Some ten years ago, my path as an artist and vision-seeker took a profoundly interesting turn when I began to work with the Mazatec entheogenic plant salvia divinorum, known in Mazatec as xca maria pastora 'the leaves of Mary the Shepherdess'. In seeking to more deeply contact the salvic world disclosed by the visions I was experiencing, I began to become curious about the Mazatec people and their language, and while doing so, discovered that when anthropologists speak about indigenous Mazatec shamanism, all is not quite as it seems. The translation of many Mazatec concepts into English in some of the academic literature seems at least partly ideologically-motivated, and involves a considerable loss of the indigenous worldview, even when other, better English words are available for a given translation. This tour through various Mesoamerican 'shamanic' words seeks to counter that loss, which has passed into the wider visionary culture.
The English word 'wise' is a curious term, often synonymous with 'learned' and stative in intent: a wise person is not wise through action, but through having known, the knowledge now functioning as a kind of attribute of the person so described. Cognate with Dutch wijs 'wise' and German wissen 'to know (a fact or situation)', it has its ultimate origin in Proto-Indo-European *weyd- 'see, know', and thus its grounding in this notion of 'having seen, having known' is rather ancient.
Japanese however has no such concept in its lexicon: there are words which are somewhat similar, such as kashikoi 'clever, smart, wise, intelligent', umai 'skillful, clever, expert' and in Classical Japanese of the Heian Period, satoshiki 'clever, perceptive', but these words do not relate to knowing or having seen. Rather they relate lexically to, respectively, 'having grace or humility', 'being generally good or excellent' and 'having realised in a meditative manner' (compare satori, the Japanese translation for 'enlightenment'). Japanese is here sufficiently different from the Indo-European cultural sphere for an appreciation of this difference to be evident.
Japanese however has no such concept in its lexicon: there are words which are somewhat similar, such as kashikoi 'clever, smart, wise, intelligent', umai 'skillful, clever, expert' and in Classical Japanese of the Heian Period, satoshiki 'clever, perceptive', but these words do not relate to knowing or having seen. Rather they relate lexically to, respectively, 'having grace or humility', 'being generally good or excellent' and 'having realised in a meditative manner' (compare satori, the Japanese translation for 'enlightenment'). Japanese is here sufficiently different from the Indo-European cultural sphere for an appreciation of this difference to be evident.
Maria Sabina, Bruce Rimell, 2010
Therefore in 2005, when I found myself exploring the indigenous Mexican culture of the Mazatec people in order to deepen my appreciation of my salvia divinorum visions, I became somewhat sceptical of the use of the word 'wise' in anthropological treatises upon Mazatec shamanism.
We find, for example, in Rothenburg's translations of The Life Of María Sabina, in speaking of the various words for shaman, that:
“The native words are chota chjine (wise person, Wise One, or doctor). Among the Mazatecs are found three categories of curers... the Sorceror (tji'e) who is said to be able to transform himself into an animal at night... the Curer (chotaxi v'e'nta) who uses massage, potions and devices such as his own language in which he invokes the Lords of mountains and springs... [and] in Huautla there is the Wise One and doctor (chota chjine) who doesn’t do evil or use potions to cure. His therapy – or hers – involves the ingestion of mushrooms, through which he acquires the power to diagnose and cure the sick person..” (1)(2)
Again we find in Munn's seminal essay The Mushrooms of Language quotes from the song of shaman Irene Pineda de Figueroa:
“Woman of medicines and curer, who walks with her appearance and her soul," sings the woman, bending down to the ground and straightening up, rocking back and forth as she chants, dividing the truth in time to her words: emitter of signs. "She is the woman of the remedy and the medicine. She is the woman who speaks. The woman who puts everything together. Doctor woman. Woman of words. Wise woman of problems."
And again, in an essay on the uniqueness of María Sabina, the famous shaman from Huautla de Jiménez:
“When Maria Sabina says she is a chjon chjine xki, chjon chjine xca, chjon chjine en, chjon chjine khoa 'woman wise in medicine, a woman wise in herbs, a woman wise in words, a woman wise in problems' , she is stating her culture's concept of the shaman's role...”
