“I call upon the guardians of the heart of Father Sun, the guardians of the heart of the Mother Earth and the guardians of the four directions, so that through me, they can bless these instruments for my healing.”
Lowering my head and making a small circular sweeping motion with each hand clenching the leaf of a medicinal plant, I focus my mind and begin the “confieso” (confession). For five minutes I recall all memories of the day that will soon fade into the night sky, whether pleasant or unpleasant, memorable or unmemorable, and sweep them away.
I take a deep breath, blow four times in the direction of the setting sun, and pray that the wise men and women of the spiritual realms blow through me towards the setting sun and the sea, and that this nourishment is transformed into well-being for all creatures.
Roots of the Earth
In September 2022, I attended a four-day gathering called “Raices de la Tierra” (roots of the Earth) held near Rancagua, Chile. At the heart of the gathering, a Kiva, otherwise known as a large ceremonial space, was dug into the earth. Every day, elders belonging to different indigenous traditions slowly descended into the sacred space and offered their prayers, poems, dances, incense, songs and music to the four directions and the sacred fire that was burning night and day at the centre of the Kiva.
One of the elders at the gathering was Mamo Lorenzo Izquierdo, a spiritual leader of the Arhuaco people of Colombia. “Mamo is the name for a male spiritual leader, and Ati is the name for a female spiritual leader. They are people who have the spiritual tools to maintain the equilibrium and harmony of the community of nature and all things,” he explained.
Mamo Lorenzo’s calm presence caught my attention, and when I was told that he’d be directing a nine-day retreat called “retorno al origen,” (return to the origin), I decided to attend.
Although he currently has his base in Sasaima, their spiritual home (like that of the Kogui people) is the Sierra Nevada mountains. They’re located at the point where the Andes Mountains that span the continent finally reach the sea and descend abruptly to submerge beneath it and continue their journey below the waves.
The Sierra Nevada is the highest coastal mountain range in the world. In ancient times, before it had a name, the Arhuacos explain that the world was submerged underwater except for one mountain peak, Alounwla, which doesn’t carry snow because it’s connected with the centre of the Earth, the heart.
The Kogui and Arhauaco people have, for many years, urged the younger brother (us) to change our ways or suffer environmental catastrophe. This warning is more poignant and urgent with every passing year, and Mamo Lorenzo seeks to share the teachings of his people with the younger brother and transform our relationship with our inner world and our environment.
For Mamo Lorenzo, his visits abroad would be considered a success, not on economic terms, but if the people heeded his warning and changed their ways:
I left the mountains and came here on purpose to divulge this message. The point is not to show but to remember. We are losing our spirituality—the more technology we acquire the more we regress. We are becoming uncivilized … we used to be telepathic, we didn’t need cell phones.”
Return to the origin
It was with great curiosity that I left for the retreat at dawn in early February of 2023, following little more than intuition about what I might expect. I picked up a friend on the way, along with a gallon of Kombucha, a thick iron cooking plate and a rusty chimney. Esteban gave me directions as to how to get there, and within three hours, we were outside the main gate to the retreat.
We entered the site, parked the car and proceeded to wash our hands and feet at a stream nearby, as instructed beforehand. We then contemplated whether the car would make it up the steep rocky road that curled its way up the mountainside, or whether we should wait for someone to arrive and help us with our camping equipment.
I called one of the co-ordinators, but the phone signal was weak and no one replied, so we hopped into the car. I grabbed the steering wheel firmly, made a short prayer and accelerated up the mountain. We reached a house further up the mountain, without too much difficulty, and parked the car nearby. From here it would be necessary to walk the rest of the stretch up a mountain path leading through the thick native forest.
After a 10-minute walk, we came across the first tents dotted around small clearings in the forest, and then finally arrived at the main area, where there was a makeshift kitchen, a large covered sitting area around a fire in the centre, and a wooded area reserved for “la sentada” (the sitting). This is where we’d sit for long periods of the day, meditating in silence or carrying out exercises given by the Mamo.
Between sitting sessions, we took turns cleaning the ecological compost toilets, helping out in the kitchen, collecting firewood or taking care of the sacred fire. We also had meetings in the evening where we’d discuss duties that needed to be carried out and then perform the confieso, after which some would make themselves comfortable around the sacred fire and sing to the beat of a shamanic drum.
In line with the name of the retreat, the sacred fire came from the origin, as it wasn’t started with matches or a lighter, but by rubbing two sticks together until a spark was made; then, then the spark was carefully nurtured until it became a fire. This fire would be the source for cooking food in the kitchen area, as well as for certain ceremonies in the sitting area, and it had to stay lit for the whole retreat.
