Mystical Relations with the Earth

~ Q'enti Wasi ~ Leave a comment

Hike through the high plains of the Peruvian Andes, and you might notice your guide pausing before a towering peak or beside a rushing stream, whispering softly and offering a few coca leaves or spilling a few drops of water. To an outsider, this gesture might look like a quaint ritual—a nod to folklore. But to the paqos (practitioners of the Andean mystical tradition), this isn’t a performance. It’s a vital connection, even a sacred communion. While Western spirituality often focuses on ascending out of the world, and many Eastern traditions look inward to find the divine, the Andean paqos do something entirely different. They look directly at the landscape and bridge its materiality to touch its energetic essence. Andeans in general, and paqos in particular, are kawsaypa llikapi, which literally means “within the network of life.”

In modern society, many of us view ourselves as separate entities moving through a space. Even if we admire our surroundings as we walk through a valley, many of us traverse the terrain essentially as observers or visitors. In contrast, in the Andean tradition we understand that our energy field (poq’po) is directly enmeshed with the surrounding landscape and its features. The valley in its own right has a poq’po, as do the creatures who live there and each of the trees, rocks, rivers, flowers, and other natural features. The paqos teach that humans possess three main forms of perception: yachay: mind; munay: feelings; and llank’ay: action. When these three ways of perceiving are aligned, a human being becomes a chakaruna—a living bridge. We literally become a conduit through which we and the sky, the mountain, the river, or the stones share energy. This is ayni, or reciprocity. As modern physics tells us, and the paqos show us, the created universe is relational. As Margaret Wheatley, a writer and speaker who incorporates systems science into her leadership seminars and books, says, “Relationships are all there is. Everything in the universe only exists because it is in relationship to everything else. Nothing exists in isolation.”

Without humans consciously performing rituals of reciprocity, Andeans believe the universe loses its harmony. So, we humans, despite our woeful behavior as stewards of the Earth, are not cosmic tourists visiting the Earth for a time but vital expressions of the Earth. Humans, the Andeans tell us, are allpa camasca: animated earth. Energetically, when we engage in an ayni relationship with Mother Earth, we not only honor her but become an integral aspect of her body and serve as ritual caretakers. The physical landscape is not just terrain; it is the altar upon which we cherish our “mother” and take to heart our roles as attentive “children.” By caring for the Earth, we care for ourselves and all creatures.

Most people, when they first begin to practice Andean mysticism, tend to gravitate toward Pachamama, which usually is translated as “Mother Earth.” However, Mother Earth as a being in her own right has her own name: Mama Allpa. Who, then, is Pachamama? The Cosmic Mother. In a beautiful imagistic rendering, Andeans see Mama Allpa as the womb of Pachamama. From this Earth womb all living things are birthed into being. However, our Original Mother is of cosmic origin. Pachamama is the mother of the entire material universe, of which Mama Allpa and we are just a small a part. When we are in ayni with Mama Allpa, by extension we also are in ayni with Pachamama, the entire material cosmos.

A logical question is why Andeans tend to call Mama Allpa (planet Earth) “Pachamama.” One reason is a function of the Quechua language. Allpa literally means “earth,” as in soil or dirt. Pacha has many definitions: dirt, soil, earth, realm, world, space, time. But it also functions as a kind of honorific. When Andeans are planting seeds in their fields, they are digging furrows in the allpa, the earth, the dirt. Allpa tends to be used within common language as a reference to the mundane. The word Pacha, however, lifts the mundane to the sacred. So, when Andeans shift to referring to the Earth as the giver of abundant life gifts (crops, animals and herds, water, and such), they refer to her as a sacred being, and they use the term Pachamama, the Sacred Earth Mother.

There is a similar language transformation with how Andeans relate in ayni with water. The Quechua term for water is unu, although many Andeans use the Spanish agua. In fact, they tend to use the word agua when referring to water in its mundane form as an element of rain or a stream. When they add the word unu (agua unu), they are referring to water in its sacred nature. The water flowing down from a snow-capped mountain to irrigate their fields is agua unu; it is considered the fertilizing blood that flows thru the veins of the mountains or as the sweat of Mother Earth. Referring to water as unu imparts the notions of divinity, unity, fertility, and sanctity. Likewise, yaku means river in its mundane sense, or refers to any mundane type of flowing water, such as that in an irrigation ditch. But when referred to as yaku unu, this water is elevated to the realm of the sacred. The water is honored for its sacred life-giving properties.

Living these kinds of relationships turns the landscape into a kind of living altar. Just about everything in nature is considered a waka, a repository of the sacred. Andeans don’t just live on the land; they are in continual, dynamic reciprocity with it. If we want to experience this mystical immersion into a network of living relationships with nature, the Earth, and even our entire cosmos, we don’t have to practice the Andean or any other mystical tradition. We can simply walk outside of our house and shift our perspective. Instead of looking at nature, we feel into nature. And perceive how nature is looking at and feeling into each of us. By transitioning our conscious awareness from our mind to our poq’po (our energetic, perceptual body), we learn we are integrally woven into the living web of nature. We cease being spectators and become partners in the world’s unfolding.

