What is a Paqo Kuna? (Part 1)

I am a Paqo Kuna. Which leads to the question, what is that? A paqo kuna in Peruvian shamanism is a spiritual practitioner, often hailing from the Q'ero or other Andean communities, who serves as a vital mediator between humans, nature, and the spirit world. Paqos are sometimes referred to as mystics—this term is used to differentiate them from "shamans" in the Amazonian sense—who cultivate a deeply interactive, harmonious relationship with the cosmos, the sacred mountains known as apus, Mother Earth, or Pachamama, and various spiritual energies. This connection is not merely a passive observation; it involves active participation in the cycles of life, nature, and the universe.

The role of a paqo is to promote personal and communal healing, balance, and growth, drawing on ancient wisdom and practices that have been passed down through generations. They engage in rituals, ceremonies, and offerings that honor the spirits of the land and the ancestors, ensuring that the delicate equilibrium between humanity and the natural world is maintained. This spiritual practice is rooted in a profound understanding of the interconnectedness of all beings and the importance of reciprocity with the earth.

The story of how I came to seek out this role is both complicated and simple at the same time. It began with bedtime stories, a seemingly ordinary tradition that blossomed into something much deeper. When my son was born, I resolved to be the kind of father who would read to his child every night, sharing the joy and wonder of literature. We started with the classic children's books that have become staples in many households, plowing through beloved titles such as Dr. Seuss's whimsical tales, The Bear Snores On, and the adventures of Clifford the Big Red Dog, reading every volume we could find. Other favorites included Goodnight Moon, a soothing bedtime ritual in itself, and The Napping House, where the cumulative tale of a sleepy household captured our imaginations.

However, as these stories became familiar and somewhat repetitive, I felt a creative urge bubbling within me, compelling me to take a different path. I spontaneously decided that I could craft better stories than the ones we had been reading, so I began to weave my own narratives, drawing from the depths of my imagination.

What ensued was a cherished tradition that persisted well into my son's middle school years. Night after night, I would spin a tale of adventure that transported both my son and me on an odyssey filled with intrigue, exploration, and discovery in far-off lands. The strange thing about it all was that the format of these stories came to me like some long-forgotten download, a blueprint of narrative structure that I instinctively understood and felt compelled to bring back into the world. Each story would always begin with my son and I wandering through some enchanted landscape, filled with vibrant colors and magical creatures, and happening upon some mysterious entrance of some type. These portals took various forms, whether they were caves shrouded in mist, hollow trees or logs that seemed to beckon us closer, serene ponds reflecting the stars above, or deep holes in the ground that promised hidden treasures and secrets waiting to be uncovered. Each entrance was a gateway to a new adventure, a new lesson, and a new understanding of the world around us, mirroring the journey I would ultimately take into the spiritual realms as a Paqo Kuna.

Through these stories, I began to realize that the act of storytelling itself was a form of connection, a bridge between our everyday lives and the deeper, often mystical truths that lie just beneath the surface of our reality.

Our next step was to take a leap of faith into such spaces, a decision that required courage and a willingness to embrace the unknown. Each time we embarked on this adventure, the effect was invariably the same. The moment we crossed the threshold into these mysterious realms, we would find ourselves spinning and whirling through the darkness, as if caught in a cosmic dance that propelled us forward for what felt like a great distance. Laughter would erupt from our lips, a pure expression of delight and exhilaration, as we surrendered to the thrilling sensation of the unknown. Ultimately, we would emerge into a new location, but there was always a familiar presence: a river, glimmering and gracefully flowing, its waters reflecting the light of unseen stars.

Almost as if by divine approval, there was, without fail, a boat docked and patiently waiting for us to board. This vessel was not a grand cruise ship, but rather a humble, primitive canoe, crafted from the very essence of nature itself. It was piloted by something truly unusual—a spirit animal, imbued with human characteristics, standing in the boat, oar in hand, ready to sweep us away to some nightly destination that awaited us. This animal varied from night to night, each one more intriguing than the last, yet they all seemed to possess an ancient wisdom, an innate understanding of the paths we were meant to traverse. Without hesitation, they would take us to places that the moment called for, guiding us through the darkness with an assurance that felt both comforting and exhilarating.

