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A Therapeutic Relationship Between People and Their Geography in the Andes

[Note:  this blog has grown to include a large number of posts.  To see what is available you can view the Table of Contents (which organizes most of the posts by topic) or the Archive of All Posts (which organizes all of the posts by date written).  You can click on those  links, or on any page you can go to the menu on the right side and scroll down to select the Table of Contents or Archive.]


A Therapeutic Relationship Between People and Their Geography in the Andes

Gordon, O. E. (2001) A Therapeutic Relationship Between People and Their Geography in the Andes. Clio’s Psyche, 7(4), 184-185.

From the Editor (me 21 years later):  As I describe in my previous post, I have decided to share some of the academic papers and articles I wrote during my early days of exploring the Andean Cosmovision.  After my first paper Therapeutic Metaphors in Andean Mysticism, I was left with a feeling of dissatisfaction.  I felt like I had written it from too much within the Western, scientific, academic worldview, and that the beauty and value of the Andean Cosmovision–what makes it truly different than the Western worldview–was left standing outside in the rain.

This article was my second attempt to write about the Cosmovision for an academic audience.  It was published in Clios’s Psyche, a psychological journal that focuses on the history of psychology with the goal of “Understanding the ‘Why’ of Culture, Current Events, History, and Society.”  When I submitted the article for consideration the editor wrote back and said he liked it but that it read as if I actually believed the Andean Cosmovision.  I wrote back saying that my goal was to present it in the way the Andean people had presented it to me.  I made a couple of small changes (adding the text printed in blue font below) and they published it.

The previous paper on Therapeutic Metaphors was rather lengthy as it was a handout for an oral presentation.  I only had 20 minutes for my presentation but the handout could be as long as I wanted it to be.  This paper on A Therapeutic Relationship is quite short as it had to fit within the constraints set by the journal.


For the past six years I have been involved in a research project with indigenous people who live in isolated villages in the high Andes of Peru, near the old Inca capital of Cuzco. One of the more striking aspects of their lives is the therapeutic way in which they interact with their geography. They engage in meditative-like processes that experientially connect them to nature and that establish a loving and mutually supportive relationship with the non-human world around them. Within this relationship they can call upon their geography to serve as a therapeutic resource for problem resolution and personal growth, and this in turn leads to a sense of intimate connection to the Cosmos, which has additional therapeutic effects. I will begin by describing their world view from the perspective of one standing within it, and then move to my more familiar stance as a Western psychologist trying to make sense of a philosophical tradition that has little in common with our own.

Many of the meditations I have encountered in the Andes involve interacting with elements of nature (e.g. the earth, a river, a tree) with specific therapeutic outcomes in mind. The actual process for connecting with nature–for example a river–was translated as ‘blending your spirit with the spirit of the river’. The way to accomplish this blending is through ‘intent’. Several different definitions are possible for the term, a useful one is to think of ‘intent’ as ‘sincere pretending’. Through this process of ‘sincere pretending’ subjectively real experiences emerge. After experiencing the meditations for a period of time I found that the ‘pretending’ aspect began to recede in favor of an experiential understanding of ‘intent’ and how to evoke it.

The selection of which element of nature with which to connect depends upon the type of effect that is desired. For example, sitting quietly on the bank of a river you can connect your spirit with that of the river and have your worries, neuroses, and various other problems be gently washed downstream. You can sit with your back against a tree and connect with it to learn how to work with vertical (transcendent) energy, and how to keep rooted while reaching for the stars. You can stand in the wind and can ask it to help you expand your consciousness. As the sun rises in the morning you can ask it to help you focus and mobilize your energy for the tasks you face during the day, while at sunset it can help you diffuse your energy in preparation for entering the mysteries of the evening (the unconscious and dream time).

Specific to the Andean geography are the ‘Apus’, the great spiritual beings who are the majestic mountain peaks in the area around Cuzco. The Apus evolve spiritually, and when they do they grow an inch during the night. Consequently, high mountain peaks are some of the greatest spiritual beings on the planet. It is possible to connect your spirit with the Apus, with the effect dependent upon the nature and role in the Cosmos of that particular Apu (e.g. one Apu creates order out of the energy of the universe while a different Apu rips that order apart).

Of all the aspects of nature, the one that plays the greatest role in the processes I have learned is the Pachamama, the great mother who is the planet earth. A simple meditation for beginning an exploration of these processes is to find an appropriate place to sit on the earth, and then just experience sitting in the lap of the Pachamama, the way a child experiences sitting in the lap of a perfectly loving and nourishing mother. Another meditation is to lie on the ground, bare your navel to the earth, and then give the Pachamama all of your problems and worries, or ask her to give you what you need to solve your problems within yourself. These simple processes can lead to peaceful and supportive experiences.

Relationships are bi-directional, and thus within this approach there is a corresponding responsibility for humans to reciprocate the love and nourishment offered by nature. All of the ceremonies I attended in the Andes involved despachos, offerings made to various aspects of nature, particularly to the Pachamama. These offerings are not payments or bribes to nature for favors granted or requested; they are instead a nourishing of a relationship, as a lover gives flowers to a beloved. This has, in turn, evoked within me and many others involved in this project a greater desire to support the health and well-being of all of nature, not as a moral obligation but as a natural act of caring for a loved one.

In addition to the benefits of calling upon specific aspects of geography for specific therapeutic effects, another level of benefit arises from the general relationship with nature that is engendered by these processes. All of these meditations presuppose that nature can and will support and nourish us; that the earth will absorb our problems, that the river will take away our anxieties, that the wind will expand our consciousness, and that a tree will help us become enlightened. This can evoke a strong sense of validation and support for our existence as children of nature, compared to what we may have experienced as children of Western society. This, in turn, can assuage issues of purpose, meaning, belonging, and connection to life.

This concludes my description of the experience of this Andean approach, now I would like to turn to the issue of the actual validity of the world view which supports these experiences. Within psychology there are many ways to explain the therapeutic effects of the meditations without having to believe that there really are spirits to be found in nature. For example, one approach is to view the meditations and resulting experiences within the framework of how we project elements of ourselves upon other people and other things. Another approach is to view the meditations as therapeutic metaphors, where we experience the river as being able to wash away our worries because that is what rivers mean to us, they wash things away. While these approaches serve the logic of science, they also move us away from the beauty of the experience its true essence, as analytic thinking often does. We could, instead, accept the existence of a spirit in the river as being literally true, and believe that it is willing to aid us within the context of a loving relationship. Our Western worldview offers only these two options; that the meditations have an effect because we experience reality ‘as if’ the river had a spirit, or that the river ‘really does’ have a spirit.

The anthropologist Gregory Bateson, in his efforts to approach the issue of the sacred (in R.E. Donaldson, ed., A Sacred Unity, 1991, pp. 265-270 ), directly addresses this dichotomy. He points out that in the 1500’s, Catholics and Protestants were killing each other, and being willing to be killed, over just such a choice, arguing about whether the wine of the Mass really is the blood of Christ, or just stands for the blood of Christ in a metaphorical sort of way. Bateson proposes that both viewpoints are in some sense anti-sacred, that the sacred lies in coming at the issue from another direction. It calls for a mode of thought that is unconcerned with the Aristotelian distinction of true or false–so emphasized in both science and Western religion–and is instead concerned with beauty, harmony, health, and the sacred. This other mode of thought is curiously slippery to conscious analysis and is inexpressible by prose. We know this mode, however, for we use it when we enter a theater, approach a work of art, stand at a vista and view a sunset, or sit with our backs against a tree.

 

Oakley Gordon, Ph.D., is a professor of psychology at Southern Utah University. In addition to his research in Peru, he is interested in Java programming. His most recent publication concerns the pedagogical issues involved in delivering an education over the internet.

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Therapeutic Metaphors in Andean Mysticism

[Note:  this blog has grown to include a large number of posts.  To see what is available you can view the Table of Contents (which organizes most of the posts by topic) or the Archive of All Posts (which organizes all of the posts by date written).  You can click on those  links, or on any page you can go to the menu on the right side and scroll down to select the Table of Contents or Archive.]

In my stories about my travels to Peru to study the Andean Cosmovision (Trip 1, Trip 2, Trip 3), I talk about the evolution that was going on in my understanding of the Cosmovision and how I was attempting to work this all into my career as a university professor.  In the story I am currently writing (covering the fourth trip), I have arrived at the point in my career where I began to write articles and present papers at academic conferences.   In the story I talk briefly (just a few sentences) about the papers and articles, just enough to illustrate how my thoughts about all of this began to evolve and blossom.   It has occurred to me, however, that I would like to make the full articles available for you.  This first paper (presented in 1997) is rather long and is  more scientifically oriented than my later writings but you might find it interesting and I would like to share it with you.


Therapeutic Metaphors in Andean Mysticism

Gordon, O. E. (1997, April). Therapeutic Metaphors in Andean Mysticism. A paper presented to The Utah Academy of Science, Arts & Letters.

 

From the Editor (me 25 years later):  This was my first attempt to step beyond the context of my university and share the Andean Cosmovision with a wider academic audience.  In this paper, much more so than in my later writings, I stand within the Western scientific worldview, using thoughts about the nature of science to explain and validate my efforts to study the Cosmovision.

As I mention in my “Editor’s Notes” at the end of the paper, when I finished this paper and delivered it to the Academy I was dissatisfied with my approach, feeling that I had sacrificed the beauty and value of the Andean Cosmovision in order to stay within the realm of science.  Still, it was an important early step for me in my endeavor to understand and present the Cosmovision, and it gave me the opportunity to cite some of my favorite articles and topics within psychology (e.g. cybernetics and metaphorical thinking).

 

Abstract

This paper presents the preliminary results from a project to model shamanistic approaches to healing. The tradition examined was that of the Peruvian Andes, as represented by the practices of several Andean paq’os (the indigenous term for spiritual leader / healer / shaman). Observations were made during 27 days of workshops in the United States by an Andean paq’o, followed by 32 days in Peru working with paq’os of the Q’ero and Mollamarca people. While far short of an exposure necessary to create a general model of Andean mysticism, specific pieces of the general pattern became evident. One such piece, the use of therapeutic metaphors, holds promise for promoting psychological health across cultures. The project illuminates the problems of, and a solution to, integrating scientific and indigenous world-views.

Introduction

Always the more beautiful answer who asks the more difficult question. — e. e. cummings

In 1994, I became involved in a project to create a psychological model of a shamanistic approach to healing. The goal was to determine what aspects of the relationship between a shaman and a patient predict a successful outcome. The project was part of a larger endeavor to seek beneficial psychological patterns in indigenous cultures for the purpose of importing those patterns into our own culture. Of particular interest were societies that developed outside of Western philosophical influence, specifically outside of those aspects of Western thought attributed to the philosophy of René Descartes.

The term epistemology refers to a society’s doctrine concerning the nature of knowledge, what it means to know something, and how such knowledge is acquired and validated.  Thus, epistemology lies in the very foundation of a society’s view of reality.  The anthropologist Gregory Bateson proposed that many of our society’s more intractable problems arise from Western society’s epistemology which has its roots in Descartes’ dualistic model of reality.  Bateson argued that the problems inherent in Descartes’ epistemology are evident in the two opposing camps that have arisen from Descartes’ dualism; scientific materialism and new-age spiritualism (Bateson, 1972, 1991; Bateson & Bateson, 1987). In looking for significant, new, therapeutic patterns for Western culture, therefore, it may be particularly useful to turn attention to indigenous cultures that developed completely outside of Cartesian influence. One such culture is that of the indigenous people of the Andes, the focus of this project.

The potential of tapping into the Andean world-view was recognized by the ethno-astronomer William Sullivan (1996).

[I realized] the possibility that the Andean civilization had been fundamentally influenced by a teaching of staggering antiquity. And if such a teaching was alive and thriving in the New World at the time of the Conquest, this meant that Andean civilization had preserved, right up to the very threshold of the modern era, a portion of the human legacy thought only to exist in fragmentary form among various shards of the record of Old World antiquity…I held my mind open to the possibility that I might well be looking at a stratum of human thought that lay at bedrock… (pp. 51-52)

The overall framework of the project was to model therapeutic psychological processes in the healing ceremonies of the Andes.  I also envisioned the project as building a bridge between two world-views, that of the Andes and that of Western science. I knew that entering the project as a scientist-looking-to-test-a-theory would blind me from the novel patterns I was hoping to discover in a non-Cartesian culture. On the other hand, to simply experience the Andean perspective without bringing something back to science would take away much of the value of the project. My plan, therefore, was to create a model that would evolve over time, moving back and forth from experience to model building, and that would eventually lead to an integration of the two world-views. I greatly underestimated the scope of that task…as well as its beauty and significance.

 

Method

Meta-methodological Considerations

The methodology and outcomes of this study do not fit within the normal mold of psychological inquiry. Thus, it may be useful to make explicit some of the considerations underlying the approach. This should enhance an understanding of the later details as well as provide a conceptual framework for explaining the evolution of the project itself.

Epistemology

While I sought to make observations that were relatively theory-free, it is impossible for observations to be epistemologically-free. To claim that observations can be free of any epistemology is to have a bad epistemology.  But, as Keeney (1983) points out, “The claim to have no epistemology is ‘bad’ only if the individual uses such a claim to avoid responsibil­ity for his ideas, perceptions, and decisions. Having no conscious awareness of one’s epistemology is not necessarily bad, although such unawareness may be risky. I would prefer to say that the claim to have no epistemology reveals an epistemology that does not include a con­scious awareness of itself.” (p. 13).   In the case of this project, which involves looking outside of my society’s epistemology for therapeutic patterns, I did not assume that I could proceed with no epistemology in place, but instead that I should proceed with an epistemology that might allow me to step out of the Western, Cartesian-based, worldview.