The Value of Spiritual Questioning

~ Q'enti Wasi ~ 1 Comment

In the Andean mystical tradition, knowledge and proficiency are not destinations reached through logic, but are a joint path carved by repetition. This indigenous lineage prioritizes embodied knowledge over theoretical frameworks. Unlike Western pedagogical styles that favor “the why,” the paqos (Andean mystical practitioners) focus almost exclusively on “the what.” Their style of practice is:

Action Over Analysis: Techniques are rarely accompanied by logical explanations or philosophical discussions.

Experiential Repetition: Students are expected to perform techniques time and time again, bypassing the analytical mind and accessing personal perception. The work is phenomenological rather than intellectual.

Experiential Mastery: The energy dynamics of a practice—its purpose and its potential—are revealed through the lived experience of doing the work.

In this tradition, understanding is not an intellectual exercise; it is an interior state of being achieved through the rhythm of sustained practice. This raises a natural tension: Is there any room for the questions themselves? If you are like me, you are likely bursting with them. Fortunately, my primary teacher, don Juan Nuñez del Prado, occupied a unique position as both a former university professor and a master practitioner. Because of his background, questions were always—well, mostly—welcome. There were certainly moments when don Juan would simply say, “Just do it. Discover the answer through the practice itself.” But more often than not, he graciously and patiently entertained my inquiries. Because we both had one foot in the academic world, we were constantly balancing two distinct ways of knowing: pure experiential immersion and logical, informed speculation. This dual approach—bridging the mystical and the analytical—has served me well. So, in this post I want to explore the value of questioning as a vital component of the spiritual path.

I view mystics as a specialized kind of scientist. They begin with a fundamental hypothesis: Is there more to this world than the purely physical? To test this, they devise an experiment: If I consciously share my energy with this mountain, will it respond? They run multiple trials, observe the results, and sometimes the mountains “talk back.” From those results, a host of new, rigorous questions arise. I suspect the paqos, while not analytical, asked the following kinds of questions in their own way:

Verification: Were those responses objective reality or projections of my own mind? How can I discern the difference?

Replicability: If other paqos perform the same energy practice, will they achieve the same result?

Variables: Are the mountains who responded sentient, or am I tapping into a broader field? Why do some peaks respond while others remain silent?

I believe the mystics of antiquity must have held a perspective much like that of Albert Einstein, who famously remarked: “The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existence. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery each day.”

To me, this is more than just a quotation; it is a vital, even precious, stance for the modern seeker. By embracing this Einsteinian curiosity, we don’t just “do” the practices—we engage with the marvelous structure of the energetic world. We honor the mystery not by silent acceptance, but by sustained, awe-filled attempts to comprehend just a little more of it each day.

Questioning is a skill, a kind of spiritual practice itself. There are ways to form questions, and what I am proposing here is a type called “open inquiry.” Rather than seeking definitive answers or reaching absolute conclusions, spiritual inquiry acts as a bridge beyond the intellect. It isn’t about solving a puzzle; it’s about staying curious enough to bypass our mental filters. In the realm of the spirit, questioning serves as a catalyst for wonder rather than a search for facts. By moving past the analytical brain, inquiry allows us to touch reality directly, favoring raw connection over mental labels. Questions can move us from only from knowing “about” a practice to “being within” it, turning the question itself into a tool for direct energetic engagement.

Adopting a stance of “I don’t know” acts as a solvent for the ego and the analytical mind; it is a form of inquiry that Masters across many mystical traditions regard as a valuable spiritual discipline in its own right. The “I don’t know” stance can be a power move for the soul. It bypasses the intellect’s need for control and plunges us into the raw, mysterious reality of the moment. When we “live the question,” we treat the strange, mysterious, and illogical not as problems to be solved, but as fertile landscapes where spontaneous insight can take root. It is in this space of radical uncertainty that our old habits soften their stubborn hold, and our true potential begins to bloom.

Questions as self-inquiry can serve as a vital compass, allowing us to gauge the depth and trajectory of our practice. As our karpay (personal power and proficiency) expands, our inquiry naturally evolves; the questions we ask grow alongside our shifting values, capacities, and goals. Most importantly, this process facilitates an expansion of the self. We all carry a “story” of who we are, but as we expand access to our Inka Seed—our core potential—that narrative must be rewritten to accommodate a larger reality. The fundamental questions of identity and purpose become essential:

Identity: Who have I become in this new light? Beyond my personal history, how do I consciously choose to be in the world now? As a Drop of the Mystery, do I recognize myself as an integral thread in the fabric of creation?