Into the darkness we would sail, navigating the shimmering surface of the river as we ventured to some far-off place where we would learn something new each night. The journey was not merely a physical one; it was an exploration of the spirit, a voyage into the depths of imagination and discovery. Upon our arrival at our destination, we were often greeted by strange and different people, each representing unique cultures and ways of living that were as diverse as the stars in the sky. These encounters were rich with the vibrancy of life, and as you might imagine, I would often envision these people as Lego figures, Star Wars characters, or any number of child-relatable imaginings, transforming the experience into a playful tapestry woven from the threads of my youthful creativity.

During our visits, we would gather around a communal table, sharing a meal that was as much a feast for the senses as it was a bonding experience. The flavors were exotic, the aromas intoxicating, and the laughter that filled the air was a testament to the joy of connection. In these moments, we would be bestowed with special wisdom or instructions—gifts from their culture that they wanted us to take back with us, treasures meant to enrich our own lives and broaden our understanding of the world. Little did I know, I was recalling the shaman's journey, a profound exploration of the self and the universe, where every experience was a stepping stone towards greater awareness and enlightenment.

One of the core components of Shamanism is that it's a profound mental and emotional adventure, an intricate journey in which both the patient and the shaman-healer are actively engaged. Quoting from The Way of The Shaman, a seminal work written by Michael Harner in 1954, he articulates the transformative nature of this relationship:

"Through his heroic journey and efforts, the shaman helps his patients transcend their normal, ordinary definition of reality, including the definition of themselves as ill. The shaman shows his (or her) patients that they are not emotionally and spiritually alone in their struggles against illness and death. The shaman shares his special powers and convinces his patients, on a deep level of consciousness, that another human being is willing to offer up his own self to help them. The shaman's self-sacrifice calls forth a commensurate emotional commitment from his patients, a sense of obligation to struggle alongside the shaman to save oneself."

This quotation encapsulates the essence of the shamanic practice, highlighting the shaman's role as a guide and a companion in the healing process. The shaman facilitates a profound shift in perception, encouraging patients to see beyond their immediate suffering and recognize their interconnectedness with the universe and others. This journey is not merely about physical healing; it is an exploration of the emotional and spiritual realms, where the boundaries of reality are stretched and redefined. The shaman acts as a bridge between the seen and unseen worlds, helping patients confront their fears and limitations while empowering them to reclaim their strength and agency in the face of adversity.

One of the key elements or advantages a shaman possesses is the ability to move fluidly between different states of consciousness at will. In the shamanic world, this is referred to as the Ordinary State of Consciousness (OSC) and the Shamanic State of Consciousness (SSC). The OSC represents our everyday awareness, where we navigate the material world and its challenges, while the SSC allows the shaman to access deeper layers of knowledge, intuition, and wisdom. This ability to drift between these states is what sets the shaman apart from conventional healers, as it empowers him or her with unique insights and the capacity to facilitate profound healing experiences for others on their respective journeys. By entering the SSC, the shaman can connect with spiritual guides, retrieve lost parts of the soul, or uncover hidden truths that can aid in the healing process.

To grasp the significance of my recounting of the story I spontaneously told my son nightly for years, maintaining a consistent structure while varying only the characters and locations, I must share a pivotal experience that influenced my understanding of shamanism. In 2015, I made a last-minute decision to attend a full-weekend workshop entitled the Shaman's Walk. Prior to this, I had never engaged in anything akin to shamanic practices, yet something within me nudged me to participate, as if the universe was guiding me toward this exploration.

Over the course of three transformative days, I found myself captivated by the wealth of information and practices being shared by experienced facilitators and fellow participants. Each exercise and ceremony resonated with a strange familiarity that I couldn't quite articulate, yet I felt an undeniable pull toward the teachings, much like metal drawn to a magnet.