The epistemology adopted for the project was that provided by Gregory Bateson in his work on cybernetics. This epistemology seemed appropriate in several ways. First, Bateson presented cybernetic epistemology as a replacement to that of Descartes, which is relevant given that the goal of this project was to step out of a Cartesian-based view of reality. Second, Bateson’s epistemology resolves dilemmas that occur when our Western materialistic science attempts to address the topic of spirituality (which resides in the opposing camp of Cartesian dualism). Spirituality is part of many indigenous therapeutic processes, including that of the Andes, and a non-Cartesian epistemology was necessary to resolve the problems that arose in modeling this aspect of the process. And third, as a systems-based epistemology, cybernetics places a greater emphasis on relationships than it does on relata. I anticipated that the significant contributions from indigenous cultures would be found in the way they integrate the various facets of their internal experience (i.e. in the relationship between those facets) as well as in the way they relate to each other and to the Cosmos.

The Modeling Process

The goal of the project was to create a model of Andean therapeutic processes.  Given that the model was to bridge epistemologies, rather than remaining purely within the Western epistemology, an expansive view of the term model is called for.  The conceptualization of the term used in this project came from one of the founders of the field of cybernetics, the mathematician W.R. Ashby in his chapter Analysis of the system to be modeled in the book The Process of Model-Building in the Behavioral Sciences (1970).

One of the assumptions underlying the Western worldview is that intellectual constructs of reality, including scientifically constructed, mathematical models, reflect the deepest level of reality, that the models reflect the laws that govern reality, and thus are meta to reality.  Ashby disagreed, stating, “I would like then to start from the basic fact that every model of a real system is in one sense second-rate. Nothing can exceed, or even equal, the truth and accuracy of the real system itself. Every model is inferior, a distortion, a lie.” (p. 94).  No model can equal, let alone surpass, the aspect of reality being modelled,”…the truth is the whole system, not any extract of it” (p. 95).

If models are ‘second-rate’, ‘distortions’, ‘lies’ then what is the point of creating them? Ashby proposes that models are important for purely pragmatical reasons, they make something that is very complicated easier to understand, and it is upon that criterion that models should be evaluated; “I shall take as a basis the thesis that the first virtue of a model is to be useful” (p. 96). In accordance, this project’s goal of modeling the Andean therapeutic processes focused on pragmatics, arriving at a therapeutically useful bridging of Western and Andean approaches, rather than focusing on theory.

Moving on to the consideration of what form will such a model take.  The basic nature of a model is to present a similar structure, or set of processes, as the system being modeled. This can take a variety of forms. As an example, Ashby describes four possible models of a cat’s brain, each justifiable in its own context (p. 97):

  1. An exact anatomical model in wax.
  2. A suitably shaped jelly that vibrates, when concussed, with just the same waves as occur in the real brain.
  3. A biochemical soup that reacts biochemically just as does the cat’s brain when drugs are added.
  4. A programmed computer that gives just the same responses to auditory stimuli as does the living brain.

Ashby states that no one form of a model is inherently better than another, and that the selection of an appropriate form for the model should be driven by the questions that generate the need to make the model. The questions driving this project were those of exploration (i.e., “What therapeutic patterns exist in the Andean world?”); expression (i.e., “How can those patterns be expressed in a manner that can be understood and evaluated by western psychology?”); and integration (i.e., “How can processes from a mystical approach be translated into scientific terms without losing their essence?”). As the model was to evolve as a product of an ongoing integration of the Andean and scientific world views, no ‘a priori’ limitations were set concerning the final form of the model, other than the criteria that it should address those questions.

Co-evolution of Methodology and Results

During the early stages of the project the definition, direction, methodology and results went through a series of reciprocal changes. As the process of searching for an appropriate foundation upon which to proceed provided much of the value of the project, a description of this process is given below.

The project began at a workshop in Utah, in 1994, entitled “Modeling a Healer”.  The workshop was sponsored by several Western psychotherapeutic organizations and individuals.  The healer they brought in to be modelled was don Américo Yábar from the Andes of Peru.  Don Américo had reached a level of mastery in several Peruvian mystical traditions, and had also obtained a western education, which provided us with a unique resource to bridge the two cultures, a goal which he shared.  Our goal was to arrive at a model of his verbal and nonverbal patterns in establishing a therapeutic relationship with his patients.

We began with the assumption that don Américo represented a shamanistic approach to healing. One of the first shifts in the project was away from defining the task as one of modeling a shaman to defining the task as one of modeling a paq’o (the Andean term for mystic/healer), for don Américo is a paq’o. The term “shaman” has its origins in the Tungus people of Siberia and originally was used to refer to the spiritual healers of that tradition. The use of the term within psychology has grown, however, to the point where it is now commonly used to refer to virtually all healers/mystics/seers/spiritual-leaders from all indigenous cultures from the past 100,000 years. As the scope of the term has enlarged to encompass so many traditions, it has lost much of its descriptive value. Various psychologists have proposed more specific definitions of the term (see Peters, 1989; Walsh, 1989, 1994), but their descriptions fail to accurately portray much of what was being offered by don Américo paq’o. Consequently, to avoid inaccurate generalizations the more specific term of “paq’o” will be used in the remainder of this paper.

The structure of the workshop was to invite the paq’o to demonstrate the Andean approach to healing within a context where those processes could be modeled. Information was gathered from individuals who participated within the ceremonies as well as those that stood back to observe the interaction between those involved. Audio and video recordings were made of most of the workshop, and the audio recordings were transcribed. Those variables that a cybernetic epistemology would predict might be relevant were examined; including the environmental, behavioral, cognitive, communicational, and relational aspects of the healing interaction.

The five-day workshop proved to be too short to develop a sufficient model of the approach being offered. There was enough time, however, to evoke personally significant therapeutic effects in virtually all of the participants, which in turn led to sufficient interest to support additional workshops.2 Many of the participants continued their participation in later workshops to pursue personal outcomes, or to gather therapeutic patterns for their professional practice. Of the original modeling team, I was the only one to pursue the goal of developing a model for the purpose of contributing to the academic, psychological literature. I subsequently participated in an additional 22 days of workshops by the paq’o in the United States, and then spent 32 days in Peru (May 1996 and March 1997) working with paq’os of the Q’ero and Mollamarca people. During the time I spent with the Andean people, the scope of the model, the form of the model, and the modeling process itself continued to evolve. The scope of the model grew as I realized the healing process went beyond the relationship between the paq’o and the patient, to include their relationships with the rest of the Cosmos as well. Thus, an understanding of the tradition being modeled required an understanding of their Cosmology, and I enlarged the scope of the model to include the larger perspective of the Andean Cosmovision (the most accurate descriptive name for the Andean worldview).

The form of the model also shifted as more information became available. The Andean people draw several distinctions within their perspective that are an inherent part of their tradition. An understanding of these distinctions is necessary to understand both the form of the model and the model itself.

Paña and Lloq’e

One distinction made in the Andean Cosmology is between the paña and the lloq’e. The paña is represented by the right side of the body, and involves our ordinary, everyday, culturally-driven experience of reality. Verbal expression is of the paña, as is our experience of the world as existing of independent objects. Both science and religious dogma rely on symbolic (mathematical or verbal) representation and reside within the paña. The lloq’e is represented by the left side of the body, and involves a mysterious, enigmatic, non-ordinary experience of reality. While the lloq’e is, by definition, ineffable, a verbal description that points in the correct direction is to say that the lloq’e experiences objects of the world as interconnected bundles of energetic filaments rather than as independent objects. In the reality of the lloq’e, there is less distinction between animate and inanimate objects, as everything is seen as consisting of a vital, interconnected, energy.

Remembering that the goal of the project was to create a model that was informed3 by the approach being modeled, the Andean distinction between paña and lloq’e should influence the form of the model. The question is, can a part of the system to be modeled that asserts it is beyond all symbolic representation be included in the model? There is historical precedence for such an apparently paradoxical model. It can be found in the ancient Taoist writing by Lao Tzu, The Tao Te Ching, (trans. 1972) when it addresses the nature of its central principle “The Tao”. The first line of the book is “The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao”.

There is also some utility in communicating that some aspect of a model is ineffable. The Greek Cratylus (circa 500 B. C.), apparently dissatisfied with the unbroachable gulf between reality and symbolic representations of reality, refused to use speech and went around pointing at things. Unfortunately, he never told anyone why he was doing that and consequently his communication was ineffective. In a model that addresses the ineffable, it may still be useful to use words to indicate that part of the model is beyond words.

Yachay, Munay, and Llankay

Another aspect of Andean mysticism is a distinction between three energy centers, or aspects of existence, that can be found within the human being. The yachay is the center of intellect, located in our head. The munay is the center of our emotions, located in our heart. The llankay is the center of our physical manifestation, our ability to act in the world, and is located in the balance point of our body. The Andean Cosmovision, and the processes I experienced during this research, are directed at all three levels. In my experiential exploration of this system I have experienced–in addition to my intellectual insights–tremendous shifts in my emotional reactions to the world. I have also experienced alterations in my diet, physical activity, and lifestyle; changes that have occurred not through proscription by the paq’os but by listening to the changing needs of my body. Traditional, academic models are intellectual but the intellect is only part of the system to be modeled. This provides yet another challenge to creating a model of Andean Cosmology.

It became obvious to me that to experience the Andean worldview I needed to get out of a purely intellectual perspective and fully experience what was being offered. I abandoned the approach of trying to gather information as an outside observer measuring various variables. I adopted, instead, the method of fully experiencing the processes without academic filters. Later, I would go back over my experiences, and with the help of transcripts and notes, apply my intellect to the creation of a communicable model.

 

Results

My participation in the ceremonies and processes of the paq’os led to a dramatic series of changes in my thinking, my emotions, and in my body; as well as corresponding alterations in my relationships between the various aspects of myself, between myself and other people, and between myself and the natural world. I did not know if it would be possible to build a bridge between those experiences and the type of discourse required by science.

I could not. Many of my experiences in the project are not accessible to intellectual discourse, and I found my heart rebelling against attempts to force the beauty of my experiences through the filters of science. The project of creating a model did not fail, however, due to two developments. One development was that I found that part of what I learned could be understood and expressed in a way that could contribute to psychology. The second development was that in my effort to present my experiences in a way that would not destroy their true nature, I was driven to seek a way to integrate the Andean Cosmovision with the Western worldview. The successful completion of this integration, presented in the last section of the paper, was a necessary prerequisite to writing the following model.

The Model

One part of the overall pattern of my training with the paq’os stands out as being (a) explicable, (b) something that can be pulled out of the larger pattern without doing it serious injustice, and (c) of potential therapeutic use in technological cultures. It also provides a useful context for describing the process of bridging the Andean and scientific world-views without doing injustice to either one.

The pattern of interest involves a set of processes that have in common the formation of a connection between the individual and some aspect of nature (e.g. wind, river, earth, sun, tree). The creation of such a relationship allows the individual to tap a vast reservoir of therapeutic resources. I’ll begin the description of the pattern at the mystical level at which I first encountered it, and then move into creating a bridge between the processes and science. In doing so, the value of the modeling process becomes evident; as the freedom to experience the processes as offered is seen to lead to revelations regarding the nature of science, while the insistence of bringing science into the description is seen to lead to a greater applicability of the process.

The following is an Andean meditative process for connecting with the spirit of a river, as presented by don Américo.  The goal of the meditation is to cleanse oneself of negative feelings, and to learn how to flow through life. I will first present the process and then take a look at how to approach it from a scientific/academic perspective.  I have edited this and the following transcripts to enhance the clarity of the instructions and their underlying concepts.

The River

All the previous work that we have done has been performed with the purpose of peeling the onion inside of us. So, as we are peeling the onion–taking the layers off–all the mental obsessions, the internal dialogs, the defense mechanisms are dissipating little by little. This will allow the way to a new perception, so that we can modify the perception of the body, and then work with another state of consciousness. What we are primarily doing is moving down from the mind to the heart. Everything is trapped here, in the mind, where we understand or don’t understand…

Each of us picks which side of the house we want [paña or lloq’e]. If you are interested in the other side, then you have to pass to the other side. To know the other side … you have to know the hallway, you have to go through that hallway, with your own experience.

So now we are going to work with the river. This work is a therapy that is beautiful and pure. It is the work with the spirit of the river…. We are going to be connected with the spirit of the river, so that we are going to clean ourselves, and purify ourselves, with the fluidness and the vibrations of the river…. The indigenous Andeans, in the canyons of the high altitudes, when they feel sad, or they are tired, then they go and lay down on top of a rock by the river, like a lizard. And then they close their eyes, and they let the vibrations of the water and the wind flow through their body.

With intent, you can let any accumulation of energy flow with the vibrations of the river. With intense communication with the spirit of the water you will obtain not only a fluidness of vibrations, but also a natural therapy. It is very simple, and rare.

So, each one of us, we are going to look along the river, and we are going to do our work with the meditation. We are going to fuse ourselves with the spirit of the river… I’m going to suggest to each one of you to find the place along the riverside that is the most beautiful aesthetically for your body, and also the most comfortable for your body…. Look for the place that you really want for your body, and the position you want for your body. What I am suggesting is not to be rigid at all, because you are working with the spirit of the fluidness.