Direction: Where is my expanded Inka Seed now leading me? Am I honoring my Inka Seed as my ultimate truth-teller and following its guidance as my inner compass? Am I expressing my essence in my own unique way—acting as the “energy artist” of my life—and walking the path of my own heart?

Intent: What is the quality of my ayni (reciprocity) with the living universe, nature, and my fellow human beings? Where are my intentions—both conscious and unconscious—driving me? Am I open to being flexible enough to make necessary course corrections?

Challenges: What remaining internal filters or personal energetic blocks are stalling further growth? In what ways am I still choosing to play small or hide my power?

Contributions: In what ways am I failing to honor my own needs or neglecting the “service” I owe to my own well-being? In what ways can I offer more of my authentic self to my family and friends, my work, and the world?

Mysticism is an unfiltered, direct encounter with the Mystery—a relationship that naturally overflows with inquiry. Rather than separating us from our practice, spiritual questioning deepens our connection to the universe and ourselves. Questions don’t distance us; they facilitate the very experiences they seek to understand.

AI and Andean Mysticism

~ Q'enti Wasi ~ 2 Comments

For a while now I’ve watched my students and colleagues use AI to research aspects of Andean mysticism, and I finally decided to give it a try myself using Gemini. The results? A bit of a double-edged sword. On one hand, the sheer volume of data it pulled in seconds was incredible—a massive time-saver. On the other hand, the accuracy was hit-or-miss. I quickly learned about “hallucinations,” which is the industry term for AI’s tendency to confidently present fiction as fact. I discovered that while AI is a master of information collection, it is not always a master of truth.

What do these AI hallucinations look like in practice? Well, a case in point is that in one discussion Gemini returned, it credited authorship of my book Masters of the Living Energy to two men who had nothing to do with it. A more complex situation arose when I entered a query about the meaning of the chakana, the Andean stepped cross. The response started strong with the anthropology: defining the Quechua word from its roots of chakay (bridge) and hanan (upper, above, high) and accurately linking it to the Southern Cross and agricultural calendar. But it quickly veered into mystical speculation, explaining a symbolic system correlating the twelve points of the chakana’s arms to such human capacities as love, protection, awareness, and responsibility. Are there people teaching that symbolic construct? Yes. Is it a cohesive representational system? Yes. Is it among the ways the Incas and their predecessors, the paqos, or even the Andean people in general understood the chakana? After further research outside of AI, I am skeptical. That philosophic system appears to be some kind of modern overlay on this age-old motif. The real kicker of a Gemini blunder occurred in another Andean information dump where it attributed a borderline racist comment to me. I had to go on a digital manhunt to find the source of the quotation: a woman’s Reddit comment that Gemini not only truncated and distorted, but then hallucinated and put in my mouth. The lesson here is simple: AI is a useful starting point for research, but always do your own due diligence of the “facts.”

On a most positive note, there is a side of AI that is genuinely delightful: its creative capacity. But even here there is a catch. Because Gemini and other AI models are built on existing data, they are not dreaming up new ideas; they’re capitalizing on the hard work of human creators. (Full disclosure: I am one of a huge pool of authors and publishers represented in a class-action copyright lawsuit against Anthropic AI. They vacuumed up tens of thousands of books—one of mine included—to train their models. When they were called out on this afront to copyright law, they settled out of court—for a staggering $1.5 billion. Of course, publishers and lawyers will receive the bulk of that sum; authors will get their normal paltry portion!) I ran into this same type of problem when testing the creative aspect of AI. I asked Gemini to write poems about Andean mysticism in the style of various poets. I chose poets of both genders, widely differing styles, various ethnicities, and from a range of historical periods. I was not surprised that its first attempts bordered on plagiarism—it literally reproduced entire lines from poems in each poet’s oeuvre.  I had to get specific, asking Gemini to write in a particular poet’s style but without using any of their original lines. Once I set that boundary, the results were better, and in some cases quite beautiful. I am ending this post on an AI high note with six of my favorite “original” AI poetic creations. Enjoy!

In the style of e e cummins

the condor
circles
(slowly)
the high blue O
of the sky

down down
among the apus
a stone
breathes
(softly)
like a sleeping god

& the shaman—
who is a leaf
who is a mountain—
whispers
a green coca secret
into the ear of the
wind
(death is only a
turning
of the
earth)
i am
thou art
pachamama
is.

In the style of Adrienne Rich

The map is not the mountain,
though we trace the veins of ice
with fingers numbed by the high, thin air.
I am looking for the language
before the Conquest, before the steel
divided the field from the spirit.

We come to the altar of stone
not as tourists, but as the hungry
seeking the root that holds the slope.
The Apu does not speak in sentences;
it speaks in the weight of granite,
in the slow, tectonic shift of belonging.

To be a mystic here
is to acknowledge the reciprocity—
the breath you take belongs to the peak,
the coca leaf on your tongue
is a green bridge back to the Mother.
We are re-learning the ancient pact:
that the earth is not a resource,
but the very body we inhabit
while we wait for the stars to name us.