The kitchen consisted of a table to serve the food, a table with implements where the food was prepared, some simple chests where the food was stored, and a plastic awning above to protect everything from the sun and rain. On one side of the covered area was a tap for washing dishes and cooking, and on the other side lay the iron plate for cooking food, propped up by a few rocks, under which a fire was tended.
This was my first stop in the morning, where I’d serve myself some hot water with a couple of boldo leaves and share some words around the fire.
I’d then go and take my position with my back resting against a tree in la sentada, facing towards an Olivillo, the largest tree in the area, where Mamo Lorenzo would sit in silence while communicating with his ancestors and spiritual guides. He’d then reveal to us the exercises we needed to perform to clean our lineage, our thoughts, our feelings, our past, our present and our future.
Bird song
One morning while we sat in silence, a bird began to sing upon the Olivillo tree. Mamo Lorenzo later informed us that the bird had told him we needed to work on our sexual centres.
He explained that our sexual organs were like houses where, from time to time, we’d open the front door to receive visitors. As is true of all houses, they need sweeping from the accumulated dust and residue left behind.
The notion that one can receive energetic contamination from sexual encounters can be found in various traditions, and can be regarded as a condemnation of non-monogamy. This is, of course, a contentious topic; however, since it wasn’t accompanied by dogmatic baggage, it felt more like a spring clean than a guilt trip about “sinful” behaviour.
Mamo Lorenzo imparts his teachings without grand explanations, drama or moral judgements. During every sentada, he emphasizes the importance of sweetening, cleansing, harmonizing and refreshing every aspect of our material and subtle bodies so that the Earth itself may be sweetened, cleansed, harmonized and refreshed.
I sensed that Mamo Lorenzo, in his silent contemplation against the Olivillo tree, perceived the psychological and energetic residue accumulated in our lives and through our ancestors, and his goal was to lighten our load so that we could walk lightly on this Earth.
He has been educated as the indigenous member of an ancient and particularly hermetic culture, and is informed by teachings that have been passed down orally by generations of elders. He always maintains a state of presence, and his messages are conveyed with few words, without hurry or unnecessary adornments. He’s reluctant to repeat any instructions given, and so invites the audience to stay present and not become lost in the labyrinth of their minds during the sitting.
His presence is akin to the simplicity of a youth who hasn’t yet been weighed down by the complications or endless distractions of modern life. His teachings or explanations, while being simple and direct, are often accompanied by a youthful and spontaneous sense of humour, and he can often be heard chuckling to himself or making a joke or two during a sentada.
The way in is the way out
Mamo Lorenzo is a vehicle for the teaching of his people who perceive that humanity’s illness has been making Mother Earth sick, and that our efforts to cure ourselves and return to a balanced life—return to the simplicity of our origins—will also help restore Mother Earth to health and equilibrium. Humanity is a part of creation, and humanity’s actions and internal state have a direct relation to the state of the world around us.
Although the Mamos lived for many years apart from modern civilization, as they began to observe how climate change was affecting their people—such as how the Sierra Nevada suffered from long periods without rainfall—they realized that for the Earth and all the creatures that live upon it to survive, it was necessary to speak to the younger brother so that he may change his ways.
Every sentada involves exercises that seem to work on the internal and external worlds simultaneously. For example, one day we concentrated on disarming ourselves of all the bombs, fighter jets, rifles and tanks that raged inside us, on throwing down every weapon we used to attack or defend ourselves from perceived enemies, even though they may be family members, partners or friends.
We weaponize words, ideas and memories to criticize, judge or insult those close to us, so we need to disarm our intellect if we’re to live in peace with ourselves and those around us. The violence and suffering caused by these internal weapons of war aren’t just a metaphor that also describes the armed conflicts being played out (time and time again) on the battlefields of this world, but they actually fuel this violence.
Therefore, the conscious act of disarming ourselves and choosing peace also contributes to peace on Earth and an end to the abuse suffered by Mother Earth.
Fasting thoughts
I’d been told that we’d be fasting from salt, sugar and condiments, but I soon realized that the fast also included technology, words and thoughts. Of course, it’s easier to filter the food that enters your mouth than it is to filter the thoughts that feed your mind.
The simplicity of the food gradually enhanced the sensitivity of my taste buds, while the lack of sensory stimulation fine-tuned my mind’s receptivity to situations that were initially perceived as boring or void of meaning, and encouraged a less stimulated and calmer state of mind.
It’s easier to filter the food that enters your mouth than it is to filter the thoughts that feed your mind.
The experience of living in a forest without urban comfort, far from daily tasks and habits, while focusing on a certain theme for extended periods of time, is demanding but also develops our powers of concentration. This lifestyle stands in stark contrast to having our thoughts jump from one subject to the next every five minutes, as modern culture and technology have taught us to do.
In between these “trabajos” (work) there were also extended periods of more relaxed, unguided meditation. During these, I’d sit facing the trees, Mamo Lorenzo and other participants while following my breath and letting any thoughts pass like clouds in the sky.