Don’t forget. You will be letting the river clear away any accumulation of energy you may have. An accumulation of energy–in your mind, in your feelings, in your body–will create a state of worry. And that worry will be translated into an illness. So, let it flow, all the vibrations from your body, in the currents of the river. Be quiet, completely in tune with nature. So, each one of you has to look for a place, and if you have any questions please ask them now.

Q: What do we do?

Find a spot, get comfortable, do nothing, and meditate, flow. In the right side [paña] don’t do, the answer is ‘not to do’. The ‘intention’ goes with doing. The ‘intent’ is just to connect yourself to the spirit of the river, and to let the energy flow, just very quietly, in the state of awareness, of consciousness, that it brings. It favors a lot the cleaning of the filaments. But you are not going to do it, the river is going to do it for you. Good luck…

The primary challenge in creating a scientific, psychological, model of the process described above is that the process presupposes an animistic universe (e.g. we are to blend our spirit with the spirit of the river). The term animism, in this context, fits the definition offered by Reber (1985), “The belief that all things animate or inanimate, living or not living, possess a soul or other form of spiritual essence that transcends the physical form.” (p. 36).

That there is a problem with integrating an animistic perspective with a scientific perspective can be seen towards the end of Reber’s definition. After giving various other uses of the term, Reber concludes with the following, “A number of gentle euphemisms have been coined to denote these ideas since the above meanings have tarnished the term so that there is a distinct reluctance to use it to represent anything that one would want others to take seriously.” (p. 37) And that, indeed, is the problem. How can science take an animistic viewpoint seriously?

I will begin by stating that animism (as defined here) and science are incompatible belief systems. At least I could not, in my attempt to integrate the two world views, bridge that gap. I could, perhaps, have taken a stand that they are mutually exclusive and yet both correct, but that would have been an abandonment of my goal to bring the two together in a unified perspective. I also found that my own skepticism of an animistic viewpoint was detracting from my participation in the processes being studied. I could not seriously adopt a perspective where my desk, my trash can, and my stapler had spirits residing within them. If I was having that problem then I could anticipate that others from my culture would experience similar problems. Thus, my goal of importing therapeutic processes from the Andean culture to my own culture was in jeopardy.

The resolution to this problem began with a startling comment by the paq’o. Someone had asked him about the use of crystals in healing. While he does not use crystals, he knows healers that do. He began to explain their use, that various colors of crystals can be used to cure various problems. For example, pink crystals are good for working on problems of the heart. And then, he looked at us and said, “You know it is not the crystal that is important, it is the color of the crystal.” He paused, and added “And, it is not really the color of the crystal, it is what the color means to us.” With that statement, all of the information I had gathered to that point suddenly shifted into a new organization.

An implication of his statement is that rivers can cleanse us and teach us how to flow through life because that is what rivers mean to us. The same can be said of the processes for connecting to other aspects of nature, that their ability to evoke therapeutic change is based upon our understanding of them. In other words, the processes and stories he had taught us could be viewed as metaphors, whose purpose was to connect our experiences of the natural world to corresponding physical, intellectual, and emotional processes within ourselves.

When I reframed my understanding of the processes being offered by the paq’o as being metaphors designed to access our own internal processes, I was free to fully experience them without my (valuable, but in this case, ill-timed) scientific skepticism interfering with the process. It also pointed to an established area of psychology where my research on Andean processes could be offered as a contribution, the area of ‘therapeutic metaphors’. I had my first glimpse of how to create a bridge from the mysticism of the Andes to the science of psychology.

Metaphors

The concept of ‘metaphor’ came to serve as a keystone for both threads of the project; the discovery and communication of therapeutic patterns in indigenous cultures, and the formation of a perspective that could encompass both a mystical and a scientific world-view. It is thus worth an elaboration on the nature of metaphorical thought.

The role of metaphors in human cognition and behavior was explored in the influential work of Lakoff and Johnson (1980). They proposed that the essence of metaphor is understanding and experiencing one kind of thing in terms of another. The various forms of metaphor (including myths, stories, and poems) connect two similar aspects of the world, allowing our knowledge of one to inform our knowledge of the other. For a metaphor to be useful, the two aspects of the world must have similar relationships and processes, though the objects within those aspects may differ. For example, the relevance to our lives of the play Hamlet lies not in the actual characters or the specific setting, but in the relationships between and within the characters. The play moves us, and may also inform us, to the degree to which we can see similar struggles within our own lives. Thus the ‘understanding’ available through metaphors arises when one aspect of the world shares similar processes with some other aspect of the world.

Far from being simply a linguistic device, metaphors play a crucial role as a foundation for much of our thinking. As Lakoff and Johnson (1980) state:

Metaphor is for most people a device of the poetic imagination…Metaphor is typically viewed as characteristic of language alone…. We have found, on the contrary, that metaphor is pervasive in everyday life, not just in language but in thought and action. Our ordinary conceptual system, in terms of which we both think and act, is fundamentally metaphorical in nature…. If we are right in suggesting that our conceptual system is largely metaphorical, then the way we think, what we experience, and what we do every day is very much a matter of metaphor. (p. 3)

It is also important to note that metaphorical thinking is of a different nature than that of scientific thinking, in that metaphors are never ‘true’ in a literal sense. The essence of metaphor is to understand one kind of thing in terms of another; for example, to treat an argument as war, to equate time and money, or to view education as the delivery of information. Metaphors do not, however, provide a complete understanding, if they did then the two concepts would be the same, not merely understood in terms of each other. Time really is not money, you can’t take an extra five minutes and put it into a bank to earn compound interest. Unlike the theories of a scientific model, metaphors are not expected to be an exact representation of reality.

To focus on the literal truth of a metaphor is to miss the point. The effect that the play Hamlet has upon us is unrelated to the question of whether or not Hamlet was an actual historical figure, what is important is whether the relationships within the play touch upon similar themes within our own lives. In a similar fashion, in connecting our spirit to the spirit of the river it is unimportant whether or not rivers (or ourselves) have a spirit, what is important is whether the flow of a river may correspond metaphorically to our experience of life

With metaphors playing a vital role in human experience, it is not surprising that they have been considered an important aspect of psychotherapy. Keeney (1983) states that, In therapy, what emerges are stories and stories about stories. Stories reveal how people punctuate their world and therefore provide a clue for discovering their epistemological premises. In general, therapy is a process of weaving stories between therapist and client systems (p. 195). In addition to providing a perspective for understanding the therapeutic process, there is also a long tradition in psychology of using metaphors specifically as a means of evoking psychotherapeutic outcomes (for reviews see Cirillo and Crider, 1995; and Groth-Marnat, 1992). Reframing the mystical processes of the Andes as therapeutic metaphors effectively resolved the problems I was experiencing in adopting the Andean animistic perspective of the world.

The General Structure of the Mode

With the perspective of the Andean meditative processes serving as therapeutic metaphors I was able to look back over the transcripts and find a common structure to the various processes for connecting with nature. The structure has four elements. For the sake of clarity, the elements will be described in terms of how they relate to the process already described, that of becoming one with the spirit of a river.

1) The first step is to find an appropriate location for performing the process. Simply finding a spot next to the river is not enough. It is important to find a specific, appropriate spot. It is not an intellectual decision. Instead, it involves a determination made by some part of us other than the rational mind (i.e. a feeling or intuition).

Modeling notes: The metaphorical connection with the river is much more powerful in the presence of a river. Once the metaphor has been experienced a number of times, a mental representation of the river is sufficient to evoke the effects. The process of selecting an appropriate spot requires that we attend both to the world around us and to our own internal experience to find a spot that seems right. The spot will not be chosen analytically, but intuitively through being in a relationship with our environment, which puts us in the correct mode for benefiting from a metaphor. It also slips us out of our normal habitual way of doing things, creating a context within which change can occur. We move out of the paña into the lloq’e, and out of our intellect into our heart and body.

2) The commitment to engage in the process involves more than just an intellectual intention, it involves a congruent commitment of the whole person. The paq’o refers to the former as intention and the latter as intent.

Modeling notes: The intellect is not the mode of thought that appreciates, benefits, or even understands the reality of metaphors. Participation in this process has to happen at the other-than-intellectual level in order to be effective. The intellect must also be willing to step aside and not interfere in the process.

3) The processes are performed with love, which is to inform the relationship between nature and the individual.

Modeling notes: To set out to purposively love anyone or anything (e.g. a river) is to give a paradoxical injunction to yourself (see Watzlavick, Beavin, & Jackson, 1967). An exploration of this paradox has been fruitful, but is beyond the scope of this article. In my experience, the effect of experiencing a loving relationship with nature is significant.

4) Once an appropriate relationship has been established, with congruent intent, the final step is to connect (e.g. to let your spirit become one with the spirit of the river).

Modeling notes: A reminder that in the Andean perspective the lloq’e experiences the world as interconnected fields of energy. Thus, another way of saying ‘let your spirit become one with the spirit of the river’ is to say ‘access the connection you have between your filaments and the filaments of the river’.

The general structure given above can be used to connect with any particular aspect of nature; the wind, a river, a tree, the earth, the sun. Each aspect has certain attributes, or processes, that are inherent in our understanding and experience of nature. By metaphorically connecting to nature, we can access similar attributes or processes within ourselves. Some examples are provided below, in the form of paraphrases of the Paq’os instructions.

The Wind

Perceived properties: The wind cleans the earth and lifts the bird on its wing.

If you have an emotion, perhaps sadness, that you want to be rid of, you can give it to the wind. Let the wind blow through you and take away all the broken filaments that need to be removed. In this way you will be more clean and in more connection with the spirit of the wind. Your spirit can fly like a bird.

Trees

Perceived property: A tree has its roots buried securely in the ground and yet it reaches towards the heavens. In this way the tree combines horizontal energy and vertical energy.

Select an appropriate tree with which to work. As we did with the river, allow your spirit to blend with the spirit of the tree. The only difference is that the tree doesn’t work with the fluidness. The tree is more like the Buddha, who reached enlightenment while sitting under the Bodhi tree. Try to get the most that you can from the vibrations of the tree, and establish a communication.

The Earth

Perceived property: All that lives falls to the ground when it dies, to be eaten by the Pachamama (the spirit of the planet Earth). She is not harmed by this, she can handle it.

When you have a negative energy to get rid of, give it to the Pachamama. Reach into the sky, gather cosmic energy with the intent to cleanse yourself, pass your hands down the length of your body, picking up your negative energy, and end by placing your palms on the Earth. Give the energy to the Pachamama.

The Sun

Perceived property: In the morning the rising sun gives us energy and heat, it awakens the day, its rising corresponds to our own rising consciousness as we awake from sleep. At sunset the sun’s energy is more diffuse, it is marking the approach of the mysterious depths of the evening, a going inside to our own mysteries during sleep.

In the morning the wave of energy is one of opening and expanding. This is a time of creation, or imagination, and of the power of physical work. Rise with the sun, meditate with the sun. Figure out how to do this on your own, as little plants on the Pachamama open up to the rays of the sun. Without thinking! Just receive the energy of the sun. You don’t need to go into positions like the Hindus or Buddhists. Find out for yourself, like a puma, the best space for your body. You have noticed when a dog or a puma gets to a place, the first thing he does is get knowledge, get in contact with the place. He doesn’t sit just any place, he finds exactly the right place for his body. Find the best place of energy for your body, and just allow the sun to come on you.

Model Summary.

A summary of the proposed model then is that by connecting with various aspects of nature we can access similar processes within ourselves. It should be possible to generate an unlimited supply of additional therapeutic metaphors by substituting different aspects of nature (e.g. rain storms, the ocean, clouds, an eagle) within the same structure. This use of nature to provide therapeutic metaphors appears to be unique in the literature. Groth-Marnet (1992), in a review of the use of therapeutic metaphors in past traditions, mentions shamans’ use of myths to define the culture’s relationship with the supernatural, but doesn’t mention this particular application. Cirillo and Crider (1995) survey the various uses of metaphors in therapy and identify four functionally distinct kinds of therapeutic metaphors. The model being offered in this paper does not seem to fall in any of their proposed categories. Thus, this aspect of Andean mysticism may offer a novel means of generating a large number of metaphors that can serve as powerful resources for enhancing our lives.

 

Discussion

By reframing the animistic processes of the Andes as therapeutic metaphors, I have found a way to bring their value into a scientific psychology. Understanding the structure of the metaphors has opened the door to creating many more metaphors to suit our needs. This was indeed to be the main goal of the paper as I originally envisioned it, to give my culture something of potential utility. And yet in doing so, I have failed in my more important goal, to integrate the two world views. I have instead, simply translated my experiences (intellectual, emotional, and physical) of the Andean perspective to a purely Western description that fits within a scientific perspective. In doing so I have ‘explained away’ the true beauty and significance of the Andean Cosmovision. The final step (to date) in the evolution of the model involved an integration of the two perspectives, the Andean and the scientific.

The framework I needed for truly integrating the two perspectives was provided by the later works of Gregory Bateson (Bateson, 1991; Bateson & Bateson, 1987). Before he died Bateson was working on how the epistemology of cybernetics could be used to provide a scientific way of thinking about the sacred. His solution involves an understanding of the differences between two modes of thought.

Bateson (1991) refers back to the 1500’s in Europe, when many Catholics and Protestants were arguing about the nature of the bread and wine used in Mass. According to Bateson, the Roman Catholic’s position at the time was that the bread is the body of Christ and the wine is the blood of Christ. The Protestant position, however, was that the bread stands for the body of Christ and the wine stands for the blood of Christ in a metaphorical way. Bateson proposed that the whole argument is of fundamental importance to the nature of the sacred, and to human nature as well.

