“Muisca” means “people.” They believe everything are people. Not just you and I, but every rock, every tree, Sun, Moon, the sky, the clouds and the water…everything. Every “thing” is alive.
Issa with horse.
I have just recently come out of a historic 9-day ceremony (for the 9 dimensions of the Muisca ontology, which I shall explain shortly) followed by a challenging 3-day pilgrimage to and from Chingaza, a sacred place known to the Muisca as the eternal womb of Mother Earth.
Chingaza lagoon.
“Colombia,” named after the brutal colonizer Christopher Columbus, carries its beauty with a painful legacy. The “Legend of El Dorado,” which may have been turned into a heroic Disney fairytale, is anything but.
In the conquest for power, recognition and gold, Spanish, German and other colonial entities were attracted to this region by the legend. Everywhere they went, they asked the same question: “Where is the gold?” And those in the surrounding territories, likely hoping to evade their own demise, pointed them in the direction of the Muisca people.
It was said that the Muisca bathed in gold dust, created all kinds of elaborate works of gold, and that the land was so abundant with this gold that these creations would be offered to a sacred lagoon. “Wasted” by “misguided savages,” in their eyes.
And so they came and encountered a gentle people who fought valiantly, but were no match to weapons of steel, even while wielded by conquerors who had been largely diminished by the elements.
And so it came to pass that a people that were more than a million strong were diminished to just over 1000 (according to the little information that exists). Everything–the people, the land, the waters–in this land was decimated and destroyed in the search for gold.
Today, all of what’s left of the Muisca’s priceless artefacts is stored behind tempered glass at the colonial “Museo del Oro,” or Gold Museum. And this narrative of terra nullis, and the “non-existence” of the Muisca, continues to drive ongoing colonization, extraction and extermination of Indigenous leadership (Colombia reported the deaths of at least 145 community leaders and rights defenders last year, according to BBC).
While some look at the city of Bogotá, which is surrounded by the Andes mountains and is protected by two powerful masculine and feminine mountain “people” that welcome the equinox sun between them twice a year, and see a thing of beauty, the Muisca people see it as a place of buried bodies, dreams and terrible sorrow.
Even El Río Bogotá, which flows from the sacred Chingaza lagoon, has been buried under concrete to create colonial, fountainous steps lined by palm trees–immaculately controlled and polluted.
Even coca, which is a powerful, feminine plant medicine, has been abused and turned into a narco-trafficking substance through colonial brutalization. This plant, which could be the preventive solution to so many problems–including anemia, which I personally struggle with–is something I fear to take home with me, to my own colonized country of so-called “Canada.”
Bunktwa, a leader of the Muisca community.
This ceremony that I was invited to is symbolic of the process of remembering, reclaiming and reconstructing the Muisca knowledge, language, traditions, and practices, thanks to the help of plant medicines and Elders from the neighbouring Wiwa and Arhuaco communities, whose mamos and sagas (wise/holy/shamanistic men and women, respectively) held space for us in ceremony.
Present at the ceremony were also a mix of Muisca community members, as well as artists, photographers and representatives from the Global North (the first time “outsiders” were invited to join such an event).
The very first day, after arriving at 4am from the airport, I joined the group as we introduced ourselves to the land by climbing the masculine mountain overlooking Bogotá, which is called “Montserrate,” by Colombians, but whose native name is “Cerro Tensacá.” We began our ascent by acknowledging the four directions and taking hoshka (sometimes called rapé), a finely ground medicinal tobacco taken up the nose through a wooden instrument, which brings intense mental clarity.
As we climbed, I was joined by a Muisca saga-in-training named Kuku, who shared about the two masculine and feminine mountains. As she spoke, I recalled a vision I had had a few years ago, of a masculine and a feminine mountain. In my vision, the masculine and feminine mountains were a representation of my mother and father. To the feminine, I pleaded “I need you.” And she held me, overwhelming me with love. To the masculine, I begged, “Why don’t you see me.” And I was reminded that the only person who needs to see me is myself. And then began my process of vomiting all that was inside me, while Kuku and another Muisca friend named Andrès supported me and offered me coca for the nausea, which immediately helped.
When we reached the top, we found ourselves on the footsteps of a Catholic church, and commenced singing “Swa Fihishka,” a salutation to the sun. This dance and chant felt like a cleansing for all of the horrors and atrocities the Catholic church has committed.
We went down the mountain in a gondola (thankfully for me) and proceeded to the Museo del Oro. In the past, the Muisca have held ceremonies outside the doors of this frigid institution, but today they had gained access through a trusted ally. Here the intention was to go inside to conduct a ceremony. Although many Muisca Elders and community members had excitedly gathered to participate, the Museum would not let anyone enter who was not vaccinated against COVID-19. This unfortunately meant many of the Muisca community could not enter–a move that felt, once again, like a colonial sleight as this had not been communicated to anyone until we arrived.
Once inside, we commenced chanting and dancing, moving from piece to piece of shining gold offrendas (offerings) and artefacts that never made it to their destinations, and were aggressively taken from their rightful guardians. I felt moved to tears, participating in this trance-like endeavour. Museums have always felt to me like dead, colonial spaces where I am constantly reminded of the sickening process of extraction and erasure. It felt like we were in there forever. When we came upon the Muisca section of the museum, there was a palpable feeling of overwhelming gratitude welling up from the ancestors. This will stay with me for as long as I live.
The next day we embarked to the land of prominent Muisca leaders Bunktwa and Azera, who are partners and have created a beautiful family. Thanks to the support of some of those in the group who came from Europe, the community has been able to build a Chuntzsua, which is a central gathering place where much of the evening ceremonial events took place, and where a sacred fire burns day and night.
