In the sacred Mayan calendar, 2 Aq’ab’al brings us into the liminal space of duality, reflection, and emerging awareness. Aq’ab’al is the nawal of dawn and dusk, the threshold where light and shadow meet and new understanding quietly takes shape. It governs the in-between moments—when clarity has not fully arrived but can be felt stirring beneath the surface. The number 2 highlights relationship, mirroring, and choice, inviting us to notice opposing forces within ourselves and between self and other. On 2 Aq’ab’al, insight comes gently, asking for patience, honesty, and a willingness to sit with what is still becoming.
My closest relationship, my marriage, is a mirror and has been for more than 13 years. We met in the middle, here at Lake Atitlán, roughly halfway between our respective homelands of Colombia and Texas. That alone feels like Aq’ab’al medicine: a meeting place between worlds.
This relationship has revealed, and continues to reveal, my shadows around body image, self-acceptance, and deception versus honesty. I am short and curvy. I have been borderline obese, though mostly just a little overweight, and still in generally good shape thanks to walking and yoga. My partner’s love of my body and belly has helped me see my physical form in a softer, kinder light. Through his eyes, something in me has slowly learned to rest.
It pains me now when our adolescent daughter criticizes her own body, her hair, or whatever feature fails to meet the impossible standards of stick-thin, Instagrammable beauty. I do my best to encourage her to love and accept her form just as it is, while also guiding her toward healthy choices around food, movement, and care. I see how early the mirror appears. I see how powerful it is.
For the past several months, I’ve been dealing with frozen shoulder—strange, deep pain in my shoulder sockets, especially on the right side, when I move my arms in certain ways. It has improved with yoga and massage, yet I still can’t bind my hands behind my back comfortably. Reaching in certain directions is challenging. Here I am again, practicing patience. Hoping it will eventually leave my body altogether, that full mobility will return. But I don’t know. Is this aging? Perimenopause? A temporary passage or a permanent change? I don’t know—and I am learning to accept the not-knowing.
What is slowly emerging is a deeper truth: the wisdom of experience and the blessing of age is greater self-knowledge, less self-criticism, and a gentler relationship with the body. I am learning to age gracefully—to love my body through its changes, aches, and limitations, while cherishing its ongoing ability to heal, grow, and become stronger, more flexible, and more balanced.
Today, on 2 Aq’ab’al, I choose to honor both the light and the shadow of my mind, body, and heart. I woke early and practiced pranayama, asana, and meditation as dawn broke. I am grateful to have no plans today other than to work from home, read, write, practice yoga again, maybe walk the dog. I’m winding down for the holiday break next week.
Grateful for sunrise, sunset, and all the moments in between.
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