The Protestant viewpoint represents the mode of thinking associated with the left hemisphere of the brain, what Bateson refers to as ‘prose consciousness’. It is the consciousness of everyday, waking thought; the consciousness of objective facts; the consciousness that can readily understand that symbols are symbols, that the stop sign does not actually stop automobiles but instead is a symbol that tells people to stop the automobile.

The Catholic viewpoint represents the mode of thinking associated with the right hemisphere, with poetic or dream consciousness. Dreams come to us with no signal that they are symbols or metaphors. Those labels, ‘symbol’ and ‘metaphor’, have no meaning to this part of the mind. Bateson (1991) concludes,

To the left hemisphere of the brain it is perfectly sensible to say that the bread ‘stands for’ the body, or is a symbol of the body. To the right hemisphere, the side that dreams, this means nothing at all. To the right hemisphere, the bread is the body or its irrelevant. In the right side of the brain, there are no ‘as ifs’, metaphors are not labeled ‘metaphors’….

Now it is my suspicion that the richest use of the word ‘sacred’ is that use which will say that what matters is the combination of the two, getting the two together. And that any fracturing of the two is, shall we say, anti-sacred. In which case the Roman Catholics and the Protestants of the [1500’s] were equally anti-sacred in their battles. The bread both is and stands for the body. (pp. 266-267)

And now, finally, I had my integration. I had begun the model with a conflict between two world-views, objective science and Andean animism, that are incompatible when both are taken as being literally true. I then resolved the conflict by realizing that the Andean view is not literally true, it is just a metaphor. This Protestant-like view, however, was unsatisfactory. I experience the Andean perspective as being highly significant, beautifully moving, and of the nature of being true in some other sense. Bateson eloquently provided the solution. When I sit on the Earth and love her as my mother, my logical-rational-scientific-prose mind knows that it is only a metaphor; that the earth is really a collection of minerals; and that the therapeutic effects of loving the earth work through the power metaphors have to shape our experience. And yet to my intuitive-metaphorical-artistic-poetic mind the label of ‘metaphor’ is meaningless, the Pachamama is my mother, I experience her love at a level that is very profound, and she informs my life towards beauty. And having said that, I can end this paper with a clear heart.

 

Editor’s notes.

  1. This was my first attempt to share the Andean Cosmovision with a Western academic audience. After I was finished, despite the last sentence of the paper, my heart was not clear.  I felt that in framing the Andean meditations as therapeutic metaphors that I had explained them away, draining from them all of their power and beauty.  I turned to other paths for presenting them to the West.
  2. The paper ends with me having two different ways of experiencing reality, the Western way (left brain) and the Andean way (right brain). I could view reality one way or the other, but I had no sense that I had integrated these two perspectives within myself.   That is what I tackled next.

 

 References

Ashby, W. R. (1970). Analysis of the system to be modeled. In R. M. Stogdill (Ed.), The Process of Model-Building in the Behavioral Sciences (pp. 94-114). New York: W. W. Norton.

Bateson, G. (1972). Steps to an ecology of mind. New York: Ballantine.

Bateson, G. (1979). Mind and Nature: A Necessary Unity. New York: Bantam.

Bateson, G., & Bateson, M. C. (1987). Angels Fear: Toward an epistemology of the sacred. New York: Macmillan.

Bateson, G. (1991). A Sacred Unity: Further Steps to an Ecology of Mind. Donaldson, R. E. (Ed.). New York: HarperCollins.

Cirillo, K, & Crider, C. (1995). Distinctive therapeutic uses of metaphor. Psychotherapy, 32, 511-519.

Groth-Marnat (1992). Past traditions of therapeutic metaphor. Psychology, A Journal of Human Behavior, 29(3/4), 40-47.

Keeney, Bradford P. (1983). Aesthetics of Change. New York: Guilford Press.

Lakoff, G. & Johnson, M. (1980). Metaphors We Live By. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.

Lao Tsu. (1972). Tao Te Ching. (Gia-Fu Feng & J. English, Trans.). New York: Vintage. (Original work published n.d.).

Peters, L. (1989). Shamanism: Phenomenology of a spiritual discipline. Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 21

Reber, A. (1985). Dictionary of Psychology. New York: Viking.

Sullivan, W. (1996). The Secret of the Incas: Myth, Astronomy, and the War Against Time. New York: Crown.

Walsh, R. (1989). What is a shaman? Definition, origin and distribution. Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 21, 1-11.

Walsh, R. (1994). The making of a shaman: Calling, training, and culmination. Journal of Humanistic Psychology, 34, 7-30.

Watzlawick, P., Beavin, J. & Jackson, D. (1967). Pragmatics of Human Communication. New York: W. W. Norton.

 

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Notes for Workshop on the Andean Cosmovision

working with the female paqos from Qero.

Working with the ñustas (great feminine energies) at 15,000 feet.

Edited Feb. 22.  Information added for the benefit of the workshop participants.

Hi, on Saturday, Feb. 26th, I will be presenting a live, online, three-hour workshop and meditation practice on the Andean Cosmovision.  It will be an introductory presentation, although it will be informed by my recent thoughts on how to integrate the Cosmovision with our Western worldview.  I will be leading us through a few Andean meditations, and there will be time for questions and answers.  For more information and to signup for the workshop please visit  here.

Workshop Support Material

Internet Resources
  • This blog (of course). To subscribe to be notified of additions to this blog please see the “profile” link in the upper right hand side of each page.
  • Web page about my book: The Andean Cosmovision.
  • Web page that serves as the hub of my internet presence: Salka Wind
Ayni

Ayni is the Andean principle of reciprocity, when you give you receive, and when you receive you give, and thus balance is maintained. By paying for this workshop you have established ayni with me for my work in putting it together. You have also established ayni with the Andean people, for I give half of what I earn from teaching the Andean Cosmovision, and half the royalties from my book, to the people of Peru who have so open-heartedly shared their Cosmovision with the West. Thus, you have also nourished a big circle of ayni between our cultures, a beautiful thing if you ask me.

Other ways to give Ayni for this work:

  • If you would like to give me ayni for my work in maintaining and adding to this blog you can go to the Donate page.  I will  give half of what you donate to the people of Peru and enjoy the other half myself.
  • I am the vice-president of Kenosis Spirit Keepers, a non-profit organization whose mission is to honor and preserve the integrity of Indigenous wisdom and sacred cultural practices by providing cross-cultural exchanges, education, and community-building opportunities. Our focus to date has been mainly on the Hopi, the Mayan, and the Q’ero of Peru. For more info and to donate please visit: www.KenosisSpiritKeepers.org.
  • Another excellent non-profit that I whole-heartedly support is The Heart Walk Foundation. The Heart Walk Foundation partners with indigenous Q’ero communities in Peru on projects that strengthen food security, education, health, and respect for traditional cultural practices. For more info and to donate please visit: www.HeartWalkFoundation.org

And then there is our ayni with the Cosmos.  You can give small offerings (“haywariskas”) to the Pachamama, to the Apus, to Mama Cocha, to whomever.  Give them as you would give flowers to a loved one.

Useful Terms
  • Ayni: “reciprocity”.  See the posts  Ayni and Ayni Revisited
  • Salka:  “undomesticated energy”.  See the post Salka.
  • Intent:  pragmatically, “intent” can be thought of as “sincere pretending”.  See the posts:  Intent and Deep Intent.
  • Pachamama:  the great Being who is our mother the planet earth.
  • Apus:  the great Beings who are the majestic mountain peaks.
  • Tai Tai Inti:  the great Being who is the sun.
  • Mama Tuta:  the great Being who is mother night, the dark, the void, who holds the stars in her embrace.
  • Mama Cocha:  the great Being who is the ocean.
  • Mama Killa:  the great Being who is our moon.
  • Some nice meditation phrases:
    • Chaskiwaiku:  please receive our energy.
    • Yanapawaiku:  please help us.
    • Nantakichawaiku:  please open our path for us.
  • Three energy centers:   See the post The Three Centers of Being (Part 1)
    • llankay:   the center of our physical body and our ability to bring things into manifestation. The llankay is located a few finger breadths below the navel and a couple of inches inside the body.
    • munay: where we can sense our connection with the Cosmos and feel the underlying vibrational frequency of the Cosmic filaments, which is love. The munay is located in the region of our heart.
    • yachay:  the center of the intellect from which our thoughts arise. It is located in the crown of our head.
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My Third Trip to Peru (with photos)

Draft 2.1.  Edited 2/12/21.  Corrected “Pachacamma” to ” Pacchantapampa”.  Changes settings so that clicking on a photo opens it to a larger size in a new tab.

For the context of this story, please see the introductory comments in the post of my first visit to Peru.  It may help to have read the posts of the first two trips– My First Trip to Peru and  My Second Trip to Peru— before reading this one.  As this story is rather lengthy I have also made available a pdf copy of it (but without the photos).  It has taken me a while to get this story out of my heart and head, and onto paper and electrons.  I hope you enjoy it.

 


My Third Trip To Peru

Romantic:  [2] Exotic, adventurous, mysterious, in harmony with nature, having a strong effect on the emotions.

My third trip to Peru was the most romantic of all of my trips to Peru. Don Américo had offered to take Bob, Gina, Judy, and me–The “Apu Chim”–to Ccochamocco, a very remote Q’ero village high in the Andes. Our starting point, the city of Cusco, is 4,000 miles from my home, sitting in a valley at 11,000 feet, with the Andes towering beyond. When I am in Cusco, I already feel like I’m at the boundary between the Western world as I know it, and some other, very different, reality. To get to Ccochamocco we had to leave Cusco and drive for five hours on a dirt road further up into the mountains. When we got as close to Ccochamocco as we could by road, we mounted horses and rode for two days, over two 17,000 foot summits, to reach the village, at 15,000 feet, sitting at the feet of majestic Apu Wamanlipa. There the Q’ero villagers live lives still fully immersed in the Andean Cosmovision, the ancient and beautiful Andean way of perceiving and interacting with the Cosmos.

When I first met don Américo, the Q’ero would walk five days from Ccochamocco to Cusco to sell their wares and buy what goods could not be produced in their village. In Cusco they would stay either at Américo’s home or at a house he had rented for their use. Tom Best, through whom I first met Américo, told me the following story. Once, when Américo was in the United States, he phoned his daughter Arilu back in Cusco. During the conversation Américo asked her which of the Q’ero were staying in Cusco at that time. When he heard that don Pascualito was there, he exclaimed in surprise, “What is he doing in Cusco? I thought he left for Q’ero four days ago!” When Américo hung up he told Tom that Pascualito had left Cusco four days earlier, but that after walking two days back towards Ccochamocco, he realized that he had left his watch at Américo’s house. So, Pascualito had turned around and walked back to get it. Américo laughed and added that the watch doesn’t even work. In listening to Tom’s story, I was struck by the concept of a life where turning back after two days of walking, to fetch a watch that doesn’t work, makes as much sense, if not more, than continuing on.

A few years later Américo told me another story about Pascualito and that watch. Américo and his son Gayle had arranged to meet a group of the Q’ero, including Pascualito, at a remote summit high in the Andes. Américo and Gayle caught a ride in the back of a pickup truck that dropped them off at the summit. The truck drove off and the two of them looked around. It was at the time and place agreed upon for them to meet the Q’ero, but no one was in sight. After waiting for several hours they decided they had better start moving down to a lower elevation and seek some shelter. They walked down the dirt road a few miles and came across an abandoned adobe hut. Going inside they found the Q’ero sitting there. Américo exclaimed “Where were you? You were suppose to meet us at the summit hours ago!” Don Pascualito looked at his (broken) watch, and answered, “No, we are right on time!”

———-

Before I describe my third trip to Peru I would like to talk a little about what was going on in my life academically. This has to do with another thread I like to weave into my writing that has to do with the integration of the Andean Cosmovision and the Western worldview.

About the time of my third trip to Peru, I had begun to work on how I could share what I had learned of the Andean Cosmovision with the people of my Western culture. I had two motivations. One was that I had found that this path nourished important aspects of my Being–those parts of myself that value beauty and love and having a meaningful life–that were not being attended to by my Western society. I wanted to share the beauty of this approach with others who might like it as well. The other motivation was that I had come to believe that the Andean Cosmovision could offer a part of the solution for altering the trajectory of Western society toward a future of greater health and beauty for the planet, and away from the abyss of environmental disaster toward which we are careening. I hoped that my position as a professor at a university could serve as a leverage point for me to make a difference in my society.

I had earned my Ph.D. at a research university. At research universities, the hiring, promotion, and the awarding of tenure to professors is largely based upon the quantity of their research (i.e. ‘publish or perish’). When I entered my Ph.D. program in psychology I was surprised to discover that a researcher can’t just go off and explore something interesting in the field. To succeed as a researcher one has to step into the specific topics currently being explored in the discipline, and work exclusively there. The topics one is allowed to explore within a discipline define the current “paradigm” of the field.

I had been drawn to the field of psychology by my interests in humanistic psychology (the study of the full potential of our existence as human beings) and the psychology of consciousness (including altered states of consciousness). The closest fit to my interests I could find in graduate school was the field of cognitive psychology, the scientific study of perception, attention, memory, and consciousness. I found that once I was in graduate school, I had to do a lot more of fitting my interests to the current paradigm than expanding the paradigm to fit my interests. I had grown up as (among other things) a ‘boy scientist’ and I did enjoy being a scientist within field of psychology. Still, I found that graduate school had moved me away from my deepest interests in psychology. For reasons that are important to me but would be too big of a digression to explain here, by the time I finished my Ph.D. program I had lost all my respect for research in psychology and was generally disillusioned with academia itself. As my father–whom I loved and respected–was a dean and a university professor, I thought this was saying a lot.

