In the sacred Mayan calendar, 11 Kawoq is a day of emotional cleansing, community healing, and the unpredictable power of transformation. Kawoq is the nawal of the rain, and the deep release that makes new growth possible. It’s also the energy of family, community, groups, and the healing maternal forces that protect and nourish us. The number 11 brings spontaneity, creativity, and nonlinear movement; it stirs energy in many directions at once, often breaking through old emotional patterns.
Together, 11 and Kawoq create an energy that can feel intense yet deeply cleansing, helping us release what has been held too tightly. This day invites us to honor the storms we’ve survived, the emotional weather that shaped us, and the communities that have carried us through. Under 11 Kawoq, we remember that upheaval often becomes the doorway to profound spiritual clarity.
The Tornado That Split My Childhood Open
My childhood or past sign in my Mayan cross is 11 Kawoq, and when I think back on the storms that shaped me, one memory rises above all others.
I grew up in Texas, where the thunderstorms are epic, loud, wild, and unforgettable. I had a generally pleasant, safe, and comfortable childhood, but one major event stands out clearly. In April 1989, when I was 8 years old and in the 3rd grade, I lived through a storm that changed me in ways I didn’t fully understand until adulthood.
That morning, my dad drove me to school on his motorcycle, as usual. The sky was blue and clear. But by mid-morning, outside the classroom window, I noticed that clouds had rolled in and the sky was a sickly strange shade of greenish gray. Shortly thereafter, the alarms went off in the hallways throughout the building. We children knew what to do, having practiced “tornado drills.” We lined up single file, went into the hallway and crouched down along the wall on our knees in child’s pose, interlacing our fingers over the backs of our necks to protect ourselves from potential flying debris.
The winds roared outside, making the sound of a train approaching. The double glass doors at the end of the hall flew open, and dirt blew through the school. The tornado actually ripped part of the roof off the cafeteria. Fortunately, no one was injured or killed. But I was sobbing, truly thinking I was about to die. That this was the end of my short life. I remember one boy making fun of me for crying. Eventually, of course, the storm passed. We got up, got on school buses, and evacuated to another campus where our parents picked us up.
I had survived to see age 9 (and later, so far, to see age 45). Yet I was traumatized. Shortly thereafter, my family moved across town to a new house. Then it was summer vacation. I developed an intense fear of death and refused to go outside for weeks. The Catholic faith of my parents was no comfort or consolation—least of all the priests’ boring sermons on everlasting life with Jesus and Our Father in heaven forever and ever amen. Instead, trying to conceptualize “eternity” boggled my innocent mind even more.
And this is where 11 Kawoq begins to reveal itself: the storm that shatters, the lightning that exposes, the emotional overwhelm that ultimately clears the way for a new form of spiritual connection.
Kawoq is both the storm and the midwife. It is Grandmother Turtle’s gentle teachings of patience, slowing down, and not hurrying. It is both the chaos that shakes loose what must be released and the healing that follows. It is labor and delivery. The work of birthing new life, new projects and plans into the world. It is the cleansing rain and the nourishment it brings. That tornado was my first direct encounter with the truth that life is fragile, unpredictable, and precious—pure 11 Kawoq energy: intense, nonlinear, transformative.
The silver lining in this story is that the tornado, my “near-death experience,” and my lack of resonance with Catholicism led me to break away from that religion at an early age. Just a few years later, I stumbled upon the wisdom of Yoga and eventually Buddhism, which quickly became my chosen path of spiritual practice. The storm cracked something open. It made space for what would become my true spiritual home.
On this 11 Kawoq day, I am reminded that storms can be initiations. Upheavals and “breakdowns” invite breakthroughs. Sometimes, the chaos that terrifies us becomes the force that realigns our lives with our deeper purpose and destiny.
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