Repeatedly Munn appears to translate the speech of Mazatec healers as referring to 'wise men', 'wise women' and wisdom, and in each case he is translating the Mazatec word chjine. Tarn and others have critiqued Munn's and Rothenburg's ethnopoetic attempts to recast Sabina and Pineda de Figueroa as visionary poets, while Halifax has taken a more functional view that here they are simply presenting their credentials to the spirit world. Thus it is ironic, while María Sabina states her culture's concepts above, Munn's and Rothenburg's preoccupation with wisdom and poetics subtly misses a fundamental aspect of Mazatec perceptions of shamanic function.
We find clarity in Carole Jamieson Capen's bilingual Mazatec-Spanish dictionary of the dialect spoken in Chiquihuitlan, a remote village some 50km from Huautla de Jimenez in the mountainous Mazatec territory. In the orthography that Capen utilises, chota chjine becomes xuta chjine, xuta being a dialectal variation of chota and simply meaning 'person'. In the entry for chjine, however, we find an authentic portal into an indigenous worldview. It is given here in full, with English translation:
We find, for example, in Rothenburg's translations of The Life Of María Sabina, in speaking of the various words for shaman, that:
“The native words are chota chjine (wise person, Wise One, or doctor). Among the Mazatecs are found three categories of curers... the Sorceror (tji'e) who is said to be able to transform himself into an animal at night... the Curer (chotaxi v'e'nta) who uses massage, potions and devices such as his own language in which he invokes the Lords of mountains and springs... [and] in Huautla there is the Wise One and doctor (chota chjine) who doesn’t do evil or use potions to cure. His therapy – or hers – involves the ingestion of mushrooms, through which he acquires the power to diagnose and cure the sick person..” (1)(2)
Again we find in Munn's seminal essay The Mushrooms of Language quotes from the song of shaman Irene Pineda de Figueroa:
“Woman of medicines and curer, who walks with her appearance and her soul," sings the woman, bending down to the ground and straightening up, rocking back and forth as she chants, dividing the truth in time to her words: emitter of signs. "She is the woman of the remedy and the medicine. She is the woman who speaks. The woman who puts everything together. Doctor woman. Woman of words. Wise woman of problems."
And again, in an essay on the uniqueness of María Sabina, the famous shaman from Huautla de Jiménez:
“When Maria Sabina says she is a chjon chjine xki, chjon chjine xca, chjon chjine en, chjon chjine khoa 'woman wise in medicine, a woman wise in herbs, a woman wise in words, a woman wise in problems' , she is stating her culture's concept of the shaman's role...”
Repeatedly Munn appears to translate the speech of Mazatec healers as referring to 'wise men', 'wise women' and wisdom, and in each case he is translating the Mazatec word chjine. Tarn and others have critiqued Munn's and Rothenburg's ethnopoetic attempts to recast Sabina and Pineda de Figueroa as visionary poets, while Halifax has taken a more functional view that here they are simply presenting their credentials to the spirit world. Thus it is ironic, while María Sabina states her culture's concepts above, Munn's and Rothenburg's preoccupation with wisdom and poetics subtly misses a fundamental aspect of Mazatec perceptions of shamanic function.
We find clarity in Carole Jamieson Capen's bilingual Mazatec-Spanish dictionary of the dialect spoken in Chiquihuitlan, a remote village some 50km from Huautla de Jimenez in the mountainous Mazatec territory. In the orthography that Capen utilises, chota chjine becomes xuta chjine, xuta being a dialectal variation of chota and simply meaning 'person'. In the entry for chjine, however, we find an authentic portal into an indigenous worldview. It is given here in full, with English translation:
chjine (1), adj. preparado [ready, prepared]
vëhëchjine vb. prepara [prepare, make ready]
tsajin tjin chjine comida no había comida preparada [the food wasn't ready]
café chjine café preparado [prepared coffee, coffee ready to drink]
chjine (2), s. maestro en (artesano) [master in (artform)]
chjine ndyaja pirotécnico [firemaker]
chjine tyjo musico [musician]
chjine ya carpintero [carpenter]
vëhëchjine vb. prepara [prepare, make ready]
tsajin tjin chjine comida no había comida preparada [the food wasn't ready]
café chjine café preparado [prepared coffee, coffee ready to drink]
chjine (2), s. maestro en (artesano) [master in (artform)]
chjine ndyaja pirotécnico [firemaker]
chjine tyjo musico [musician]
chjine ya carpintero [carpenter]
Two things can be readily seen here: first, that the word chjine is highly productive and readily communicates with many other concepts in the language, rather than being reserved for special or shamanic qualities, and second, that the translation of this word as 'wise' is wholly inappropriate. In particular, the notion of 'wise coffee' raises a smile!