In looking for a career I could make out of my degree, I accepted a faculty position at a small teaching university. At teaching universities, faculty are hired, promoted, and granted tenure, based primarily upon the quality of their teaching. We were still expected to stay current with developments in our field, but with bigger teaching loads compared to faculty in research institutions, we were not required to do original research. While I was disillusioned with the state of research within psychology, I do love teaching, and therefore it is something I can excel at, and my career as a professor of psychology progressed nicely. And, freed from having to do research that fit within the current paradigm, I began to do research in the areas in which I was deeply interested.

My university had small, faculty-development, grants that they could award to faculty to help them stay current in their field or to engage in original research. They awarded me with grants to help defray the costs of my first two trips to Peru. As part of the deal, after I returned from each trip I gave a presentation to the university community about my research in Peru. I have found that writing or giving presentations on a topic forces me to think much more deeply about it. It was during my preparation for those presentations that I came up with my general conceptual framework for thinking about, and talking about, the Andean Cosmovision. I provide a brief description of that framework below.

1. A society’s worldview is based upon a set of assumptions about the basic nature of reality. These assumptions are rarely brought to light to be examined because…well…they are assumed to be true.
2. Science and Western religion have some important differences. Indeed, I spent significant time in my courses laying out the differences between the two. Both science and Western religion, however, have arisen within the Western worldview, and thus they share some basic assumptions about the nature of reality.
3. The Andean Cosmovision–my term for the worldview found in the indigenous people of the Andes–is based upon a different set of assumptions and thus is fundamentally different than the Western worldview. The Andean Cosmovision is not conceptual in nature, it cannot be described or encompassed with words. Translation from the one worldview to the other is not possible. This means, among other things, that the Andean Cosmovision cannot be understood through the spectacles of either the scientific approach or Western religion.
4. The assumptions that form the foundation for a society’s worldview will make it easy for the society to excel at some things while making it difficult for the society to excel at other things. This is an unavoidable aspect of worldviews. The assumptions underlying the Western worldview make it easy for us to excel at technology and at accumulating information, but make it difficult for us to actually experience our connection to nature and the rest of the Cosmos. The assumptions underlying the Andean Cosmovision make it easy for the individuals in that society to experience their connection with nature and the Cosmos, but I doubt they would ever have gotten around to inventing the internal combustion engine.
5. Western society is in a car speeding toward the edge of the cliff of environmental disaster, while we sit in the back seat playing with or arguing over our toys and test tubes. When we sail over the edge, no saying we are sorry will make any difference, and we will take much of what is beautiful in this world with us. The good news is that we have all the knowledge and technology we need to head toward a future of greater beauty and health for this planet. Incredibly, however, given a choice between a future of greater health and beauty on this planet; or a future of mass extinctions, ecological devastation, war, injustice, and poverty; the momentum of Western society is towards the latter. While we have the information and technology we need for a more beautiful future, we apparently lack the heart to head in that direction. The Andean worldview has the heart, but not the technology. Rather than selecting one worldview (Western or Andean) over the other, the solution could be to integrate the two worldviews, giving us both the means and the heart to change our society’s trajectory. This was the state-able goal of my research in Peru as I presented it to the university. I also had, and have, some goals that are ineffable as they lay outside the Western worldview. These have to do with love, beauty, and meaning. These goals, while I could not express them explicitly, were implied in my presentations. My university did not hold them against me.

My presentations to the university faculty and students on my work in Peru were well received. In general, I found that the faculty at my teaching university were more broad-minded, more interested in interdisciplinary studies, and less interested in staying within the current paradigm than the faculty in my graduate school.

A few days after I gave the presentation that covered my second trip to Peru, four students walked into my office and sat down. They informed me that they were not leaving my office until I agreed to teach them more about the Andean Cosmovision. I was both amused and touched, and I agreed. First I made sure they understood that I could not tell them much about the Cosmovision, that it was something that could only be explored experientially through meditation. They agreed. We began to meet on Saturday mornings, driving out of town some 10 miles to a nice, isolated, spot in the desert, where we engaged in some of the Andean meditations I had learned from don Américo.

I got a great amount out of leading the students through those meditations. A bit of that, perhaps, was simply that their interest and participation validated to me that the path I was walking had value. A lot of it, though, came from what I learned by teaching the meditations to others. To help them enter into the states of consciousness for which the meditations were a portal, I would had to first enter into those states myself. There was also the extra oomph that comes from meditating with a group of people who are all doing the same meditation. Both of these deepened my own experience of the path. After the meditations we would compare notes on our experiences, and from that I learned a great deal about the meditations from hearing how they affect various people. These meditation classes marked the beginning of my truly sharing this path with my society. Since that time I have taught several hundred experiential workshops and classes on the Andean Cosmovision.

———-

On our third trip to Peru Bob, Gina, Judy, and I were joined by two more people. One was Bob’s girlfriend Nancy, who had never been to Peru before. The other was a woman named Sally. Some months before the trip, Arilu had contacted us and asked if we would be willing to let another person join us. Arilu informed us that Sally had previously brought a few groups to Peru to work with don Américo, and that she was very interested in going to Ccochamocco with us. Arilu stressed that the decision of whether or not to include Sally was up to us and that it would be ok if we said no. The four of us talked about this for a bit before we decided. We were a little hesitant to let someone whom we didn’t know join our group. The four of us–the Apu Chim–were very compatible and we had shared some life-changing experiences in our first two trips to Peru. We also had a very “horizontal” relationship with each other, in that none of us was the leader, none of us ran things or made decisions without consulting the others. Sally–on the other hand–was used to being the group leader when she brought others to Peru. We decided, however, to err on the side of being inclusive and welcome Sally, particularly as it seemed like it was kind of like a favor to Arilu as well.

Sally, Arilu, and Gina in Cusco

We didn’t express our original concerns to either Sally or Arilu, but after we told Sally that she was welcome to join us she wrote to us to let us know that she had no pretensions of being in charge, that she just wanted to be part of the gang. I thought it was considerate and kind of her to have anticipated our concerns, and take steps to ease them. I subsequently added that to my repertoire of how I want to interact with the world.

This trip to Peru was during my summer break at the university. I didn’t have to rush in and out of Peru to minimize the time I would be away from teaching. I thus arrived several days before we were scheduled to meet with Américo, to enjoy once again hanging around, exploring Cusco, and immersing myself in its culture. The hostal where Arilu had arranged for us to stay was a pleasant, family-run, and inexpensive hostal, not far from the Plaza de Armas. It was located on Avenida Pardo–a street that runs (more or less) parallel to the Avenida el Sol–and about six blocks from the Plaza.

Avenida Pardo is quieter than Avenida el Sol. Quieter, but not quiet. In Cusco there is traffic noise during all but the wee hours of the night, and the windows in most of the hostals are single-paned and don’t close tightly. Street noise is just part of the ambience of Cusco. I have subsequently stayed in hostals located along the Avenida Pardo on many of my trips to Peru. Pardo has less foot traffic and fewer shops than the Avenida el Sol, and I don’t feel quite as safe walking down it from the Plaza de Armas at night, so I will often walk down the Avenida el Sol until I get close to the hostal and then cut over to Pardo.

For some of its length Avenida Pardo has a wide median which serves as a plaza. There, in the early evening, I have often see groups of teenagers–dressed in Levis, sweat shirts, and sneakers–practicing indigenous dances, laughing and chatting and generally acting like teenagers everywhere. If I’m walking by I usually stop, or if I am in my room I will sit and look out the window or stand on a balcony, and enjoy watching them practice. Then, in the next day or so, they appear in their traditional clothing, dancing and singing in one of the many parades or celebrations in the Plaza de Armas. As I watch and listen to these young people singing and dancing their traditional songs, in their traditional clothing, in the Plaza de Armas, it feels as if they open a portal that connects my heart with the ancient, eternal, energy of the Andes.

Avenida Pardo. A nice median serves as a plaza. Noteworthy electrical system!

Shortly after I arrived in Cusco, Américo dropped by the hostal to welcome me. As usual, I had arrived exhausted from the journey and burned out by the energy, time, and money it took for me to return to Peru, and I was still primarily existing within the Western worldview. But then I was with Américo, and my energy, particularly in my heart area, began to blossoming again, and in talking to him I knew that being there at this particular time on this particular adventure was perhaps the most beautiful thing going on at that moment on the planet. One of the many “pinch-me” moments I have had in Peru.

Bob and Nancy arrived in Cusco the following day. This was the first time Nancy had been in Cusco. Cusco–particularly on your first visit there–hits you like a ton of bricks; the noise, the traffic, the diesel fumes, the very high altitude, and just the general energy of the City and its culture. In addition, right after they arrived, Arilu phoned to let us know that, sorry, but she had forgotten to include in her estimate of our expenses the cost of purchasing gas for the bus we were going to rent. This added–not a lot but a noticeable amount–to the costs of the trip, which we were all a bit strapped to meet anyway. This was all too much for Nancy, and Bob told me that she was in their room, with the covers pulled over her head, crying herself to sleep. I thought that this was a very reasonable response to the whole thing.

For the next few days (Nancy had recovered) we had the fun of exploring Cusco, revisiting some of our favorite places (e.g. having a cappuccino on the balcony overlooking the Plaza de Armas) and discovering new places. Bob found a musical instrument shop located in a small courtyard off the main streets. It was full of hand made instruments, many of them shaped like animals. They looked to be of ancient design, like something the Inca’s might have played, but they could very well have been of modern inspiration. The point was that they were unique and interesting and not something that could be found in the tourist stalls. I purchased a ceramic flute shaped like a turtle. I also bought a ceramic jaguar that had a tube rising from its back like a chimney. Blowing down the tube creates a high pitch note that sounds to me like something that could call in the animal spirits. All I know is that when I, much later, winded it in my house, my two cats jumped to their feet and looked around in alarm. Of course, other things do that to them as well.

On that trip I was able to take a big step forward in how I could communicate with my family back home, which was a big thing for me. On my first trip to Peru the only way I could contact my wife Betsy, other than by post card, was to phone her. This was in the days before cell phones. To help me phone Betsy, Arilu took me down to the phone company where I had to pay in advance, take a number, and wait 40 minutes for my turn to use one of their telephones. By this third trip, however, the internet had stretched tentative threads into Cusco. Wifi was not around yet, and the hostals didn’t have internet, but there were small shops in Cusco where I could plunk down a little bit of money and use one of their computers to access email. These places displayed signs with “@” outside their doors.

The place I liked was located at the end of the Avenida el Sol. The Avenida doesn’t quite make it to the Plaza de Armas. When you reach the top of the Avenida el Sol you run into a ‘T’ intersection and have to turn right on Mantas for 50 feet to reach the Plaza de Armas or left towards Plaza San Francisco. If you go straight instead and cross the street you run into a line of stores along Mantas. Among those shops was a small, run-down, tourist gift store, and in the back of the store, down some steps into a dimly lit basement, were six computers. For about 80 cents an hour I could sit and access email.

Being so far from home in such a different culture where I spoke so little of the language was still exciting and a bit scary for me. One of the challenges I faced was that their keyboard was different than the ones in the U.S. The all important ‘@’ sign, for example, was nowhere to be seen. I found someone who could show me the three-key press combination needed to get to it. Emails were still a little new to me too, and I realized as I sat in front of the screen that I had no understanding of how to access an email program on a computer in Peru. I had always accessed email through programs on my computers at home and my office where I had email applications. Someone helped me with this too, and this is when I first found out about Google mail. Finding a place and successfully pulling off accessing email was an adventure (and I was a little proud of myself).

Saint crossing Avenida el Sol.

I was happily sitting there in the basement writing emails to my family when I heard live music…Andean parade music…lots of horns and drums. I ran upstairs and out to the sidewalk to find a big parade was passing by. A large statue of a saint, sitting in a chair, was being carried on the shoulders of a score of strong-looking men. Behind the litter a band of horns and drums walked, blaring out Andean music. Looking back down Mantas towards the mercado I could see a long line of statues of saints, females and males, being carried along, each followed by a band. The streets had become packed, nothing but humanity for as far down the street as I could see in both directions. The statues of the female saints were being carried demurely, but the statues of the male saints were jauntily rocked right and left and back and forth so that they danced as they went along. It was noisy, it was crowded, it was festive.

Mantas.

When the opportunity arose I dashed across the street to a restaurant where I had spotted an empty table next to the window facing the parade. I plunked myself down there, ordered a beer, and settled into a very nice time watching the parade go by. It was one of those unplanned high points of traveling. Many years later–when I took a group of friends to Peru–I was sitting in that same restaurant with my friend Karen, telling her about how it seems like every time I visit Cusco I see a parade. Five minutes later a parade came by.

After we had been in Cusco for several days, it was time for us to meet with Américo and start our adventure together. Before we headed to Q’ero, Américo took us to Salka Wasi for a few days. I believe that this was both to give our bodies a chance to acclimate to the high altitudes we would face in getting to Ccochamocco, and to tune our energy for our visit with the Q’ero. The finer the state of our energy the more we would be able to harmonize with the energy of the Q’ero, and the further they would be able to take us in ceremony. I say that “I believe” this was the agenda for Salka Wasi. Américo simply invites us to do things and we go along.