In the style of Mary Oliver

I don’t know much about the gold of empires,
only the gold of the sun as it touches the throat
of the hummingbird, that tiny, vibrating prayer.
I want to speak of the Apu, the Great Mountain,
who does not care for your name or your busy life,
but waits for you nonetheless,
wearing a shawl of clouds and ancient stone.

Have you ever walked high enough
to feel the air grow thin and holy?
Have you offered a coca leaf to the earth—
not because you were told to,
but because you finally understood
that the ground is not just dirt,
but a mother who has been feeding you
since the very first day?

The Pachamama does not ask for much.
She only asks that you notice
the way the water flows down from the glaciers,
an endless, silver vein of milk.
She asks that you practice ayni,
that soft, reciprocal breath:
the world giving to you,
and you, at last, giving something back.

You do not have to be perfect.
You do not have to crawl on your knees
across the high, cold altiplano.
You only have to let the soft animal of your soul
be quiet enough to hear the stones speaking.
The mountain is not an object.
The wind is not a ghost.
Everything is alive, and breathing,
|and waiting for you to come home
to the wild, sacred family of things.

In the style of Allen Ginsberg

I saw the best minds of my generation starving for a mountain, hysterical, trekking through the neon smog of Lima toward the high, thin ether of the soul.
I saw them clutching tattered copies of the Popol Vuh, looking for a gateway in the stone, looking for a vein of silver that wasn’t for sale.
O Pachamama! Mother of the potato! Mother of the llama! Mother of the underground tunnels where the ancestors are still dreaming in technicolor.
The world is a condor with wings of lightning. The world is a serpent eating its own history.

I am with you in Cusco!
Where the stones fit together so tightly not even a Spanish ghost could squeeze between them. I am with you in the Sacred Valley!
Where the corn grows tall and the spirits of the Incas are whispering in the rustle of the leaves, mocking the tourists and their digital cameras.
They are singing of ayni! They are singing of the great cosmic debt!
The debt we owe to the glacier, the debt we owe to the sun, the debt we owe to the dark, wet earth that swallows our bones and asks for more.

Moloch! Moloch! The skyscraper that doesn’t know the name of the wind!
Moloch! The factory that pours poison into the Urubamba!
I break your windows with a single coca leaf.
I cast out your demons with the smoke of Palo Santo.
I am standing on the peak of Huayna Picchu and I am screaming at the stars.
I am an old man, a young man, a child of the sun, a crazy beggar in the plaza.
Everything is holy! The poncho is holy! The flute is holy! The coca bag is holy!
The alpaca is holy! The frost on the high grass is holy! 
The breath is holy!
The mountain is open!
The mountain is speaking!
Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!

In the style of Wendell Berry

The work of the mountain is slow work.
It is not the work of the clock or the engine,
but the long, patient settling of silt,
the quiet endurance of the granite face
against the scouring of the frost.
To know this place is to stay in this place
until your feet recognize the tilt of the slope
and your lungs accept the thin, cold gift of the air.

The chakana is not a symbol to be worn for show;
it is a map of belonging.
It tells us that the heavens are connected to the soil
by the sweat of the man who plants his corn in the terrace,
and by the memory of the grandmother who saved the seed.
There is a dignity in the narrow path,
a grace in the way the llama carries its burden
without complaint, moving as if the earth
were a conversation it has been having for a thousand years.

We speak of ayni as if it were a mystery,
but it is only the simple justice of the field:
what you take, you must replace.
If you drink from the spring, you must clear the stones from its throat.
If you harvest the grain, you must leave a portion for the birds
and a prayer for the dark, generative belly of the world.

The modern mind wants to mine the summit,
to flay the slope for a moment’s profit,
forgetting that a mountain is a neighbor, not a resource.
But the old ones knew the economy of the soul—
that we are rich only in what we do not destroy,
and that the highest wisdom is found
in the shadow of the peaks, where we are small,
and rooted, and finally, blessedly, still.

In the style of Dylan Thomas

In the white muscle of the mountain, where the air
Is a thin blade whetted on the glacier’s tooth,
The sky is a blue bell tolled by the condor’s wing.
I find the high, terraced history of the blood,
A climbing fever of stone laid upon stone
By the sun-burned hands of the unbegotten.

There, the Pachamama drinks the spilled chicha of the clouds,
Her belly a dark forge of potato and quartz,
Rooted in the red hum of the earth’s spinning heart.
The Apu stands, a frozen thunder in the skull,
Watching the valley where the river, that silver snake,
Uncoils its wet song through the throat of the maize.

We are but the brief, breathing ghosts of the cordillera,
A harvest of light gathered in the basket of a day,
Yet we weave our ayni into the warp of the wind.
Every breath is a debt, every step a libation,
As the stars, those cold, celestial llamas,
Graze upon the salt-licks of the infinite night.