When following a noun, as in the first definition, it carries connotations of being ready, completed, prepared; these notions are extended in the second definition, in which chjine occupies the initial position, into tendencies of skill and talent, of occupation, and of the status of maestro. Thus, chjine discloses not the stative intention of the English word 'wise' but a more active engaging sense: a wise person may well be One Who Knows, but that knowing is often conceptual, theoretical or of the nature of potential. By contrast, chjine represents a readiness to action just as maestro represents not wisdom but profound talent and a completedness of training. Chjine remains in the field of potential but it is a deeper, more realised potential. It is as different from 'wise' as stative is to active. In this light, we might posit the following translation:
chota chjine : a person who is prepared for something, a person who excels in doing a certain thing, a master or mistress in a certain art, a person who has been completed [in their understanding or skill]
Interestingly, one of the Mazatec words that corresponds to 'knowing', vëë, is synonymous with both 'seeing' and 'seeming', while another, ma (or ma rë) connotes both 'knowing' and 'ability'. A third word cjuahasen 'intelligence' is related to cjuaha 'grasp, grab'. Thus, chjine not alone in the understanding that 'knowing' or 'readiness' directly relates to the potential for action, and a subtle subjectivity is woven into the first example, where seeing and seeming coincide.
When following a noun, as in the first definition, it carries connotations of being ready, completed, prepared; these notions are extended in the second definition, in which chjine occupies the initial position, into tendencies of skill and talent, of occupation, and of the status of maestro. Thus, chjine discloses not the stative intention of the English word 'wise' but a more active engaging sense: a wise person may well be One Who Knows, but that knowing is often conceptual, theoretical or of the nature of potential. By contrast, chjine represents a readiness to action just as maestro represents not wisdom but profound talent and a completedness of training. Chjine remains in the field of potential but it is a deeper, more realised potential. It is as different from 'wise' as stative is to active. In this light, we might posit the following translation:
chota chjine : a person who is prepared for something, a person who excels in doing a certain thing, a master or mistress in a certain art, a person who has been completed [in their understanding or skill]
Interestingly, one of the Mazatec words that corresponds to 'knowing', vëë, is synonymous with both 'seeing' and 'seeming', while another, ma (or ma rë) connotes both 'knowing' and 'ability'. A third word cjuahasen 'intelligence' is related to cjuaha 'grasp, grab'. Thus, chjine not alone in the understanding that 'knowing' or 'readiness' directly relates to the potential for action, and a subtle subjectivity is woven into the first example, where seeing and seeming coincide.
Huichol Shaman Ramon Medina Silva, 1967
Having discovered this fascinating indigenous view of wisdom and of shamanic practicality enfolded into Mazatec, I began to wonder if other Mesoamerican languages were similarly divorced from Western notions of wisdom. I naturally turned first to the language of the Huichol people of northern Mexico, in whose language I had heard anecdotally that the word for shaman, mara'acame, actually held a meaning close to 'one who sings in rituals'. Indeed we learn from McIntosh & Grimes's dictionary that a network of words exists relating to curing in the Huichol language, and while mara'acame does mean 'singer' as the anecdote suggested, singing also has a fundamentally curing function.