We took the now familiar route up into the Andes, past Huancarani, and down into Paucartambo. Both in Incan times and Colonial times, Paucartambo served as an important gateway connecting the energy of the jungle with that of the high Andes. It is sleepy, adobe, town huddled on the foot of the mountains and perched on the bank above the Paucartambo River. I asked Américo how many people live there, and he said he thought about 7,000, if you included the many people living outside the town on the slopes of the nearby mountains.

Instead of turning right and heading up the side of the mountain towards Salka Wasi, we turned left and drove downstream along the river for a few miles to Molino. Molino is a place that Gayle has been fixing up. It was an old, abandoned, mill made of adobe that had once belonged to one of his relatives. It is situated at the confluence of two rivers, the large Paucartambo River and another, smaller, river that cascades down from the mountains that line the Paucartambo valley.

On our first two trips to Peru we had stopped at Molino to have lunch on the way to Salka Wasi. Gayle had at that time completed work on a dining room, with a long wooden table and windows overlooking the river. On this trip we were going to spend a night in Molino before heading up to Salka Wasi. The main building that had the dining room at one end also had three other rooms that had been turned into bedrooms. Like Salka Wasi, the rooms were simple, clean, and cheerful; with a few Andean knickknacks sitting in the deep adobe windowsills, colorful Andean woolen blankets on the beds, and candles for light.

Gayle has an incredible artistic touch when it comes to architecture and landscaping. Everything about Molino is both rustic and beautiful. The walk down from where we parked the bus was lined with flowers on both sides, and in places flowering vines arched overhead. The path led through an adobe outbuilding with two rooms. One room was where Maria (from Salka Wasi) lived with her children when she was cooking for guests in Molino, the other room–through which the path led–was larger with a big wood-fired domed oven that in the olden days served as the bread-baking oven for the people in the surrounding communities. There were flowers growing everywhere on the grounds around the building, and Gayle had recently planted scores of fruit trees and an organic garden. There was also a flat stretch of grass between the building and the river, where we could meet and meditate. The whole place is a mixture of salka (undomesticated energy) and those domesticated things that make the human heart hum. It is as if Mother Nature had taken up gardening there. And there is the ever present roar of the Paucartambo River just a few dozen yards away, a noise that permeates the soul.

Molino, circa 2000.

Entryway.

Before moving on, there is a story I would like to share about Américo and Molino. When they began working on Molino, Américo did not have the same close relationship with the communities around Molino that he had with Mollamarca (the village next to Salka Wasi). He was concerned about what they might think about someone coming in and fixing up Molino. I believe that he was worried that they might be jealous, covetous, or suspicious This is how he handled it. He instructed the groundskeeper at Molino to unlock the door to the dining room, and lay out wine and bread on the table, every Thursday afternoon. Américo then let it be known in the surrounding area that anyone who wanted to was welcome to stop by on Thursdays, check out the place, and help themselves to some wine and bread. He did this for several years.

Bob and I were given the room where Américo stayed when there were no guests at Molino. It was a rather large room with two beds. Américo’s nice saddle was stored in the room, perched on a wooden saw horse. The room had a door to a balcony overlooking the river. I don’t know where Américo stayed while we were there, he had given the best room to his guests.

We arrived at Molino before lunch. Américo had an errand to run in Paucartambo, and asked us if anyone would like to join him and have lunch there. I said “sure!”

For lunch we entered one of the restaurants situated next to the road as you approach Paucartambo from Cusco, and overlooking the river. All the people there looked like they were locals. It was a pretty simple place. The tables had thick, clear, sheets of plastic taped to them as table cloths. The host put down a plate and spoon in front of us, along with a few squares of toilet paper to serve as napkins. The walls were decorated with old beer posters. Several flies were wandering around on the tables and walls. There was no menu. Américo ordered us both a bowl of soup. While we were waiting for our meal a dog wandered in and made the rounds of the tables looking on the floor for scraps. When the host returned he drove the dog out of the restaurant, but it came back a few minutes later. Our soup arrived, a watery looking thing with some questionable-looking meat, but Américo said it was safe to eat. We were also given a crust of bread each.

It suddenly struck me, quite strongly, that I was very much in the real Peru. Not one of the places in Peru that have adapted to meet the tastes of tourists, but in a small restaurant, in a small remote town, high in the Andes, eating lunch with the locals. It was a facet of Peru that few tourists get to see. I looked at Américo and said, quite sincerely, “Thank you Américo. This is wonderful. I really feel like I’m getting to experience Peru.” He gave me a pleased look, and responded, “That is great, Oakley. So many people come to Peru just for the mysticism, and they aren’t really all that interested in actually getting to know the place.” It seemed an important moment to me in my relationship with Américo.

The next morning, as we were having breakfast, Américo asked me which I liked better, Molino or Salka Wasi. I really like Molino, with its river energy and flowers and comfortable temperature. It is a place that succors the human body and heart, and it has the ever present roar of the great river to cleanse the soul. Salka Wasi is more secluded and at a much higher altitude. When I am in Salka Wasi I feel like I am standing in the Cosmos. At night I can almost touch the stars. I feel more intimately connected with the Andean people there (the people of Mollamarca) than I do anywhere else in Peru. It is a place where my consciousness expands easily into the Cosmos. I explained that to Américo, and then concluded that while I like Molino very much, I like Salka Wasi more. He paused, and then said quietly to me that he does too.

After breakfast, we all walked from Molino up to where Dante and our bus were waiting for us. Dante then drove back through Paucartambo and onto the dirt road that climbs the side of the mountains, rising high above the river, to the village of Mollamarca and Salka Wasi.

We spent three days and nights at Salka Wasi: meditating in the garden, meeting with Américo in the mornings and afternoons, eating delicious local food crafted by Abolino, having the women of the village come down to sell us their handcrafted wares, taking walks along the mountain side or down to the river, and spending the early evening hours writing by candlelight, chatting with each other, or listening to Américo tell us stories of his life.

One time Américo was traveling in the Andes on horseback with some friends from Italy. It was getting dark and then it began to snow. Américo was lost and growing anxious about leading his friends to safety. In the dim light of dusk they rode up to an old man who was sitting on a stone. He was wearing a hat and his head was bowed so that his face could not be seen. Américo approached him and said “Papa, excuse me, but can you direct us back to the road?” The old man slowly raised his head and looked up at him. The man’s eyes were silver and glowing. Américo and his friends fled. They traveled further on. It was getting darker and still snowing. Then, an old, indigenous, Andean woman appeared through the snow, coming seemingly from nowhere, and approached them. She informed them that it was dangerous place for them to be. Américo explained their situation to her. She said nothing and turned and walked away, singing in Quechua, and the snow stopped. They found their way back to the road.

While we were staying at Salka Wasi, Maria did some more amazing energy work on us. We gathered in the living room. It was late afternoon and Salka Wasi had no electricity so the only light was what came in through the expanse of windows facing the garden and out to the canyon beyond. We were bundled up for it was cold. After we had been waiting for a while Maria and one of her daughters entered the room, dressed in their indigenous clothing. We had awaited them in respectful and anticipatory silence. Maria worked on us one at a time. When it was my turn she had me take off my shoes and stand on a spray of flowers that she had laid on the floor. She then tucked the end of a ball of yarn under one of my feet. Softly speaking in Quechua she then wound the yarn around and around my body, working from my feet up to my head. When she reached the crown of my head, she had me lean over (as I am quite a bit taller than she) and blew a blessing down into my body through the top of my head. Then, speaking more forcibly in Quechua, she worked her way back down my body, repeatedly and sharply breaking the coils of yarn that were wrapped around me. When she was finished, she gathered up the broken strands of yarn and gave them to her daughter, who collected them into a ball and took them outside and gave them to a man who was waiting there.

When Maria had finished with all of us the man ran down the mountain to the river and cast the ball of yarn into the Paucartambo River. That was his designated role. After the ceremony, Américo told us that Maria had broken the energetic coils that bind us and that keep our salka energy imprisoned. The yarn would now float down the Paucartambo River to the jungle, where it would glide into the Amazon River, and then be carried on a 4,000 mile journey to the Atlantic. When the yarn reached the ocean then our energy would be freed. It was a beautiful ceremony.

After our stay in Salka Wasi we traveled back to Cusco for a night to resupply, and then we took off the next morning on our journey to the Q’ero village of Ccochamocco. By the way, I wish that I could report more of the activities and experiences of Bob, Gina, Judy, Sally, and Nancy in this adventure. It has been many years since that trip (over 20 years as I write this) and they are now in my mind woven inseparably into the larger tapestry of what happened. What I have available in my memory and in my notes are the echoes of my own thoughts and experiences of the time, and these are what I can share with you.

That morning, Dante and his bus picked us up at our hostal and on the way out of town we dropped by Américo’s house in Cusco to be joined by Américo, Arilu, Gayle, and two of Gayle’s friends who were coming along to help; Fernando (who was to join us on later trips to Peru), Rojo (a friendly red-headed young man whom I had not met before), and Javier (who was to serve as our Spanish-English translator). As usual, Américo was our Quechua-Spanish translator.

On the road with Dante.

We drove for five hours on a dirt road that took us from Cusco further up into the high Andes, through small villages perched on the slopes of the towering mountains, beyond the context of the Western world. In the late afternoon we pulled into a dirt parking area just past the village of Pacchantapampa. Américo had asked us to bring tents and sleeping bags and everything we would need to camp. We setup our tents, and Bob and I spent the time before dinner visiting with (more like hanging out with as we did not speak Quechua) the children who had come from the village to check us out.

Pacchantapampa camp.

Bob and me ready for adventure.

Pacchantapampa children.

While we were there I approached Américo about a problem I was having. Throughout the previous year I had been experiencing intermittent tingling and weakness in my right leg. Occasionally I found walking to be painful. I had seen a number of doctors about this and had undergone a whole slew of tests. None of the tests uncovered the cause of my symptoms. Despite not knowing the nature of the problem I had decided that I was going to be able to handle the trip to Peru. In Pacchantapampa I asked Américo if he could look at my leg energetically, and “see” what the problem might be. He stepped back and looked at me for a while and then announced that he could see nothing wrong at the energetic level.

The significance of this was that, to Américo, my willingness to head up into the high, remote, areas of the Andes; far from the nearest road; with a gammy leg; was an exhibition of significant courage on my part. I have come to discover that Américo values courage–not bravado nor machismo nor foolishness–but a willingness to take the risks (physical, emotional, intellectual) that can arise while pursuing a path of heart. Several times in the years after this trip he has asked–during some conversation with others where this would be relevant–for me to tell them about my heading to Q’ero with a bad leg. At first I was concerned that I had miscommunicated with him at the time, and that perhaps I had made my leg sound worse than it was. I attempted to check this out with him and correct his impression if necessary. But in doing so, I realized that my actions had been indeed significant to him. Over the subsequent many years of our friendship, there have been occasions, when in looking back, I have realized that Américo had been gently testing my courage, or at least, that circumstances had given me a chance to exhibit it. These are deeply significant to me, and I will share them when we get to them in in later stories of my times with Américo.

The next morning at Pacchantapampa, four Q’ero arrived to accompany us to Ccochamocco: Américo’s close friend, the venerable don Pascual (The “Merlin of the Andes”); don Domingo (he of the ready and beautiful smiles); don Bonito (who was to be our official ‘host’ in the village); and a fourth Q’ero (whom I didn’t know and whose name I do not recall). Our horses also arrived that morning. The horses were managed by a campesino named Matus–who was not from Q’ero–and he had brought with him a couple of additional men as helpers.

After breakfast we mounted the horses and followed a dirt trail up the bottom of a canyon high up into the mountains. Américo, Arilu, Bob, Gina, Judy, Nancy, Sally, and I rode horses. Several more horses were loaded up with all the gear. Everyone else walked. Gayle and his friends carried backpacks.

Heading up canyon.

Every few miles, as we worked our way up the long canyon, we would pass a lone dwelling surrounded by stacked stone walls. It led me to wonder what life was life for these people, living in such isolation, miles from their neighbors, far from any roads, high in the Andes of Peru. We spent the day climbing higher and higher up into the mountains. Occasionally we would stop and take a break, sitting on the sparse, stiff, chicha grass, in the cold air and warm sun.

Isolated homesteads.

 

Our horses were the typical Andean variety, barrel chested with short legs. In the photos of that trip, Bob and I look outsized for the horses, our legs seeming to almost drag on the ground. I would, at times, get off my horse and walk, but I found that after 50 yards or so I was so exhausted by the thinness of the air that I would have to climb back onto my horse. I noticed, about then, that not only was Gayle walking the whole way, and carrying a backpack, he was also wearing ankle weights.

Towards the end of the day, we reached the first of the two summits of our journey. The land around us was stunning at 17,000 feet. Looking back in the direction from which we came, there stretched in magnificent splendor were Apu Ausangate and the other Apus that were his wife and daughters; majestic, awe inspiring, rugged peaks of stone, under a roof of high, dark, clouds. The Apus stood in great clarity in the thin air, seeming close enough to touch, marching off into the distance in a land of beautiful desolation.

It was, perhaps, the most incredible view of my life. It was also very cold at 17,000 feet, the wind was blowing, and it was time to move on. We headed down the other side of the pass.

Apu Ausangate and family. Photo taken at 17,000 feet. Click on photos to see larger display.

Apu Ausangate and family. Photo taken at 17,000 feet.

Around suppertime we reached the floor of a high valley and Américo announced that we would be setting up camp there for the night. He said this location was called “Ancasi (Where Eagles Perch)” and that it marked the beginning of the Q’ero lands. The valley held just a few houses and some alpaca corrals marked off by stacked-stone walls.