Oh, let the heart be a drum of stretched alpaca skin!
Let the prayer be a spark struck from the flint of the soul!
For we are the sons of the fire and the daughters of the frost,
Held fast in the green, weaving grip of the world
Until the mountain, in its slow and stony mercy,
Calls the wandering water of our spirits home.

 

Preserving the Andean Mystical Tradition

~ Q'enti Wasi ~ Leave a comment

In last month’s blog, I explored the concept of hucha miqkhuy through my personal transcripts of private conversations with don Juan Nuñez del Prado or notes taken at his training courses. This month, I am diving back into those records to review what the situation in the Andes looked like in the early to mid 1990s, when it was much more difficult to learn the tradition. Because of the dedication of academics such as don Juan, Theo Parades, and Oscar Miro-Quesada—who not only studied the tradition but practiced it—the opportunities for study, although scant, were possible. Over the past several decades, there has been a revival of the tradition. We are fortunate today that dozens of Andean paqos directly share their knowledge and practices with people across the world. But back in the early 1990s, the young people were not very interested in learning the tradition and becoming paqos. While they no doubt respected their elders and their cultural heritage, the majority wanted to live in Cuzco, get educated, and integrate as Peruvian citizens into the “modern” world.

The heart of this material comes from conversations I had with don Juan in 1996 in Arizona when two Q’ero paqos met with a half dozen Hopi Elders. I was fortunate to be there alongside don Juan and a small group of others, and I had time alone with him to discuss the challenges of learning the tradition when there were so few paqos available to teach us. Our impromptu discussion shares one perspective of the situation, drawn from our experience. Of course, there are others.

I have included context and explanations pertinent to our discussion in square brackets.

Joan: I want to follow up on the women paqos. Back in Urubamba don Julian [Pauqar Flores] said that spirit beings—the apus, Pachamama—listen more to women than to men. But women are said to work more on the left side, with practices such as healing, and not the right side of the path. If the spirit beings have a better dialogue with women, wouldn’t that mean they are just as skilled on the right side, the side of perception and mystical communication?

Don Juan: Yes, the natural capacity of women is the left side. That is the practical, nurturing, and healing principle. If we use Jungian psychology as a guide, men have a natural capacity for logos and women for eros. Logos is the natural capacity to interpret and challenge and so on; eros is the impulse for life, to establish relationships, for nurturing and healing. For men the eros is in their unconscious, for women the logos is in their unconscious. So, each must work to develop the complementary capacity. Because men naturally have the right side, they must develop the left; because women have the left, they must develop the right. And it is difficult to do that. So, the most difficult thing for women is to develop the right-side skills. But if they do the work, then it is said they become more powerful than the men.

But remember what some of the other paqos said when you asked them why there are so few, women paqos? They said the women don’t want to do it, to study. They said they are too lazy! They do not want to do the work to become paqos. Some of the men teach their wives a little, like don Mariano with doña Augustina. She just helps him a little, as a kind of assistant.

But don Juan Paquar Espinosa is training his daughter to be an alto mesayoq. She is very smart. I think one day the daughter of don Juan will be one of the most important female paqos in Q’ero. [As far as we know, tragically, when don Juan died unexpectedly several years later, his daughter’s training ended and she is not working as a paqo.]

Joan: Ok, shifting gears. . . You were with me that night when I purchased the set of mulla khuyas in Cuzco. I am grateful I have them, but it also feels odd, because it means some paqo died and there was no one to pass them on to. Or there was some other situation in which they went unclaimed by a paqo. The chunpi knowledge appears to be dying or even lost, as none of the Q’ero we have talked to know about the mullu khuyas or practice as a chunpi paqo. These are some of the most well-trained and experienced paqos. What’s going on? [Mullu khuyas are a set of five stones used to perform the Ñawi K’ichay and Chunpi Away karpay to weave the chunpis, or mystical “belts.”]

Don Juan: I have not found anyone who does the karpay. The thing is there is so much resistance. The indigenous people like the Q’ero became Peruvian citizens only twenty-five years ago, and everyone was looking to become a real citizen. As a result, a lot of paqos were abandoning the ancient knowledge. That’s why you can sometimes buy these mulla khuyas in the city, because paqos are giving them up. Not the paqos really, but the descendants of the paqos. They don’t know what to do with these khuyas.

Joan: Is there anyone in Q’ero who knows the chunpi practice as don Andreas taught it? [Don Andreas Espinosa was a Q’ero chunpi paqo and the primary teacher of this practice.]

Don Juan: No.

Joan: The tradition is being lost. . .

Don Juan: Yes! You know, I will give you an image, a picture. Don Jesús, a paqo from another village, one outside of Pisac, when I met him, he was totally isolated. Nobody believed in his techniques. He performed ceremonies only for himself. Everybody laughed about his ceremony and techniques. This is not the situation in Q’ero, but in a community near Pisac. But in Q’ero, there are evangelical groups. Two of the sons of the top paqo belong to this group, and for them these techniques belong to the devil!

