Maria Charaja an Aymara Yatiti,
a Lake Titicaca Shaman

Maria.... her face is as beautiful and rugged as the hill she climbs; the bones of her frame are obviously built of the same mountain material. In a solid dignity, her back bears the load of the many items needed for the offering, wrapped in the blanket tied around her shoulders; they create quite a bulk. Up here, the next step and the next breath need to be very deliberate, we are higher than 14,000 ft. above sea level, but Maria knows this altitude and this hill well. Since she was a baby riding on her mother's back and as a young girl, barely more than a toddler, following the sheep, or planting the potatoes to feed her children, all of her years Maria has been on the slopes of Atoja. Many years, many years....maybe this is the last time she climbs this old peak.

A precious treasure is Maria. Among the Aymara, the people of Lake Titicaca, it is rare now to find a woman Yatiti, or ceremonial healer. In the ages past many women served in the lands of Mamacota--the Mother Lake--which is what the Aymara called her before the Spanish conquerors misunderstood and applied the Inca/Quechua words titi kalka meaning puma rock which is an island on the lake. In the times pre-Inca, the ways of the feminine, the Mother Lake and the moon were well known. Then out of Cusco rolled the military might of those calling themselves "the sons of the sun"--Inca--claiming divine right to forcefully subjugate and to establish their solar cult on the island of the puma rock-, Titikalka--now called the Island of the Sun. In pre-Inca times the lake culture of Tiahuanaco peacefully spread throughout the Andes and Amazon, the good will of her neighbors won through trade and sharing of the ideas and sciences of this highly advanced peaceful civilization. In the era of Tiahuanaco, well known was the Divine Mother and honored were her priestesses. Patriarchal, the Inca sons of the sun, declared the women lesser. Those who would be priestesses were held under penalty of death in convents and called 'virgins of the sun'. Following the Inca, the Church of Rome brought centuries of bloody persecution to any one practicing the old craft. A precious treasure is Maria. It is a wonder to find any women left who carry the ancient traditions.

Maria is feeling the weight of her burden as she climbs old friend Atoja; it is a good thing her daughter, Salome, is there to share the load. At the top Maria settles herself into the shelter of a small alcove beneath a large boulder, a little womb to protect the offering she is here to create. Protection is needed, for the winds play freely this high above the altiplano, and the sun is fierce and bright. So much has changed in these times, now even the brown skinned people who had been in the sun all their lives are being burnt by the rays. There are some old prophesies about the burning sun and times of change.

Their many voluminous skirts form pavilions in the dust as Maria and Salome sink to the ground into the half-kneeling position that they will hold through most of the ceremonial hours. The blankets are opened and Salome makes her way through the many folded paper packets opening the first things needed. Maria spreads the colorful homespun, dyed and woven cloth that serves as the altar; in Spanish we call it "la mesa"--the table. So begins the 'Offering to the Mother'.

The feeling is of reverent expectation, but we haven't been bound under a list of 'do this don't do that's'. Maria is very sure of what she is doing, sure of the results and has no need to suck power by controlling the people around her. Her focus is on the ceremonial invocation and she is fairly unconcerned by what we may choose to do, take in the view, wander off, talk, sit and watch, do as you will. Sure, it's true that steadily focused intent can act as powerful connector to the energies being created, and this does seem like a good time to take the practice. Still...good Goddess...it's so freeing to be in a magical moment without someone trying to create spirituality by being uptight! Repeated experiments in this modality have brought about some fairly radical thoughts like: growth and experiential potential are directly related to individual freedom. When it comes to connections with the Divine, you've got to get your own. When you have your own divine connection you don't really need any of the props...but they can sure be fun, if you're into that sort of stuff, Then until you get your own, none of the props are going to do you much good anyway. Lofty thoughts, eh? Funny what altitude can do to your attitude.

Now the women are ceremonially invoking in powerful prayer some strong friends, there is a lot of energy available, it's up to us to tap in or not. Maria begins to call out her prayers.

"Pachamama, Holy Mother, please accept this gift". She waits for and hears Her answer (that says a lot!). She also talks with our divine Father.

"Achachila Atoja please help us". Achachila is the Aymara word for earth spirit.

"Mamacota (Mother Lake, Titicaca) please come here". Below our high perch her blue jewel sparkles, stretching to the horizon and beyond the curve she is one big Mama. Her presence on the mountain with us is a real attention grabber. If you think I just made that up ask Salome and Maria, when she arrives Mama has presence.

"Achachila Illampu please help us".

Across the lake, in Bolivia, shines snow covered Illampu at 21,000 feet above sea level. A powerful ally, Illampu means Spirit of Lightning.

Silently I join in "Apu Akamani please help us". Apu is the Quechua word for earth spirit. Under Akamani lives the ancient order of Kallawayas, this regions most renowned healer magicians. Maria would like to go there with me, as I go often, but to her 100 miles seems very far away.

Apus, achachilas, earth angels, nature spirits, ancient cultures around the world have always known them. Like elder siblings, our Divine Mother and Father have asked them to help us. We don't worship them, though their power induce awe. They can be really good friends and we get together often. Usually there is one with whom we are most connected like a best friend. For Maria it is Atoja; for me, Akamani.

Copal smokes on the embers; with the incense, prayers also rise toward the heavens. Maria receives the go ahead blessing for our offering. Salome has worked through a large bag of coca leaves, selecting the best for the altar as we chew mouthfuls. No, coca is not a narcotic in it's natural form. A highly nutritious medicinal herb, it is a stimulant with less kick than coffee. Mama Coca is a sacred sister. We pass tobacco, sending our prayers in the smoke. The tobacco in my pipe is natural leaf that I get in the Amazon, yumm! Wine and grain alcohol have been poured on the ground and thrown in the air. Sometimes we have chicha, the traditional fermented corn drink. Sometimes we share a bit of a nip, nobody does anything they don't want to. The mood is well set...

If blame need be given I suppose it's mine. If we hadn't shown up with this group of gringos seeking ceremony Maria wouldn't have needed to climb Atoja this one last time. If it wasn't for us Maria wouldn't be doing much ceremony work at all.

During the past era it was the men running the show and most of the villagers still don't believe that women can or should conduct healing or lead prayers. Maria's father was a renown healer and she learned by watching, not thinking of practicing. Then one night while scrubbing the pots after feeding her family, a blue light drifted in and settled on her. That's the way it works for these people, it takes a powerful external sign like being lightning struck or blue lights for the people to accept a healer. Self-proclaiming is not acceptable. Even with cosmic lights descending Maria was reluctant to face the disapproval of her village so only the occasional emergency needs of friends and family would prove her abilities. When I asked her if I could bring groups of seekers and pilgrims to visit for her prayers and healing she surprisingly agreed. Many of the Andeans are enamored with the western/techno culture and now the villagers see us with those techno-travelers knocking at the door of Maria's home. Our simply being there is a strong message for the village, the message of the worthiness of their traditional culture and Maria. Now her neighbors are proud of her and her work.

Strange are the twists and turns of the history of these women. Like the gnarly old roots of a tree chopped down that decides with the turn of the seasons to again send out new growth. Maria is not the only one, just now we are finding many more women who had been waiting, now willing, now working. Maria may not climb Atoja again, she doesn't need to, as she builds her offerings she sits in her strength on the dirt floor of her home and the Mama Culture again she grows stronger.