"Have good trust in yourself -- not in the one that you think you should be, but in the one that you are." Maezumi Roshii
Back in Las Latas the ceremony celebrating the return of the pilgrims was well under way. It was a very rare privilege indeed to be attending this ceremony. The Wiriraca/Huichols carefully guard their culture and their traditions, which is why their traditions have changed very little since pre-Columbus times. Because of their withdrawal to locations way up into the Sierra mountains, they were not subject to the same genocide of their peoples that many other indigenous people in Mexico and other parts of the world. They are considered by some to be the last group of indigenous peoples in the Americas who still follow their original teachings and live in their traditional way.
What I was about to witness was a ceremony that to this date a very small number of outsiders or Tewari's had witnessed in person. I was privileged to be there at the invitation of one of the chief mara'akame's or shaman's, Matsua, the captain of the pilgrimage. The Wira who are chosen as pilgrims hold that 'office' for 5 years. In that time they are responsible for taking care of all the ceremonial needs of the community, while still providing for the needs of their families, something which is not very easily accomplished, especially since there are no jobs and few sources of income in the Wira communities. Most live off the crops they plant, livestock they can raise and whatever they can sell or trade.
During the 5 year period, the group of pilgrims are required to undertake three pilgrimages from the Sierras to Wiricuta. These pilgrimages allow the Wira to hunt or to gather the hicuri, which is sacred to them, as well, the pilgrimage is a time in which the pilgrims revision their world and take their first look at the life of the mara'akame. In the whole community of Las Latas, there are about 10 mara' akames, 4 of them had taken part in this pilgrimage. All the past and present pilgrims turn out to celebrate the return of the pilgrimage. Most of the community comes to honour the pilgrims for the sacrifice they had made on their behalf. They dance with them and rejoice with them and welcome them back to the community. The previous pilgrims make a special effort to offer their support as they understand the sacrifice that this group have made in order to maintain this ago old tradition.
Despite his pivotal role in the ceremony taking place inside the Calaway, shortly after we arrived in the plaza, Matsua came out to greet Masauke and to welcome Linda and myself. Still not sure about the protocol around taking pictures, I missed an incredible Kodak moment when Matsua, who at that point had been up for 4 days and 4 nights, stood facing Masauke, who he greeted as his brother. The dancing was a key part of the ceremony. The pilgrims, who were usually sequestered within the Calaway, a round adobe building with a very high peak roof situated in the centre of the plaza, would periodically blow their horns and then all dance out of the Calaway following the lead mara' akame. They woudl then dance in a single file that moved in a serpent like fashion around the entire plaza. At a certain point the wives and husbands of the pilgrims would join in the dance. The women, who were not pilgrims danced ahead of the men and on either sides. Each round of dancing in the plaza would last between 10 and 20 minutes before the pilgrims would once again enter the Calaway not to be seen by those outside til the next round.
The ground was so dry that prior to each round of dancing members of the community would bring buckets of water and throw the water around the plaza, only to have it quickly soaked up by the parched earth. This was an attempt to quell the clouds of dust that would otherwise cause the pilgrim dancers to have to cover their faces with their scarves. The dancing did not stop, but continued moving betwwen the inside and the outside with a certain periodicity that I would not quite figure out. Members of the community came and went from the viewing spots surrounding the Calaway. Children played in the plaza. Old women brought out pots with finely shredded raw cabbage and cucumber, lime and frijoles, which were spread on something that resembles a very large crispy wafer, covered in chili sauce and sold for 6 pesos. They were delicious, and as there was no other food to be had anywhere, it was just as well.
The ceremony continued on into the night. We went back to the compound where we were staying to have a rest and returned at about 10pm. There were fewer people in the plaza, but the ceremonial fires were still lit and groups of people, including a significant number of young men, were gathered around the ceremonial fires. We took this opportunity to get closer. We greeted the sacred fires and approached the Calaway, where we were able to stand outside the door and look inside. For Masauke, this role as a spectator was very unusual, as he has accompanied the pilgrimage for many years and usually takes part with the activities inside the Calaway. This year, because he had given his place to his other apprentice Jessie, he was in the role of witness rather than participant. He commented on how unusual it was to be viewing the ceremonies from the outside.
As we stood in the plaza in dark, the light of the ceremonial fires behind us, under the dark starlit night, peering over the heads of others crowding the doorway to catch a glimpse inside the Calaway at the ceremony taking place within, I understood completely what Masauke's brother had said about the first night he had stood in the Calaway witnessing a ceremony. He had commented that it felt like he had gone back a thousand years. Peering in to the flickering lights of the candles and fire within the Calaway, in a community where there is no electricity, no 'artificial' lighting, observing the mara'akame performing a ceremony in the same way that their fathers and their father's father's and their father's father's fathers had witnessed the ceremony before them, I tuned in to the thread of time and in that moment understood how each of us is no more than a small whisper in the Symphony of the Great Spirit and yet each of those whispers together becomes such beautiful music.
I could not help but think about my Taino, my native South American and my many African ancestors, wondering how many nights such as this had my ancestors witnesses, how many such ceremonies had they danced at and as I witnessed the pilgrims partaking of their sacred hicuri medicine, I wondered what types of medicines were my ancestors medicines, what types of rituals spoke to their hearts and nourished their peoples. These people in the Calaway were not my people, their medicine was not my medicine, but the ancientness of their ceremony connected me back to a time when their ancestors were doing the same ceremony and somewhere, in some other parts of the world at the same time, my ancestors were also performing their own ceremonies, connected to each other only by a different view of the same ancient stars.
I stood there in awe, looking up at the twinkling stars smattered across the velvet black sky, as the ancient spirits of the Wira answered my questions. I asked them what I was doing there, so far from home, in a land where I knew so few people, and their answer was "You are searching for yourself." "You will not find what you are looking for here" they told me. "Our people are not your people. But we welcome you, as our ancestors would have welcomed your ancestors."
The Wiriraca are a people of peace. Though their lineage can be traced back 3,500 years, there is no history of warfare among the Wira/Huichol peoples. I understood deeply what it meant to be a people of peace that night as I stood under the stars and the spirits of the land welcomed me, and welcomed my ancestors, on behalf of the ancestors that had occupied this land when they had occupied theirs. It was indeed an honour and a privilege for me to have been standing and looking at that particular view of the starry night sky.
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