I’d brought my meditation cushion with me from home, and I sat upright (as instructed by Zen masters) until my back ached and I’d have to lean against the tree behind me or slouch down until my head lay on the cushion and I spread myself on the leafy carpet underneath me.
As time went by, and the days passed, I noticed that my mind and my pace were coming in line with the pace of my new life in the forest. I began to enjoy sitting in the forest, and began to admire Mamo Lorenzo’s calm demeanour, his relaxed and straightforward way of addressing us, and the long tranquil pauses he held when speaking. I began to visualize a calm lake that his mind would return to time and time again.
This reminded me of the Arhuaco/Kogui creation stories that said the universe originated from Aluna, an eternal sea that has no beginning and ending, just like the original mind before the creation of thoughts.
Weaving our lives
The last day arrived and we made a final sitting to “intencionar” (directing one’s focus to imbue an activity with meaning) an auspicious future. The five small woven bags we’d woven during the nine days to represent our energetic source, our spirit, our heart, our placenta and five menstruations (something we were told that both men and women experience after puberty) were filled with small objects wrapped in cotton, and then inserted into the larger bag we’d each woven and hung around our neck. Each small woven bag had been “intencionado” as we wove it, and each represented, in form and size, each finger on one hand.
After that, we were each “baptized” with a new spiritual name, or as Mamo Lorenzo explained, the name of our heart. I asked him to explain what my name meant, and he firmly told me that I had to discover its meaning with my intuition and my heart. He didn’t want me to intellectualize or rationalize my name.
Mamo Lorenzo told us, “When you go to the lakes, the sea, waterfalls, to the sacred places, you can intencionar giving food to the spirits of the places, but as privately as possible. This is because, many times when we act, we look around to see who is looking at us. However, my culture is the opposite; while no one is looking, we approach the fire and present our offering.
The more private our offerings and our connections with the spirit worlds are, the more we can grow within. We’re never concerned by who might be looking at us, as we shouldn’t look outside ourselves when we make an offering.
Therefore, at these sacred places, we pronounce the name of our heart. Mentally, we communicate with the spirits by saying, “The heart of _____ presents itself in this place.” I can’t give the name that my parents gave me when I present myself to the sacred places, but if I say, “My heart is called _____,” that’s the correct way. To give the name of our heart is the correct way to address the spirits of these places.
Now, we can concentrate and travel to the sacred places we’ve been to and present our offerings.
A thorn in my side
As we sat around the sacred fire, breaking our nine-day fast with a communal meal, Mamo Lorenzo spoke about the importance, before we left, of pulling out any remaining thorns that caused us pain and inflammation. “If you return home with these thorns still under your skin,” he warned, “they will cause even more pain than before and lodge themselves deeper into your flesh.”
Once more, he reminded us of the importance of walking as innocent children on the Earth, cured of any dis-ease, resentment, anxiety, pain or jealousy that ever prevented us from walking lightly on this Earth.
Raining fire
During the nine-day sitting, we began to hear about forest fires raging in the region. We’d been experiencing an especially dry summer, but it was also rumoured that many of the fires were intentional.
A conflict has been simmering for many years in the Bio Bio and Araucanía regions, with some members of the local Mapuche indigenous people fighting to reclaim land taken from them since the white man first arrived at Abya-Yala (the original name for South America).
Although their historical claim to land taken from them by force dates back more than 500 years, a massive land grab was undertaken in the 1970s and ’80s during the Pinochet dictatorship. The land was passed to forestry companies for next to nothing, who proceeded to chop down native forests and replace them with pine and eucalyptus plantations to satisfy the global market for wood.
There are some that defend the forestry industry and point to the gains in profit and employment, while other sectors are horrified by the damage to the environment, the loss of native flora and fauna, the loss of traditional methods of subsistence and the loss of territory to a few transnational companies.
As a result, some Mapuche, as well as activists from the extreme left and extreme right of the political spectrum, have attempted to disrupt the forestry industry or provoke a repressive response from the Chilean military by setting alight pine and eucalyptus forests (along with forestry equipment and vehicles). This, coupled with a very dry summer, was responsible for hundreds of fire events across the two regions, with the resulting tragedy of lost lives, burnt homes, the closure of several motorways and the destruction of natural habitats.
So, after the nine-day healing ceremony, with fires raging around us, it was a fitting end to see the sky—which had been darkening since the morning—begin to release small droplets of rain the moment we closed the ceremony with offerings to the sacred fire. The droplets later turned into a downpour that accompanied us on our drive home.
After so much heat and devastation, the rain was the medicine the territory was praying for, as the parched Earth silently sighed with relief.
«RELATED READ» MEDITATION RETREAT: My experience at Musanga Zen Buddhist temple in Korea»