Don Andreas Espinosa was the Q’ero chunpi master. Don Manuel Q’espi is his son-in-law. Don Manuel does not want to remember this, but don Manuel had a misunderstanding with don Andreas, a big disagreement about the left-side work. These things belong to the left side. He was looking for this teaching, and I don’t know what happened, what the disagreement was about, but don Andreas denied the teaching to him. Don Manuel, on the other hand, is a very special person because he is kamasqa: he received the teachings directly in a vision from Christ.

Joan: You have told me and others how special don Andreas was and don Manuel is. But this is an example of how the knowledge did not get passed on. At least not to any of the Q’ero we have worked with and learned from.

Don Juan: Absolutely, don Andreas was a master, and he was the teacher of don Manuel and others, including me. I met him in August 1979. The next year he taught me the chunpi knowledge. I spent only thirty days with him. I was to go back in 1981 to receive the karpay for the munaynioq [owner of munay] but I got involved in some business in Cuszo and so did not return.

Joan: I am thinking of how things work elsewhere, or at least of how we think things work. Many of us think of a mystical or shamanic system as being a body of knowledge, and that body of knowledge—maybe not in total, but in least in part—gets passed on over and over from teacher to student in a systematized way.

Don Juan: Yes, and in the past that was the way it was in Q’ero.

Joan: But Christianity and the pressures of social development have changed that?

Don Juan: No, it was not Christianity so much. In fact, the Christians have finally made an agreement for understanding the indigenous beliefs. It was more the pressure of development, of progress, of becoming citizens.

Joan: So it was cultural.

Don Juan: Yes. Everyone was beginning to be educated, to go to school. And another thing—it was terrible in Peru—was the influence of the Marxists. The Marxists were like the Evangelicals.

Almost all the school teachers in Peru at that time took a Marxist position, for the last twenty years or more. They saw this knowledge as foolish things that belonged to the ancestors and said they are lies and deceptions. Some people in don Jesús’s community laugh at him, because the teachers tell them that his knowledge is foolish knowledge, superstitions.

Joan: Except for the chunpi work, there seems to be a somewhat robust tradition in Q’ero.

Don Juan: This is the place where it is the strongest.

Joan: Still, when I asked the Q’ero paqos about so many of the things you have taught me and that the old masters taught you, they don’t know most of them. This situation is so unfortunate. And the prophecies, such as the prophecy of the Three Children of God and the rise of the Runakay Mosoq [the New Humanity]—it was told to you by don Andreas, and also I think by don Benito. . . Don Andreas was a master Q’ero paqo, most people studied with him. Yet the Q’ero paqos we have talked to don’t know that prophecy.  

Don Juan: Well, don Mariano Apaza Marchaqa talked about the three eras.  

Joan: Yes, but only in the most rudimentary way. And in Christian terms, in Biblical terms. How did you gather this prophecy, from whom? Don Andreas, don Benito, and don Manuel Q’espi?

Don Juan: Don Andreas had a very complete version. Don Benito, too. Don Andreas talked about the three eras as those of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. He had some very nice thoughts about the Taripay Pacha.

[The three children of God, which can be thought of as the rise of three civilizations, also can be equated with three World Ages. They are the Dios Yaya Pacha, the Age of God the Father; Dios Churi Pacha, the Age of God the Son; and Dios Espíritu Santo Pacha, the Age of God the Holy Spirit. They correlate to the older Andean version of the three World Ages; the Purun Runa Pacha, the Age of the Wild Men; Wari Runa Pacha, the Age of the Solar Men; and Wiraqocha Runa Pacha, the Age of the Metaphysical Men. The Taripay Pacha is part of the third World Age, which we are currently in, during which we have an opportunity to individually and collectively evolve spiritually.]

Joan: And don Manuel?

 Don Juan: No, he had only pieces.

Joan: Well, I am still stuck in this stubborn loop of incredulity about what appears to have been forgotten or lost. I can’t help but think that if the prophetic tradition is strong in the Andes, most of the paqos, or at least the alto mesayoqs, would know this prophecy. How else can it live? It must be sustained if it is considered essential, as this prophecy seems to be.

Don Juan: I think that in the last generation you could find almost all the paqos of Q’ero carried the prophecy or parts of it. But almost all those people have died. The next generation are for the most part focused on other things, not on preserving the knowledge, techniques, or prophecy.

You know the way we must work! I am an anthropologist, and you are like one. We take all the information we have the opportunity to gather, and we organize the information to view the whole of the different pieces. It’s an amazing thing that usually people who participate in a tradition don’t know the big picture.

When we meet with the paqos, we ask them to give us the big panorama, with a lot of details. In some ways they give us a lot of details. Remember their talk [during the interviews for my book] about death: the trip after death, the life in the volcano, the people there, the role of the priest, the angel helping people to go to the other side? We are always asking for more. I think with the material you have, if you integrate it harmoniously, you have an incredible story to share. Try to handle to material you have now.