cuicári vb. cantar, s. canción [singer, song]
mara'acame s. cantador, cantador sacerdote huichol [singer, priest singer of the Huichol]
tunúiya vb. cantar para curar [sing to cure someone]
tunúame s. cantador [singer]
'uhaye s. medecina, veneno, remedio [medicine, venom, remedy]
'uhayemarica v. curar, trater enfermidad [cure, treat the infirm]
tiyu'uhayamavame s. curandero, medico, doctor [curer, medic, doctor] (3)
mara'acame s. cantador, cantador sacerdote huichol [singer, priest singer of the Huichol]
tunúiya vb. cantar para curar [sing to cure someone]
tunúame s. cantador [singer]
'uhaye s. medecina, veneno, remedio [medicine, venom, remedy]
'uhayemarica v. curar, trater enfermidad [cure, treat the infirm]
tiyu'uhayamavame s. curandero, medico, doctor [curer, medic, doctor] (3)
We see then in Huichol, there are two separate words for singing, one, cuicári, to denote any type of singing, and another, tunúiya, to signify singing for the purpose of curing. We also see a rather cumbersome word for curandero clearly related to the word for 'medicine'.
However, there is something odd here in the word mara'came, since it seems not to link to any other aspect of the vocabulary. Given that the suffix -(a)me appears to be an agentive, we can see how the Huichol word tunúiya liberates tunúame 'singer', but even though tunúiya has a shamanic meaning, the derivative tunúame lacks such a connotation. Instead we find that the cantador sacerdote huichol is predicated upon an otherwise unknown verb *mara'ac(a)- or perhaps *mara'aquiya. I can find no reference for these apparent words, and can only assume it is an archaism whose meaning is no longer transparent in modern Huichol. An entry in the dictionary for maraíca 'aura, spirit energy' is suggestive of *maraíca-me but this word is also not attested anywhere, and it is probably unwise to assume a connection based on superficial phonetic similarity.
Neither Myerhoff nor McLean in their respective studies of Huichol religion and art clarify this oddity, but it is nonetheless plainly to be seen that the words relating to shamanism have an eminently practical and active connotation, as with the Mazatec. The shaman is one who sings, one who deals with medicine, one who cures. The Huichol focus is upon concrete actions, and stative or theoretical notions of wisdom are nowhere seen.
Huichol is an Uto-Aztecan language, as is Nahuatl, the language of the Aztecs, and the same practical focus upon action is seen in this language also, as these words from the Classical language elucidate:
However, there is something odd here in the word mara'came, since it seems not to link to any other aspect of the vocabulary. Given that the suffix -(a)me appears to be an agentive, we can see how the Huichol word tunúiya liberates tunúame 'singer', but even though tunúiya has a shamanic meaning, the derivative tunúame lacks such a connotation. Instead we find that the cantador sacerdote huichol is predicated upon an otherwise unknown verb *mara'ac(a)- or perhaps *mara'aquiya. I can find no reference for these apparent words, and can only assume it is an archaism whose meaning is no longer transparent in modern Huichol. An entry in the dictionary for maraíca 'aura, spirit energy' is suggestive of *maraíca-me but this word is also not attested anywhere, and it is probably unwise to assume a connection based on superficial phonetic similarity.
Neither Myerhoff nor McLean in their respective studies of Huichol religion and art clarify this oddity, but it is nonetheless plainly to be seen that the words relating to shamanism have an eminently practical and active connotation, as with the Mazatec. The shaman is one who sings, one who deals with medicine, one who cures. The Huichol focus is upon concrete actions, and stative or theoretical notions of wisdom are nowhere seen.
Huichol is an Uto-Aztecan language, as is Nahuatl, the language of the Aztecs, and the same practical focus upon action is seen in this language also, as these words from the Classical language elucidate:
tlachixquetl healer, shaman
tlachiya observe, gaze watch, look
tepahtiquetl doctor, curandero, shaman
pahtia pay, cure, restore
ixpahtia apply medicine to the body or wound
tlapahtilia apply herbicide to someone's cornfield (4)
tlachiya observe, gaze watch, look
tepahtiquetl doctor, curandero, shaman
pahtia pay, cure, restore
ixpahtia apply medicine to the body or wound
tlapahtilia apply herbicide to someone's cornfield (4)
Once we understand that the suffix -quetl is an attributive, the meaning of both these words becomes immediately transparent: one who sees, one who observes or gazes for a long time, one who pays or restores, one who applies medicine. In an agrarian culture, a shaman could even be employed to 'cure' a cornfield of weeds or parasites! The notion of a shaman as one who pays, one who risks their own health by facing down the illness or even taking on attributes of the spirit of the sickness in order to effect the cure, is a striking image of deeply authentic import.
