APUS DE MI TIERRA - STORY II: THE CALL OF THE MOUNTAIN.

9 Sep

Written by Rigzin Ro

THE SIERRA TARAHUMARA.

PART II. THE CALL OF THE MOUNTAIN.

La Sierra, which is alive. Late. Speaks.

An encounter with a living world of Mystery, Rituality, Death and Life.

In an emergency Yumari, with the presence of an Owiruame and the community to feed the Mountain before the earthquake.

Here I will relate an event, which marked my first encounter with a world of mystery and a living tradition.

It was an ordinary November morning in 2006 in the community of La Gavilana (Rawiwarachi) in the heart of the Sierra Tarahumara, a place that required about three hours by truck and then six hours walking between steep slopes, ravines, forests and mountains. I had already been in the Sierra for 5 months and every day was more difficult. The physical fatigue was accumulating, but also the psychological wear and tear of isolation.

My only contact with the outside world was a shortwave radio tuned to a station in northern Mexico that at night broadcast a program called "La Poderosa" with a woman named Carmen. I enjoyed her female voice and especially when she read letters from men and women who related their experiences as migrants, prisoners, those far from home, loves and heartbreaks, nostalgia and desires, regrets and hopes.

In those days we were in the final part of the construction of a little house that would be our "home", a place that the Rarámuris called: "Chabochi Casita" that is to say "Casita del Mestizo". I remember that we were placing the roof and some yellow curtains, the latter was funny to them because we put some fabrics on the windows (which were not glass, but pvc) so they also called it the "Chabochi Curtains" and the "Chabochi windows".

One morning, like any other, after my companion and I had prepared breakfast, we waited for the Rarámuris who supported us to arrive. In that part of the sierra, schedules were determined by the sun or to the best of their knowledge, since there were no clocks. So we waited.

By the time they arrived we made coffee. We began to joke about whether they wanted cookies, which of course there were none because we didn't carry that kind of luxury. And while we were joking and laughing, suddenly all the Tarahumaras stood up, looked at the sky and the mountains, which alerted me as well and I stood up. We perceived that animals began to howl, the birds flew squawking and trilling, the dogs barked and the insects shrieked and shrieked. At my back we had a mountain where a loud sound came from. We heard a cracking sound as if a cracker or a wall had been broken inside the mountain. We all turned immediately to look at the mountain. And once again the mountain resounded its cracking more loudly and at that instant it trembled.

The quake lasted for what could have been a minute but seemed like an eternity. We were all silent. No animals could be heard anymore and our faces reflected amazement and anticipation as we witnessed a strange and ominous phenomenon of nature.

Suddenly women in the distance, from mountain to mountain, began to speak in Rarámuri, and another voice in the distance answered. And so many voices were heard. A Rarámuri next to me began to shout loudly, while another one answered him from another point on the mountain. And so in an instant all the Tarahumaras disappeared, there was no one but my companion and I. We looked at each other and laughed in confusion. We looked at each other and laughed in confusion, saying, "Well, the day's work is over."

That moment was not only to feel the earthquake. But to feel the force of nature. The force of the earth that breaks with its movement what seems more solid. Having these sensations I reflected that in nature there is another language, which requires another sense to understand what it says and when it says it.

Here there are no cell phones, no internet, no sms or Hi5 (there was no Whats App or Facebook Messenger yet) but I was in a part of the planet of a world that I did not know and is alive, with its mystery, its beauty and its danger.

The morning went by watching what the Tarahumaras were doing. Suddenly our Raramuri friend Santiago arrived and told us that we had to leave the Chabochi Casita because the earthquake had brought out many snakes, and we had to look for them. Indeed the earthquake brought out many animals and we found many mice who Santiago took them with his huge hand and crunched them as if they were little bunny chocolates in his hand. He continued searching and when he looked about 10 meters from where the stream passed, a family of rattlesnakes appeared. With a big stick he picked them up one by one and took them to a ravine. They did not kill the snakes, because they respect them, they simply moved them to another place.

So in the half-built little house, I just pondered what was going on. I missed my family, I missed city life, I wondered what was going on in the world. I wondered if it shook in my house too, or what my house was. Suddenly a little girl pointed to the sky and said to me "a plane. I thought to myself, in my jadedness, "I don't think an airplane is passing this way". And yes indeed, in the distance in a small dot there was an airplane, which connected me with the world I knew before but now it was unknown to me.