Joan: Yes, that’s what I am trying to do. Despite the interviews for the book and all we learned, I am fairly new to the tradition. And so, of course, my knowledge is so much less than yours that it’s a challenge for me to integrate it. You can make interpretative leaps that I cannot. I worry about the very big likelihood that I will misunderstand.

Don Juan: Let me tell you something. One day I went with don Manuel [Q’espi] to Moray. In Moray, there was a group of workers of the National Institute of Culture. They were fixing the ruins of Moray. I asked don Manuel what he thought about the work of these men. He told me, “They are fixing this place for the return of the Inka.” These are Inka houses, and they were working to restore them so the Inka could return. That is what he thought, and that is the way you find new information. The thing that is very interesting is that the workers don’t have any interpretation about this. They are simply doing their jobs because they receive pay. But for this alto mesayoq, for don Manuel, they were preparing the way for the Inka. Don Manuel is coming from a totally different perspective.

With only this piece of information, we have the right to affirm the prophecy of the Return of the Inka. This is real for this man! The Inka is alive and going to return. You know, in your records from your interviews in Urubamba [for the book], you have a part that says something direct, like “The Inka is alive and living in Paytiti.” They say, “We are his grandchildren” or something like that. That’s what they say. They never say, “We have a messianic prophecy that says the Inka is going to return. We are his descendants and we are waiting for his return. The Inka is alive and we will restore his houses so he can come. . .” In only a few cases will we get that type of information. We need to infer and interpret from the short, direct information.

Joan: Okay, Maestro. I will continue to do my best. And there is always the challenge of the Quechua translations. Remember the guinea pig mess with don Juan [Paquar Espinosa], when I was asking about his misha [personal sacred bundle] and the khuyas [sacred stones and other objects] in it? And he said there were no khuyas in his misha. And I asked again, and he said the same thing. And then we realized that instead of using the word “khuya,” the Quechua translator had been using “quwi!” Poor don Juan thought I was insisting there must be guinea pigs in his misha! This is not easy work, Maestro. It’s a good thing we can laugh!

Hucha Mikhuy: Digesting Heavy Energy

~ Q'enti Wasi ~ 1 Comment

During a recent ice storm, I spent my time housebound revisiting old transcripts of private conversations, small group discussions, and early classes with don Juan Nuñez del Prado. Within these folders was a trove of insights into hucha mikhuy (also spelled hucha miqhuy), which inspired me to compile and share these teachings with you. (You might also want to revisit last month’s blog post in which I discuss the basics of hucha mikhuy.)

Hucha mikhuy is an advanced technique used to transform or release hucha, or heavy energy. It is applied in three ways:

  • Self-Refinement: Transforming our own accumulated heavy energy.
  • Service to Others: Clearing hucha for the benefit of another person.
  • Relational Empowerment: Refining the energetic flow between ourselves and others to reduce any hucha within a relationship.

Regardless of how we apply this energy “tool”—as don Juan calls it—the core process remains the same. We draw the hucha into the qosqo ñawi (the mystical eye or energy center at the navel/belly), intending for our spiritual stomach to “digest” the heaviness. The key to successful digestion lies in perceiving how the incoming stream of hucha transforms as it enters the qosqo and the digestion process begins: The single stream of hucha splits into two distinct flows. A portion of the hucha is accelerated back to its natural state of sami (light living energy). This refined energy diverges from the main stream of hucha and flows upward through the body, empowering us. The remaining hucha, which is not digested, flows down into Mother Earth, who graciously receives and expertly transforms it.

Through this practice, we truly come to understand that hucha is a kind of “food” for us and for Mother Earth. Don Juan beautifully explains this reciprocal relationship: “Mother Earth is a co-creator with the cosmos. She propels our evolution. Everything is sami, and only human beings create hucha. She recycles our hucha, which propels us forward. She feeds us sami as a kind of food and we feed her hucha, which is food for her. This is ayni, sacred reciprocity. When we do hucha mikhuy, we are following her example. She is the master at recycling things, and with hucha mikhuy we learn to recycle energy as Mother Earth does. Hucha mikhuy increases our sami: with the self, our relations to others, and the world. We become Mother Earth’s ally, helping her to digest human beings’ heavy energy. When we are digesting heavy energy in a relationship or for another person, we are doing three things: first we are giving food to Mother Earth. She is the best at hucha mikhuy, and she loves hucha! Second, we are clearing some of the other person’s hucha, helping that person. Third, we are empowering ourselves. There is a big impact because we are doing three things at the same time as we digest heavy energy.”

Don Juan further explained the ayni dynamic this way: “We don’t have Ten Commandments in this tradition. We have only one commandment, and it is ayni. If you receive something, you must give something. It is the moral rule to share. You have the right to increase your personal power, but if you do, you also must share your power with other people. We are not looking just to accumulate power; we are looking to share it. You know, there is nothing heavy about money, about accumulating a lot of money, if you share it with others who need it. In our Westernized cultures, we sometimes want money just to have money, and the more, the better! But in the Andes, we share what we accumulate. This is the law of ayni.”