“Ancasi”. Camp. Beginning of the land of Q’ero.

We setup our tents while Arilu, Gayle, and his friends cooked dinner. As it got dark we sat, leaning against a stone wall, relaxing from the long day’s journey and talking with Américo. He informed us, much to my surprise, that he had not notified the elders of Ccochamocco of our coming, nor asked their permission for us to visit, and that thus he could not guarantee that we would be welcome. As that information percolated through my mind he added, “But, I have been visiting this village for over 20 years. They know that I would not bring anyone whose heart was not open. Everything should be fine.”

The next morning we climbed up to the second pass, also at about 17,000 feet. The terrain was less rugged here, lined by towering hills rather than rocky peaks. As we plodded on I noticed that don Domingo was now carrying a boom box (a large, portable, battery-operated, music player) on his shoulder. It raised again for me the issues around the Western world sweeping up the Andes like a tsunami and what I could to do help when it crests the hills surrounding Q’ero. It was clear to me that my task was not to stop the West (beyond my power), nor recommend to the Q’ero that they keep it at bay (not my business), but to help them retain what they value in the face of it. This being against, perhaps, all odds, given the history of what happens when Western economic and religious powers move into an indigenous culture. What to do was not clear to me at the time, but I can’t imagine how anyone with at least half a heart wouldn’t care. I was resolved to do something.

Around midday we reached the second summit, called “The Llamas Neck”. It was much less spectacular than the first, being just a saddle between two high hills. We paused there for a lengthy lunch break. As we were sitting there munching on bread and cheese, Américo pointed out that the Q’ero were sitting all huddled together. He said that they always do that to keep warm. I can’t remember who thought of it, but we decided that we wanted to show them a Western variation of that. So, we introduced to them the “Choo-Choo” formation. We all (the Westerners and the Q’ero) lined up sitting down as if were were riding a long toboggan, and then when everyone was situated we showed them how to move their arms as if we were powering train wheels, chanting “choo-choo” amidst a great deal of laughter.

Second summit. The “Llama’s Neck”.

“Choo-choo” formation.

Javier

Don Bonito, don Pascual, and Javier at the Llama’s Neck.

Don Américo at the Llama’s neck.

There are several Western shaman training centers that work with the Q’ero (having the Q’ero do ceremonies with the groups that the centers bring to Peru). At the time, there was a turf war among the training centers concerning who would get to “have” the Q’ero. Américo has always sailed in under the radar of these politics. The Q’ero are simply his friends, and have been for all of his life, and he just quietly arranges to get together with his friends. On my most recent trip to Peru, the Q’ero told me that one of the things they love about working with Américo is that when they work with the others everyone is so serious, and when they are with Américo they laugh a lot.

After our lunch break we headed over the pass to the land beyond. The pass was an apocheta. There are various definitions of the term “apocheta”. When you pass over the shoulder of an Apu in the Andes you will find a tall pile of stones. These stones are left there by travelers who have used the stones to connect their energy with the Apu. Such a pile of stones is called an apocheta. An apocheta can also be thought of as a portal between two different geographic energies. If you have ever traveled through the mountains, and coming around a corner or over a pass you suddenly see the plains stretching out before you, that is an apocheta also, a place where the energy of the geography changes. When traveling by truck with the Q’ero, when we pass through an apocheta they will thump on the roof of the truck and Américo will pull over. The Q’ero then get out with their flutes and their mesas and have a little ceremony to mark the change of energy and to request permission to enter the new land.

Just past the summit the trail began to drop sharply, and there, to our right stood majestic Apu Wamanlipa, towering high above us. Wamanlipa is the Apu that has the village of Ccochamocco within its realm. We stopped to honor it, and ask permission to enter its domain. Then we continued down the path.

Don Domingo and Apu Wamanlipa

We were soon enveloped in clouds, a common occurrence in the late afternoon in that part of the Andes. It was cold and it started to rain. We made our way down the side of the mountains as quickly and as we safely could. When we reached a flattish place, just before a hill, Américo announced that we had arrived. Ccochamocco, he informed us, was just on the other side of the hill. He added, however, that we shouldn’t just barge in there, and that we should wait until tomorrow morning when our meeting with the people could be done in an appropriate manner. Bob and I asked him if it would be ok for us to climb to the top of the hill and look at the village from there and Américo said that would be fine.

Coming down out of the clouds to the village. Bob and pack horses.

So, Bob and I climbed to the top of the hill. The hill was covered with chicha grass growing between scattered rocks. It wasn’t a very tall hill but we were at 15,000 feet, and we huffed and puffed a great deal getting to the top. There, just a couple of hundred yards away and somewhat below us, was the village of Ccochamocco, nestled on a slope at the foot of Apu Wamanlipa. It was a small village of stone huts. There were no phone or electric wires in the village, no vehicles or machines of any sort, just some colorful clothing set out to dry, several alpacas, and a few people moving quietly around the houses. It was a scene from beyond the edge of the world, it was incredible.

Ccochamocco. 15,000 feet.

After soaking it in for a while and taking some photos, Bob and I walked back down to where camp was being set up. Our group had stopped by a small, circular, alpaca corral walled by stacked stones. Américo was talking to its owner, who had granted us permission to setup camp there. We Westerners, and Américo and Arilu, put up our tents within the corral. Gayle and his friends set their tents up outside the corral. The Q’ero who had traveled with us had gone on to the village.

Soon after our tents were up, as the light of day was waning, a delegation of Q’ero arrived from the village. Among them were some of the Q’ero who had traveled with us, including don Pascual, as well as some village elders that were new to us. Introductions were made. A very old and venerable looking Q’ero was introduced to us as don Fabio, whom we were informed was don Domingo’s father. Américo was very pleased that Fabio happened to be in Ccochamocco. He was, Américo informed us, one of the highest and most revered of the Q’ero paq’os (an “alto mesayoq”), and he would be leading our karpay ceremony. A few children from the village had come with them.

We all sat around in a small circle by the alpaca corral. Coca leaves were brought out, as well as sacred tobacco (in the form of unfiltered Marlborough cigarettes), and a bottle of pisco (brandy). As the bottle was passed around the circle we each filled its tiny cap with pisco, offered a few drops to Pachamama, and then drank the rest of the capful. This meeting was an important first step in our visit, a chance for the elders to determine whether or not our energy was compatible with their own.

Don Fabio and don Pascual in center of the photo.

Children sitting with Américo.

After the elders returned to the village a man named Andres approached Américo. Américo turned to us and said that Andres had offered to guard the energy of the alpaca corral during the evening. I’m not sure why I raised an eyebrow (metaphorically) about this offer, whether I sensed that Américo wasn’t convinced, or whether I just suspected this was a way to get some ayni from us, but we said ok. I did find it interesting, and perhaps relevant, that the next morning those who stayed in the tents outside the corral talked about how incredibly cold it had been during the night, while those of us in the corral thought it wasn’t that bad. We were a little shaded from the wind inside the corral, but it didn’t seem like that was enough to explain the difference.

The next morning I awoke just as it started to get light. I zipped open the door to my tent, poked my head out, and looked around. Javier spotted me and came over to ask if I would like some coffee. Oh man! Waking up in a camp at 15,000 feet and being offered coffee first thing, it doesn’t get much better than that.

I got dressed–in many layers to keep warm–and clambered out of my tent. The sun had just risen, and most of our party were still asleep. I sat on a rock, sipping my coffee, and began writing in my journal. After a few minutes, I looked up from my writing, and there, just a few feet away, a young girl from the village was standing, staring at me. She had apparently walked over from the village to check us out. Just at that moment Sally, leaned out of her tent and took our picture…bless her heart…it is one of my all-time favorite photographs.

I gave the little girl a smile that blossomed from my heart. She seemed to be shy and yet wanting to connect with me. We couldn’t converse. I still didn’t know more than a few expressions in Quechua, and they all escaped me at that moment anyway. But having been the father of young children I knew how to communicate with her with my tone of voice and expressions and gestures. I greeted her and told her how happy I was to meet her. I looked at her necklace and told her how pretty it was. She came over and sat next to me on the rock, and I put my arm around her, and together we watched the camp wake up and the morning begin. Sally took another picture of us. The little girl and I sat there, in heart-felt companionship, in silence, in salka, for about half an hour. It was one of the high points of my life. At times I wonder how she is now, what effect if any did our meeting have on her, is she having a good life? I hope so.

Many, many, years later I was giving a presentation on my work in Peru to faculty and graduate students in the psychology department at the University of Utah (a research-oriented institution). When I finished telling them the story about the little girl, the head of the experimental psychology program said, “That is a nice story Oakley, but did anything important happen during that trip?” Earlier in my life I would have been offended or worried (about my acceptance by the department), instead I was amused…one of the benefits of having more years under my belt.

Don Américo wasn’t around during breakfast that day. Somewhat later he joined us at camp and informed us that he had had an important meeting that morning with don Fabio. As part of the larger context around having the karpay ceremony, in that meeting Fabio had to demonstrate to Américo that he was capable of doing the level of energy work that the karpay required. This was necessary even though Américo knew don Fabio and his impressive abilities. Américo, for his part, had to take responsibility that we were all energetically prepared to participate in the ceremony. He told us that there would be consequences for him if we were not, although he didn’t specify what those were. He then informed us that everything went well and that the karpay would be held the next day. First we needed to meet the people of the village and being the process of meshing our energies. That was today’s agenda.

About an hour later Américo led us around the hill and into the village of Ccochamocco. We sat down on the slope next to don Pascual’s house. It was a small rectangular abode with walls of stone and a thatched roof, like all the houses in the village. Américo disappeared inside, and after a few minutes he came out with Pascual and we walked out of the village to a flat area where all the villagers were sitting in a circle awaiting our arrival. There were around 45 villagers; children, women, and men. They made room for us in their circle and we sat down.

Meeting with the people of Ccochamocco

Américo started things off by making a beautiful speech about the significance of this moment, speaking first to the Q’ero in Quechua and then to us in Spanish, which Javier then translated into English. Some of the men and women of the village then spoke, as did each of us. Smiles were spreading and hearts were opening. We then gave the Q’ero some presents we had brought with us. Américo had suggested that we not bring toys that required batteries–as obviously it would be hard for them to get replacements–so for the children I had brought some yo-yos. (I just now looked at the internet to see how to spell yo-yo and discovered from wikipedia that a Greek vase painting from 440 BC shows a boy playing with a yo-yo). While the meeting progressed I noticed that Javier had taken some of the children aside to show them how to yo-yo. Someone else had brought peel-off stickers of hearts and butterflies and hummingbirds and stars. In the photos of us all together you can see that some of the women and children applied the stickers to their cheeks and foreheads to good effect. It was a happy and amiable gathering with lots of smiles and laughter.

 

Rojo, don Américo, and villagers.

Mastering the arcane knowledge of the yoyo.

On the agenda for after lunch was a soccer match between Gayle, his friends, and the men who tended the horses on one team, and the young men of Ccochamocco on the other. It was the most surreal sports competition I have ever witnessed, and I suspect one of the most surreal on the planet. The young men on the Ccochamocco team appeared wearing fluorescent pink uniforms, which I was told had been a gift of someone from Germany. The soccer field itself was, at best, flattish, with some tree-poles stuck in the ground to mark the goals. The boundary on one side was a ravine with a stream at the bottom of it. When the ball went out of bounds in that direction one of the players had to dash down and retrieve the ball before it made significant progress towards the Amazon. The game official was a gentleman from the village, wearing his traditional clothing…and a wristwatch and whistle. The Q’ero elders sat imperturbably on a hill watching the game, calmly chewing coca leaves, and showing no inclination to do “the wave”.

Later that afternoon, an hour or so before dinner, Américo approached me and said that one of the Q’ero would be willing to do some energetic work on my leg. Javier, who knew a little bit of Quechua, offered to accompany me.

Javier and I took the short walk to the village and there we were met by a young man named Nicholas, his wife, and two children. They welcomed us into their house. Like don Pascual’s house–like all houses in the village–it was a small, rectangular abode with walls made of stacked stones and a thatched roof. It was rather dark inside, lit by the early-evening light coming in through a small window and by a small fire burning in a stone enclosure on the floor. The house smelled, not unpleasantly, of smoke, for the smoke from the fire did not easily escape through the hole in the roof. The wife tended a pot heating over the fire. I looked around as Nicholas prepared to perform his ceremony. The only metal objects I could see in the house were a knife and the pot (I had noticed a metal shovel outside). It seemed to me that these people were living an almost stone-age existence. I felt greatly honored to have been invited into their house.

Don Nicholas and family.

Nicholas had me take off my shoe and sock, and roll up my pants leg as far as I could. He then began to bathe my leg with the medicine that had been heating in the pot, while talking softly to my leg in Quechua. This continued for perhaps fifteen minutes. When he was finished I thanked him and his wife most sincerely and gave them some money as ayni.

As Javier and I walked back to our camp Javier turned to me and said that I had comported myself very well in there. I truly had no idea what I had done to earn that compliment, but I appreciated it. I did not notice any improvement in my leg after the ceremony, but then it wasn’t really bothering me all that much during the trip either. Sometime after I returned from Peru it was determined that my leg was suffering from a long-term lack of adequate arch support, and my problem was resolved with shoe inserts.

The next morning we had the karpay ceremony on the slopes of Apu Wamanlipa. The Q’ero and don Américo went up the mountain early to prepare for the ceremony. An hour later, Gayle and his friends led us from the village up the slope of Apu Wamanlipa. The morning sunlight lit the mountain. Below us, clouds from the far away jungle were working their way up the valley, as they do almost every day.

