A Time Of Turbulence By Natasha All was quite on the land, peace was wide spread. The grass shuffled with the gentle wind on the vast land of Cuzco. The Incas, were said to have lived there, ruled by a loving, yet firm hand. A Proxy, ruled their clan. When they conquered they did no harm. But melted into one.
No bloodshed, but unity surpassed the violence of their human hearts. In the steep mountain sides did they farm, the work was agonizingly rigorous and dizzyingly high. Yet they not only persevered, they excelled, at life with concepts beyond our realm of perception. The rhythmic language they possessed was called Quechua. Quecha is still uttered by the tongue of those today, with their customs and beliefs as a faint as a ghost drifting behind.
An obsessive devotion towards that of the sun god, where temples were erected for him and all his magnificent glory. A heaven was cherished and wished by all, and a hell was feared and ostracized for Fear of the torment that it would bring. Alas, a resurrection of the human body was believed to occur after death, so the Incas prayed. The great Incas, a spiritual civilization with beauty and kindness in their hearts, destroyed And conquered by the Spanish in the 1560s. There also was another, a civilization of deep religion and faith.
They were the mighty Aztecs, or the Tenochca, they were a people of history and pride. Their tale begins in the 12th century, a time of discovery. They are nomadic, born in a place called Aztlan, a tribe of the past. Embarking onto further lands, they settle in the central basin of Mexico. In 1325, the primitive group establishes the city of Tenochtitlan.
A life begins, an agriculture of sophistication and religion, one portrayed through extensive documents that still are present today to reveal the mysterious of yesterday. The energy for life, their vivacity comes from the circle of faith and religion. Their multifarious gods of fire and death, life and war, there were numerous. Each was loved and nourished by all as the hearts and souls cried out to reach these powerful gods. A rich hearted people, however, just people, and were cruel in many ways. Their sacrifices were harsh. With the piercing shout of the tormented as the hearts were ripped hungrily from their flesh and thrown into the burning fire as a sacrifice to the gods.
For in their religion, life was controlled by balance, a balance of life and of death, thinking with their human minds, they thought to control the balance with sacrifice. Never knowing what perilous nightmare lies in wait. As a hushed sadness over fell the land, for the mighty Mocteuzma was captured, and annihilated. Soon after, the glorious city of Tenochtitlan perished in a heap of washed away memories. Dispersing into thin air, almost vanishing. These beautiful creatures of the earth. Love and hate abundant tearing up the human heart, and yet they try to live their lives, alone, peacefully.
Yet they can not! For they are hunted and killed, as if for sport. The killers overtake these serene and exquisite beasts and try to tame them, and in their captivity they plummet to their doom. The abyss of their captors hearts are icy cold, and with blank looks they glance away. And the stench of death does not move them, for their souls are glacial. UN-empathetic and unsympathetic the poachers never cease, until the faint shadows of the last Indians are forever gone.
And with them goes their religion and faith. With their lives taken away, so are the ceremonial songs and dances of praise to the gods for the beauty of the land. Their cultures and customs, with them, everything disperses and another life begins, one without the sweet salvation of the savage Indians.