Hucha mikhuy, don Juan says, is a “spiritual tool, and so it is a matter of training.” It is considered an advanced energy practice, and so there is a protocol for learning it. When don Benito Qoriwaman taught hucha mikhuy to don Juan, he explained this step-by-step sequence, and we would all do well to follow it. First, we work on ourselves, and to do that we must hone our ability to perceive energy. Energy is always coming toward us and through us, and we want to learn to perceive energy as it touches the “skin” of our poq’po, or energy bubble. Our poq’po, according to don Juan, “is sensitive, just like the skin of our body is. If you touch the skin on your arm, you will feel that touch. The poq’po has an outer boundary, which we can think of as its own kind of skin. When energy flows meet it, they are like fingers touching the skin of our body. We are sensitive to that energy having touched us. It might take practice to develop that level of sensitivity to energy, but like anything else, with practice we will develop the ability to do just that.”

Once we are adept at perceiving energy flows, we move to the next step in learning hucha mikhuy: mastering control of the mystical eye (qosqo ñawi) at our belly (qosqo). Don Juan explains, “You must learn to work with your qosqo, which is your spiritual stomach. You will feel how you can open and close your qosqo ñawi, the ‘eye’ or energy center there. You must learn to use this ñawi like the diaphragm of a camera. You don’t start with your qosqo ñawi wide open. You open it only a little. And then as the energy flows in you will feel something like a finger touching you. In the beginning, you may only feel a little flow of hucha into the qosqo. Then you use intention to open the qosqo ñawi more, and you will feel the periphery of the ñawi enlarging. Once you learn to control your qosqo ñawi, then you learn how to digest, to use your spiritual stomach. You just command it to digest, and it will do it! You will feel the flow of hucha coming into the qosqo and split into two streams: one of sami flowing up and one of undigested hucha flowing down. That’s it! Don’t overthink it. Just trust that your spiritual stomach knows what to do.”

To understand the energy dynamic, we must remember that hucha is simply slow sami (light living energy). As the hucha is digested in our spiritual stomach, some of the hucha is sped back up to its natural state and some it will resist transformation. Hence, the split flow of sami moving up and into us and hucha moving down to Mother Earth. That double flow is a key characteristic of “digesting” hucha. Don Juan says, “If you do not feel the split stream, then you are not digesting. So, you just stop, and you can try again another time.”

As an aside: If you are like me, sometimes you will not feel the split stream. When that happens, I don’t stop the hucha mikhuy session, because I trust my spiritual stomach more than my own perceptual sensitivity! Some days I simply am more perceptual than others. As don Juan said, our qosqo knows what to do, and I take that literally.

Once we know how to do hucha mikhuy, the learning protocol continues by working with varying degrees of hucha. “Don’t rush,” don Juan says. “Follow the teaching. Practice. Learn step by step. First learn to perceive your bubble and energy flows, and then your qosqo ñawi. Learn how to open and close that ñawi. Then learn to digest your own heavy energy, the hucha on the surface of your poq’po. When you know how to do that for yourself, you will know how to do it for another person. Start by processing the hucha of a person close to you, someone who is neutral in your relations with them or who you feel you have only a little hucha with. Then move to a person who is heavier, where your relationship is a bit uglier. Once you master the technique, it is a tool to use with a person who is ugly, who is heavy or heavy in their dealings with you. But do not go there first! You take it a step at a time.”

When learning hucha mikhuy, students commonly ask if there is any danger of taking in too much hucha, and, if so, if that can be harmful. The answer to both concerns is “No.” The worst that can happen is that we will not be able to digest the energy, and so we simply stop the practice. Don Juan reminds us that “when dealing with hucha, you are not touching something dark or negative. You are dealing with something heavy. Think of trying to lift a heavy stone in your yard and you cannot, and that is all that will happen—you cannot! So you stop trying, and come back to it later.”

As counterintuitive as it seems, any discomfort we might experience during hucha mikhuy is not from taking in hucha (even the heaviest of hucha), but from accumulating too much sami in our body and poq’po. “When you are digesting a lot of hucha,” don Juan explains, “you will be taking a lot of sami up and into yourself. So, sometimes you might feel a little too full, a little dizzy or something, like when you drink too much alcohol! You don’t have to stop digesting the hucha. Just send some of that sami up out of the top of your head and to someone who can use more sami. Share it! Then you will feel better, and through ayni you are putting some sami in the bank. If you send sami to someone who needs it, it doesn’t stop there. Maybe one day you will find yourself in a situation where you need more energy and you don’t have it. Then you can ask for it, and you will receive it. The living universe will know how you shared and it will send some extra sami to you. You can ask for it and receive it!”