As the weekend unfolded, I immersed myself in the rituals and activities designed to deepen our understanding of shamanic principles. I experienced moments of profound connection, both with the group and within myself, as we engaged in collective drumming, guided meditations, and storytelling. Late on Sunday night, with everyone else in the house peacefully asleep, I found myself sitting in quiet contemplation, pondering the myriad experiences I had just undergone. It was in that reflective moment that I resolved to learn more about shamanism and its practices. Driven by an insatiable curiosity, I searched for a book that might provide further insight into this captivating realm. I ordered the book referenced above, eagerly anticipating its arrival, which was expected to be delivered that Wednesday. This decision marked the beginning of a deeper exploration into shamanic traditions and the profound impact they could have on my life and the lives of those around me.

Wednesday arrived, and just like the previous Sunday night, after everyone in the household had surrendered to the realm of dreams, I found myself wide awake, filled with an insatiable curiosity to delve into the pages of my new book. The quiet of the night wrapped around me like a comforting blanket, creating a perfect atmosphere for exploration and introspection. As I settled into my cozy reading nook, I could hardly imagine the surprise that awaited me as I turned the pages and immersed myself in the text:

"The shamanic journey is one of the most important tasks to be undertaken. The basic form of this journey, and the one usually easiest to learn, is the journey to the Lowerworld. To understand this, a shaman typically has a special hole or entrance into the Lowerworld. The entrance exists in ordinary reality as well as in nonordinary reality. The entrance among California Indian shamans, for example, frequently was a spring, especially a hot spring. Shamans were reputed to travel hundreds of miles underground, entering one hot spring and coming out another. Australian shamans of the Chepara tribe were similarly believed to dive into the ground and come out again where they liked, and those of Fraser Island were said to go into the earth and come out again at a considerable distance."

The passage continued to unfold the rich tapestry of shamanic practices, explaining that among the California Indians, another common entrance to the Lowerworld was a hollow tree stump. This imagery resonated deeply, as it conjured visions of ancient forests, where nature itself serves as a gateway to realms unseen. Additionally, the Arunta people of Australia shared similar beliefs, viewing hollow trees as portals leading to the Underworld. The author, Michael Harner, further enriches the narrative by recounting his transformative experiences with the Conibo people of Peru:

"The Conibo Indians taught me to follow the roots of the giant catahua tree down into the ground to reach the Lowerworld. The roots were transformed for me and my Conibo friends into black serpents down whose backs we slid to reach lands of forests, lakes, and rivers, and strange cities bright as day, lit by a sun that had disappeared from the ordinary world above---for these journeys were taken at night."

This chapter I was engrossed in delved even deeper into the intricate world of shamanic journeys, providing a plethora of entrances to the Lowerworld that included caves, the burrows of animals, and other natural formations. Each entrance served as a conduit, leading the shaman down into a tunnel or tube that transported them to an exit revealing breathtaking and vibrant landscapes. There were also instances mentioned where the shaman, upon entering through a hole, found themselves navigating a stream or river, "which may or may not be clearly part of the tunnel." In a striking passage, Harner quotes a Tavgi Samoyed shaman, sharing a vivid experience:

As I looked around, I noticed a hole in the earth... The hole became larger and larger. We (he and his guardian spirit companion) descended through it and arrived at a river with two streams flowing in opposite directions. "Well, find out this one too!" said my companion. "One stream goes from the centre to the north, the other to the south---the sunny side."

As I sat in the profound silence of that dark living room, illuminated only by a solitary light that flickered gently overhead, the words I was reading resonated deeply, echoing throughout the house like a haunting melody. An unexpected emotional response surged through me, and I found a singular tear rolling down my cheek, a physical manifestation of the connection I felt to the text. For years, I had been sharing the story of the shamanic journey with my son, weaving tales of adventure and wisdom into the fabric of our lives. And now, in this moment, it felt as though the shamanic journey story had found me once more, beckoning me to awaken to the depths of knowledge and understanding that had been forgotten but were now yearning to be remembered. It was a call to embrace the ancient wisdom that lay dormant within, waiting to be rediscovered and cherished anew.