When night came and we were about to go to sleep, because we felt it was already dark (it was about 7 pm) our friend Santiago, who was our liaison with the community and was also a Medicine Man, but not to the degree of an Owiruame, arrived again and told us: "Brothers, we have talked, and we have seen that the Mountain has made a request. You have to come to this Yúmari (ceremonial sacrificial celebration) For we have spoken, and the Mountain has asked for a sacrifice and food. So we will give a young and healthy animal".

I sensed from the deep and serious tone that this was something unusual and significant. Indeed, as we approached his house there was a young, mature male calf, a valuable one that was already tied up. Only a few people, about 15 at the most, were waiting for us, sitting in a circle, in the middle of a fire.

Suddenly the Owiruame arrived, the old Medicine Man, the one who is in contact with the "Onoruame" (the one who is Father-Mother). He arrived with his rattle and his portentous silence. When he arrives the word ceases, another space opens up where rituality reigns and silence is his language. He gave instructions only with his gaze. He began to sing and dance in front of the Calf. Santiago took out a long knife, a knife that is used for everything but with a lot of edge, while he made some movements and touched it with his forehead, he passed it to my Jesuit friend who also touched it on his forehead. Then they gave it to me, who also touched it on my forehead, and so all those present. At the end Santiago took it again and with some words and the chanting of the Onoruame, the look of the calf who was calm but knew what was happening, they took out his blood and the brightness of his eyes.

Collecting and offering the Blood of Yumari.

The blood was collected in three buckets. Then Santiago and his son proceeded to quickly and efficiently skin the animal's skin. Then they took one by one the organs of the sacrificed animal. Each organ was observed, palpated, as if they were looking for something and put in different containers. The liver was checked as well as the intestine to look for stones of power. The brains were put in an animal skull that the Owiruame carried, along with other pieces of organs that he mixed with bones and skin.

I took a seat in the circle by the fire, while the Owiruame continued to sing, and with feathers he consecrated each organ, took the blood, tasted it and spit it to the ground, to the winds, to the sky. Then he would take a big sip of the consecrated drink. Thus he did with each bucket, which began to circulate among those present who all took large sips as if it were water, which when left on the floor, the shirts appeared stained by the remains of the blood drained from the mouth and wiped with the wrist.

As I held the bucket in my hands they stared at me. Maybe they knew it was the first time I had seen this, or maybe I was pointing out that it was the first time I had animal blood on my hands. It doesn't matter, I said to myself. This is community. This is something I don't understand, but it is part of a ritual and communion. This is a sacrament. I took the bucket and took a sip of blood, then another, then another, then another. As I peeled the bucket from my mouth I made the same exclamation that everyone made, but it was really an expression that came from the gut: an "ahhhhhhhh" and I wiped the blood off with my wrist and my shirt, not caring if it got stained.

As I drank I felt my own blood warm, I felt strength and I felt life. Everyone was drinking. And they began to talk, to laugh, to sing. The Owiruame continued doing rituals with the organs that they put them in a clay jar, and when they gathered the viscera, they gave it to two young runners, who took the jar and ran to take it to the mountain where it crunched and buried it according to the instructions they already knew.

The women and children also drank, and then set about preparing the meat in water and vegetables, as is their tradition, over a slow fire that takes all night to cook.

And there he contemplated with fascination and mystery, a ritual of life. A ritual that unites the local spirits with the ordinary life of the community. A ritual where everyone ate and drank, men and spirits. Where everyone spoke and expressed themselves. Where thus in the feast a balance is created and harmony is made. I had drunk from a sacrament of life, which seemed totally pure, where the only strangers were us two Jesuits, in a spontaneous ceremony, simple but full of purity, humility, power and sacredness.

And in the end what did I drink? it was blood, I thought. But isn't the same thing done when the body and blood are eaten at mass?

Actually, what I drank was my first contact with the ancient and living ritual. Without knowing it, I lived what was my first tantra ritual.

I witnessed from the emergence of the omen, to the way of balancing the living and secret forces and energies, which sustain and give the rhythm of life and death to the elements of the mountains and valleys and their protectors.