Aztec God Tezcatlipoca, who presides over shamanism, Codex Borgia
We also find the notion of 'one who observes' in the Mayan language of Tzotzil, spoken in the highlands of Chiapas, where the word j'ilol, literally 'one who sees, one who gazes' is the term for a shaman or curandero. Interestingly though, for modern Tzotzil, we should expect the word to be *j'ilel, where j- is the agentive and -el is an attributive of the verb 'il 'see, gaze, observe'. The -ol ending is therefore probably another archaism. The word 'ilel 'seeing' is also synonymous with 'curing ceremony'.
Interestingly, in Colonial Tzotzil of the 16th century, we find the verb 'il has other connoations besides seeing, and words deriving from 'il may explain the appearance of the suffix -ol in the modern form:
Interestingly, in Colonial Tzotzil of the 16th century, we find the verb 'il has other connoations besides seeing, and words deriving from 'il may explain the appearance of the suffix -ol in the modern form:
'il experiment, find what one was looking for, have a vision, see, observe
'ilel appearance, form, style
'iloj witness, experience, see
j'ilojel witness, one who has seen or experienced (5)
'ilel appearance, form, style
'iloj witness, experience, see
j'ilojel witness, one who has seen or experienced (5)
Though the meaning of 'il may have changed over the centuries, we can see that both modern and archaic meanings connote important shamanic ideas, and j'ilojel 'witness (to a vision, for example)' is close enough to the modern j'ilol as to suspect the latter is a contraction of the former. Thus we have here in the Colonial Tzotzil word the closest indigenous equivalent to the English 'visionary'.
However, a more earthy notion, similar to the Mazatec chota chjine, is seen in two Yucatec Maya words for shaman, the first being hmen, which Bolles denotes as literally meaning 'one who makes', and the second hmendzac 'one who makes medicine'. Here the agentive h- (written as j- in Tzotzil orthography but with the same pronunciation) is seen with a verb men:
However, a more earthy notion, similar to the Mazatec chota chjine, is seen in two Yucatec Maya words for shaman, the first being hmen, which Bolles denotes as literally meaning 'one who makes', and the second hmendzac 'one who makes medicine'. Here the agentive h- (written as j- in Tzotzil orthography but with the same pronunciation) is seen with a verb men:
men vb. make, fabricate, create, perform an action, have an occupation
hmendzac one who makes medicine
hmenzacal one who does weaving
hmentunich singer
hmenche carpenter
hmendzac one who makes medicine
hmenzacal one who does weaving
hmentunich singer
hmenche carpenter
A more transcendent image can be found in both Colonial Yucatec and the Classic Maya language in the name of the shaman god Itzamna, whose name simultaneously means 'Lizard House' and 'one who manipulates the cosmic sap'. While we have seen something of the itz, the cosmic sap, in a previous essay on the Visionary Lintels at Yaxchilan, this brief mention of Itzamna will be explored more deeply in a future essay on the triune image of Itzamna, Chac and K'awiil, a complex of Mayan deities centred around shamanism and sacred intercession.
Tzotzil shaman during a curing ceremony in Zinacantán, Chiapas, Mexico, 1971
These lexical items may perhaps seem more appropriate for a translator's note than an explorative essay, and while we have not explored the full connotations of each word particularly deeply, and indeed even though we have only touched upon the surface of the full linguistic diversity of Mexico and its environs, the words in these five languages open up a portal into a more connected, more authentic understanding of indigenous perceptions of shamanism. Given that many of these cultures have tended and curated for thousands of years the psychedelic plants and fungi now popular among the visionary community, and given that Western societies are only now beginning to recover the lost lexical and perceptual vocabularies necessary for deep integration of entheogenic experiences, it is interesting to open such a door and find that as we move into a linguistically-strange world, our feet remain nonetheless on the ground, in touch with practical and earthy notions of shamanhood.