Wiwa mamo Jose “Parajito” stands outside the Chuntzsua.
Together we embarked upon a process of “cleaning” the 9 dimensions in Muisca ontology. These are (in order of our process, though as part of our quantum reality, these generally exist altogether at once and in no particular order): the soul; the body; the family; the community; the territory we are from; Mother Earth; Mother Earth’s family in the sky–the solar system and galaxies; space; and totality. With small pieces of raw cotton in each hand, cleaned of seeds by the women in the group, we transmuted negative aspects into positive aspects, sharing aloud together regularly what was coming up for us.
The first night, we were asked if we had any gold to offer to the lagoon. The gold that was offered was melted down, each of us taking turns to blow life into the fire to support the process. In the subsequent days, the community leader, Bunktwa, hammered the gold down.
The process of transmutation was supported by singing and dancing long into the night, with very little sleep; by resisting bathing for 9 days; by resisting temptations for salt, spices, sugar; by resisting sleep. The less we had, the more in connection with spirit and source we became, and the more our shadow sides came up, asking for healing. Before every meal was served we sang together. We were mindful about what we put into our bodies, most of which was sourced from the land. Every day, we were asked to serve–by working the land, being in the garden, helping in the kitchen, by carrying copious amounts of wood by hand to keep the sacred fire going in the Chuntzsua, or, in my case (luckily, because my body responded to this process quickly by rejecting most of the food I managed to get down), by documenting the process to create tangible impact designated by the community.
El Río Negro.
After these 9 days, we were invited to bathe in the waters of the Río Negro, or Black River, which washes away all negativity. I have never felt so clean.
Then commenced our journey to Chingaza. We walked by foot from the community up the carreterra until the land became a stunning and lush valley. We continued to climb up into the Páramos, an enchanted, otherworldly ecosystem fresh with endemic plant species and sweet waters that we drank from gratefully as we climbed. Further up we went into the space where clouds are born, where we finally rested at a basic cabin for one night, huddled together in our sleeping bags. The next morning we continued our journey, up and up, until reaching a road that led us to our final destination.
Mamo Tame and Bunktwa resting on the road to Chingaza.
I felt like I died a few times on this journey to Chingaza, my body already weak from not keeping anything down for over a week, yet I continued—at some points breaking down into sobs, on hands and knees, pleading with Mother Earth. While the lagoon called me, she would not allow me to reach her crystal clear waters until I was fully cleaned of all the “spirits” I carried with me. Thanks to the support I received along the way from our newly-created community, I made it in one piece.
When I finally got there, and witnessed her majesty–the living lagoon–I wept. She washed away my tears with ease, gently witnessing me and reminding me that even the most broken of spirits can be made whole again through conscious effort.
Chingaza.
What unfolded next was pure magic. The Elders sang and opened the space. We were each invited to introduce ourselves and our intention, placing our hands in her waters and washing ourselves.
Energy and clarity flooded through me. It almost felt like I was coming back to myself–before trauma, before chaos–remembering and recognizing who I truly am.
The gold that Bunktwa had hammered and brought with us, along with all the cotton pieces that we had used to transmute energy, were our offerings.
It was emotional to say the least, when one of the Elders took the gold offering, swam naked into the lagoon, dove down and offered this gold. An homage to all the ancestors, and a feeling of coming full circle since the ceremony at the Gold Museum.
After my many years of being a documentary photographer, of being a so-called “conservationist” (I now refer to myself as a “protector,” a term I have been given and carried with me from my work with many Indigenous communities), being a mentor for other storytellers, and seeking to decolonize these processes, I strongly believe that it’s time to move beyond pretty pictures. We need to start enacting co-created, tangible, and intentional impact, otherwise the practice seems self-serving. We need to go beyond “spreading awareness.” Awareness-spreading is limited. Take, for example awareness of climate change. I would say we’re all pretty aware, but nothing tangible or meaningful has taken place in the last 40 years since we have been made aware. In fact, I would say the exact opposite has happened, as environmentalists and conservationists continue their campaigns of preserving nature as “pristine,” participating in greenwashing campaigns to fund their efforts, and displacing Indigenous people who know how to care for the land best (supported by recent UN reports that state while Indigenous people make up 5% of the global population, they have successfully safeguarded over 80% of our biodiversity). The Chingaza National Park authorities, as a prime example, tried to thwart our journey to Chingaza every step of the way.
There are three major outcomes to this story that the Muisca desire:
Become recognized as an international “Community of Peace” so the Colombian authorities recognize that the world is watching, and cease threatening the Muisca leadership.
Raise $300,000 for 600 hectares, where 200 hectares will go to the Muisca in the Páramos and 400 hectares to the Arhuaco in la Sierra Nevada (you can donate via this link: https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-the-arhuaco-muisca-liberate-nature) ;
Lastly, to stop the creation of a hydro-electric dam, which involves flooding the Chingaza lagoon and its surrounding valley, a move that would disrupt entirely this process of remembering, respecting and recognizing this community, as well as continuing the deplorable process of erasure that has resisted success for over 500 years; Colombia is more than 70% energy-independent, and doesn’t require another dam (these are the costs of our “modern civilizations” that are hidden from all of us, along with the intense amounts of waste and “recycling” we produce, which more often than not gets shipped to the Global South or dumped into the ocean).
The Muisca people have long been thought to have been completely destroyed by the Spanish, German, and other colonial entities that sought gold in the region known as Bogotá and beyond.
Little could the colonizers know, the gold they were searching for was not to be found in the ground–it is all around us, and inside each one of us. And the Muisca are still here.