Clouds drifting up from the jungle far below.

As we walked up the side of the mountain, we could see way above us, as just small dots, some of the women of the village waiting for us. We slowly climbed and climbed and eventually met the women. Then, as a group, we turned and headed still further up. We rounded a high shoulder of the mountain, and there, at the bottom of the Apu’s final peak, we found the others waiting for us. They were sitting in a small, natural, circle of stone, about 10 yards in diameter (which Américo referred to as ‘the cup of the mountain’). In silence, partly in respect and partly due to awe, we joined the circle of Q’ero sitting there. Already my consciousness was starting a major shift into some new realm.

Climbing up the slopes of Apu Wamanlipa. Women are waiting for us (seen as small colorful dots just below the ridge).

I put my day pack down behind me, pulled out my sitting pad, and sat down. Américo welcomed us and gave us a few instructions. We were to feel free to leave the ceremony temporarily if we needed to go pee and he also told us that we could take photos if we wanted, except at times when he would let us know that it would be inappropriate. I didn’t want to take photos, I didn’t want to distance myself by becoming an observer of the ceremony rather than a Being in the ceremony.

As the Q’ero pulled out their sacred objects and began working with the coca leaves I moved into a deeper and deeper altered state of consciousness. By the time they came around to each of us, moving their mesas down our bodies to clean our energy, blowing down into the crowns of our heads while speaking Quechua, I was in an altered state that equaled in intensity my experiences with psychedelic drugs…yet qualitatively different.

When the karpay ceremony concluded, everyone was in a pleasant, light, happy mood. After relaxing for a bit we all headed back toward the village. This took us over a flat, high, stretch that was wet and mossy…rather like a peat bog but rockier. By then the clouds that were born in the jungle in the morning had risen high enough to envelope us. The world was gray, and everyone and everything more than a score of yards in distance disappeared into the mist. I finally took out my camera, and took the most amazing, mystical, photographs of my life. I chose one of these to serve as the cover of my (first) book.

Rocky bog in the clouds.

When we returned to camp we sat in camp chairs and were treated to a cap-full of Pisco and some chocolate pudding. We were all so light and relaxed. As we were chatting, Américo turned to me and asked, “How can you publish standing under the stars? How can you publish standing under the sun? How can you publish standing in the cup of the mountains?”

After we recovered for a while, we were invited to a party being given in honor of the day by the villagers. It was held in a flat area near the soccer field. I sat on the ground with my back against one of the stone buildings and was soon offered chicha, a type of corn beer, that had been made by the women of the village. The making of chicha was one of the sacred duties of the acclas (“chosen women”) in the days of the Incas. Américo let us know that drinking the chicha was purely optional, which perhaps in this case was meant as a warning, but I had some anyway. It was rather terrible, very sour and thin. I later discovered that part of the process of making chica involves the women chewing corn and then spitting it into the mash.

The next morning we began our journey back to Cusco. We made it about half way to Pacchantapampa and camped for the night. Gayle and the crew had carted up a collapsible table and chairs for our use on this trip. They put them up that morning for breakfast, and we sat around the table, dressed in our warmest clothes, in an unbelievably isolated side canyon, way, way up in the Andes, having oatmeal and coffee. The food wasn’t fancy, but the view and the ambience were astounding.

The next day we made it back to Pacchantapampa and our bus, and drove to Cusco. The night after that, we had an end-of-trip dinner with Américo, Arilu, and the guys. This has become a tradition, which I have kept up in all of my trips to Peru. Arilu suggests a place that is nice enough to be special but not too expensive, and we eat and drink and laugh (a lot), enveloped in affection and happiness, still high from the Andes, and released from the rather intense energetic demands of being on an adventure in Peru. Did I mention lots of laughter, and love? They are not the goals of the trips, they are the natural byproduct.

This was the most romantic of all of my trips to Peru (see the definition of “romantic” at the beginning of this story) and perhaps the most rewarding to my heart. It was also exhausting, I lost twelve pounds during the two weeks of the trip. This was also the last trip to Peru of the Apu Chim, I have not seen Bob or Judy since we parted the next day in Cusco. Gina and I came down to Peru together for our fourth trip.

I have taken many trips to Peru to work with Américo since that journey and many things have changed. Don Fabio died a month after our visit. Don Pascual died a few years later. Don Domingo disappeared into the abyss. He was apparently walking along the edge of a cliff and fell, all they found in the river below were his poncho and his flute. There is now a paved road to Ccochamocco.

 

 

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Language, Thought, and Worldviews in Tolkien’s Writing

Progress report:  I am nearing (I hope) a presentable draft of the story covering my third trip to Peru to work with Américo Yábar and the people of Q’ero.  In the meantime, here is something I have just written that ties into my meta-consideration of worldviews.


I was reading in The Letters of JRR Tolkien (Letter #171) a response he wrote to a college student who had written to Tolkien, criticizing his use of archaic words and sentence structures in LOTR. The writer particularly didn’t like the chapter “The King of the Golden Hall”, calling it horrible, and referring to it as tushery. I had to pull out my dictionary. Tushery is “writing of poor quality distinguished by the presence of affectedly archaic diction” (Merriam-Webster). Tushery is usually associated with authors who have little knowledge of medieval English who toss some old-timey words (e.g. ‘verily’ or ‘pish’) into a character’s dialog in an attempt to make the character fit a medieval setting.

It struck me as presumptuous, at the least, to tell Tolkien, who was a professor of philology (the study of language) and of Old English and Middle English literature, that he was creating affectedly archaic diction. Tolkien’s response touches upon the relationship between language, thought, and worldviews. It also shines light on his skill of giving the reader implicit knowledge of the speaker, not so such by what the speaker says, as by how he or she says it.

Tolkien begins by talking about the basic nature of real archaic English, stating that many of the things said in archaic English can not be expressed in modern English. This, I found, to be a mind-expanding consideration with fascinating ramifications. The anthropologist Gregory Bateson once declared that only deaf linguists believe that accurate translations from one language to another are effectively possible (Sacred Unity: Further Steps to an Ecology of Mind, pg 292). It had not occurred to me that this might also apply in this case, that ideas expressed in the language of archaic times may not be possible to express in modern English.

To demonstrate his point, Tolkien pulls in an example of his use of archaic English from the chapter that the writer so disliked, The King of the Golden Hall. This is King Theoden speaking:

‘Nay, Gandalf!’ said the King. ‘You do not know your own skill in healing. It shall not be so. I myself will go to war, to fall in the front of the battle, if it must be. Thus shall I sleep better.’

The words are all familiar to us, and are still in use today. None of them, with the possible exception of ‘Nay’, have the aroma of the archaic. What is archaic about the passage has to do with the structure of the sentences. Tolkien demonstrates this by saying the same thing in modern English:

‘Not at all my dear G. You don’t know your own skill as a doctor. Things aren’t going to be like that. I shall go to war in person, even if I have to be one of the first casualties…thus shall I sleep better.’

But, Tolkien states, a King who spoke in that modern fashion would not have had those thoughts! There is an incongruity between modern English and Theoden’s way of thinking. To have Theoden speak his thoughts in modern English would be, in Tolkien’s words, “far more bogus than the actual ‘archaic’ English” that he used. The people who spoke archaic English not only spoke differently than the way we speak, they also thought differently than the way we think.

Tolkien then goes on to demonstrate several differences between the diction of archaic English and that of modern English. He states that modern English is regrettably looser, more full of little ’empty’ words (see the example above), and yet at the same time is much more limited in its acceptable ways of putting words together in a sentence. Archaic English provides word orders that are terser, more vivid, and sometimes nobler than modern English. He concludes by asking the writer to free himself of the “extraordinary 20th Century delusion” the our current way of speaking has some “peculiar validity, above those of other times”. I would add that this is true not only of the way we speak but also of the way we think. Our current worldview assumes that the way we think in modern times has greater validity than the way we thought in other times. I bring that up as something to consider, to loosen the rigidity of our thinking that arises out of cultural arrogance.

Returning to how Theoden speaks in LOTR. Even though he uses word orders that are no longer deemed acceptable, we can still understand what he is saying. And further, the way Theoden speaks gives us a great deal of implicit knowledge about his character. We get a sense of his worldview, his nobility, what he values, and a sense of his culture. Tolkien was a master at giving the reader a great deal of implicit information about a character, not just by what the characters say but also by the way they say it.

To examine that further I would like to turn to the writings of professor Tom Shippey, who taught at Oxford during some of the same time as Tolkien, and held the Chair of English Language and Medieval Literature at Leeds University, which Tolkien held earlier in his career. Professor Shippey has published two insightful books on Tolkien, The Road to Middle-Earth, and J.R.R. Tolkien: Author of the Century. I don’t agree with some of his interpretations of Tolkien’s work, but his books contain some gems. My favorite is Shippey’s analysis of the chapter “The Council of Elrond”.

“The chapter is a largely unappreciated tour-de-force…It breaks, furthermore, most of the rules which might be given to an apprentice writer. For one thing, though it is 15000 words long, in it nothing happens: it consists entirely of people talking. For another, it has an unusual number of speakers present (twelve), the majority of them (seven) unknown to the reader and appearing for the first time. Just to make things more difficult, the longest speech, by Gandalf, which takes up close on half the total, contains direct quotation from seven more speakers, or writers, all of them apart from Butterbur and Gaffer Gamgee new to the story, and some of them (Saruman, Denethor) to be extremely important to it later on. Other speakers, like Glóin, give direct quotation from yet more speakers, Dáin and Sauron’s messenger. Like so many committee meetings, this chapter could very easily have disintegrated, lost its way, or simply become too boring to follow. The fact that it does not is brought about by two things, Tolkien’s extremely firm grasp of the history of Middle-earth; and his unusual ability to suggest cultural variation by differences and mode of speech” (Author of the Century, pp 68-69).

Shippey demonstrates this with illuminating examples from several of the twenty speakers in the chapter; including Elrond, Glóin, Sauron’s messenger, Saruman, Aragorn, and Boromir*. He then concludes:

“The gist of the paragraphs above is only this. People draw information not only from what is said, but from how it is said. The continuous variations of language within this complex chapter tell us almost subliminally how reliable characters are, how old they are, how self-assured they are, how mistaken they are, what kind of person they are. All this is as vital as the direct information conveyed, not least, as has been said, to prevent the whole chapter from degenerating into the minutes of a committee meeting, which in a sense is what it is. Tolkien’s linguistic control (a professional skill for him) is one of his least appreciated abilities…” (pg 76)

This can also be seen in the farewells that Balin (a dwarf) and Bilbo (a hobbit) give each other at the end of The Hobbit.

“‘Good-bye and good luck, wherever you fare!’ said Balin at last. ‘If ever you visit us again, when our halls are made fair once more, then the feast shall indeed be splendid!’

‘If ever you are passing my way,’ said Bilbo, ‘don’t wait to knock! Tea is at four; but any of you are welcome at any time!'” p. 305

As Shippey points out, the two are saying the same thing, but in very different ways that both reflect and give us implicit knowledge of their respective cultures (The Road to Middle-earth, pg 86).

When I first read this in Shippey’s book I suddenly better understood something from Tolkien’s essay On Fairy-Stories, where he states “Stories that are actually concerned primarily with ‘fairies’, that is with creatures that might also in modern English be called ‘elves’, are relatively rare, and as a rule not very interesting. Most good ‘fairy-stories’ are about the aventures** of men in the Perilous Realm or upon its shadowy marches.” (in Tolkien on Fairy-Stories, pg 32).

We can see in Bilbo’s farewell that he talks, and probably thinks, quite a bit like we do, certainly more so than do dwarves or elves. In The Hobbit and LOTR, the presence of the hobbits gives us a vicarious experience of what it would be like to be in that world. The hobbits give us a human perspective of Faerie, one from which that realm is mysterious, dangerous, and somehow alluring, yet not alien. We get to view it through the eyes of someone with whom we can relate for we share a similar worldview. When I contemplate what a story would be like if everyone spoke, all the time, in a fashion similar to Balin’s, I can see that the story would not be all the palatable to me (as much as I cherish the dwarven characters).

Tolkien created a secondary world for us to enter and explore. He did not, of course, actually create that world physically, we enter a representation of that world that arises in our minds as we read his words. His ability to give us that experience relied heavily upon his profound knowledge of language, its relationship to thought, and the relationship between language, thought, and worldview. With that knowledge he was able to take us to ancient times that exist in fantasy, and to the Perilous Realm of Faerie itself.

Footnotes:

* Shippey’s states that Tolkien has Elrond speak in an archaic manner to continually remind the reader of Elrond’s great age (several thousand years old). Shippey adds, “Many critics have complained of Tolkien’s archaic style in one section or another; they have failed to realize that he understood archaism far more technically than they ever could, and could switch it on and off at will, as he could modern colloquialism” (pg 70)”.

** “Instead of the usual English word adventures Tolkien chooses the French aventures, which conveys, in addition to the usual meaning of ‘exciting experiences’, the darker implications of hazard, uncertainty and outright danger that his following phrase ‘the Perilous Realm’ underscores.” (From the Editors’ Commentary in Tolkien on Fairy-Stories, pg 93). Tolkien’s essay On Fairy-Stories has been published in several contexts. I like this book the best, as it presents both an earlier draft and the final draft of the essay (both drafts have some interesting points that the other leaves out), and I enjoy some of the editor’s comments.

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