different shapes: Ogres, with goggled-eyes, macabre teeth and beard. The four-feathered heavy snout carries a saw. The more sinister carries an old army sword, ready to punish and punish well the children who have misbehaved or the adults who have betrayed respect to the gods or strayed below the mesas. But also come, as in life, joys after sorrows: The clowns, Koyemsi, the First Man, the amusing Wohe with the red chevron on the white face. Arriving from other Kivas, are Kachina leaders, Mong Kachinam, followed by Eototo with symbolic white face, one of the oldest and most respected Messengers of the Gods. The queen-like, crowwinged mother with her turquoise face framed by fans of black feathers. Some whippers, some racers, the Holy Man from Mishongovi, Huhuwa. A deceased neo saint who became a Kachina when he died, hence he walks cross-legged. Tosan, two of them, the Mud Head ogres, and others endlessly swarming the plaza, invading the streets, hooting, calling, howling, bellowing. A motion of irregular steps, a sea of uncoordinated waves, sounds of bells, of rattles, of turtle shells, of sleighbells, musicality of a pantheon in procession. Blue striped, multicolored faces with square ears or curved horns, collars of greens or furs. Carrying baskets full of beans, or bows and arrows, or sharp yucca leaves for ritual flogging. One with three tubes as zoom lenses, black and white, carrying a stick and old clothes, will stop suddenly to look at someone and imitate his gestures.

In the middle of the parade of the gods, a gray, furry one, the face multi-colored, the eyes and the mouth round, empty, skeletal, an old kilt around his shoulders like an old man: Masao, the Kachina of the God of Death who always calls unexpectedly but who is also Fire and Earth because we all shall return there, in the Underworld.

The Zuni Warrior Maiden has climbed to the highest rooftop. She slowly bends down, picks up some dirt, and throws it in the air. In a few seconds all villagers have disappeared. They pile into the rooms whose windows have been blanketed. A few slow ones receive a slash from the yucca blade. The esoteric part of the ceremony has begun. One waits, closed in, to hear shuffling of feet, Kachina calls, and noises.

The blankets are down, the doors opened, the mystery people come out smiling. Except for them the village is empty. Under the lukewarm afternoon sun a few dogs venture onto the village plaza.