For the indigenous shamanic lifeways of Mesoamerica do not partake of lofty grandeur or castles in the sky. Those shamans are not Wise Ones or Ascended Masters, but folks who work with medicine, ones who are makers, creators, completed in their seeing, those who watch carefully and find what they were looking for. They are the Ready Ones, the chota chjine, and I believe it is profoundly important for the contemporary Western seeker of visions to remain in contact with this practical way of seeing, for in this way we can deepen the authenticity of the visions we seek. To aim not to be wise, but to be ready.
For the indigenous shamanic lifeways of Mesoamerica do not partake of lofty grandeur or castles in the sky. Those shamans are not Wise Ones or Ascended Masters, but folks who work with medicine, ones who are makers, creators, completed in their seeing, those who watch carefully and find what they were looking for. They are the Ready Ones, the chota chjine, and I believe it is profoundly important for the contemporary Western seeker of visions to remain in contact with this practical way of seeing, for in this way we can deepen the authenticity of the visions we seek. To aim not to be wise, but to be ready.
Notes
(1) A brief note on Mazatec pronunciation and orthography is perhaps in order. Most of the letters are pronounced as in Spanish: thus j is pronounced like English 'h' and ch as in English 'chair'. However the combination chj is pronounced as an aspirated 'ch' with no equivalent in English or Spanish. The vowel ë is similar to the 'a' in British English 'hat' and ts and tj are pronounced as the 'ts' in 'cats' and an aspirated 't' sound respectively. The letter x is a retroflex 's' similar to that as found in some dialects of Castillian Spanish. Thus chota chjine is pronounced as 'choh-tah-chhee-neh'.
(2) Translations of the two other terms in Munn's summary are elusive: tji'e 'Sorceror' is lacking in Capen's otherwise comprehensive dictionary, while chotaxi v'e'nta 'Curer' may be a foreshortened and corrupted version of xuta (xi) vincha nascuan 'one who provides tobacco'.
(3) Huichol pronunciation is fairly straightforward, with only the apostrophe denoting the glottal stop being of any difficulty.
(4) Classical Nahuatl pronunciation is as follows: both c and qu denote 'k', ch, p, t and all the vowels being pronounced as expected. The letter h represents a glottal stop and the digraph tl is a lateral semi-click, similar to the 'ttl' in a carefully-pronounced 'bottle'. I have omitted the long-vowel markers here.
(5) Tzotzil pronunciation, both colonial and modern, is straightforward. As with Mazatec, the j is pronounced as in English 'h', and the apostrophe is a glottal stop, such that j'ilol is pronounced as 'hˀee-lol'. Yucatec replaces j with h and hmendzac is pronounced as 'hmen-tzak'.
(2) Translations of the two other terms in Munn's summary are elusive: tji'e 'Sorceror' is lacking in Capen's otherwise comprehensive dictionary, while chotaxi v'e'nta 'Curer' may be a foreshortened and corrupted version of xuta (xi) vincha nascuan 'one who provides tobacco'.
(3) Huichol pronunciation is fairly straightforward, with only the apostrophe denoting the glottal stop being of any difficulty.
(4) Classical Nahuatl pronunciation is as follows: both c and qu denote 'k', ch, p, t and all the vowels being pronounced as expected. The letter h represents a glottal stop and the digraph tl is a lateral semi-click, similar to the 'ttl' in a carefully-pronounced 'bottle'. I have omitted the long-vowel markers here.
(5) Tzotzil pronunciation, both colonial and modern, is straightforward. As with Mazatec, the j is pronounced as in English 'h', and the apostrophe is a glottal stop, such that j'ilol is pronounced as 'hˀee-lol'. Yucatec replaces j with h and hmendzac is pronounced as 'hmen-tzak'.
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Henry Munn, The Uniqueness of Maria Sabina, in Jerome Rothenberg (ed.), María Sabina: Selections, University of California Press, 2003
Barbara G. Myerhoff, Peyote Hunt: The Sacred Journey of the Huichol Indians, Cornell University Press, 1974
Bruce Rimell, Chjine: A Mazatec Concept of Practicality, 2006, url: http://www.biroz.net/words/chjine.htm , retrieved April 2014
Nathaniel Tarn, Review of María Sabina: Selections, Jacket Magazine, 2004, url: http://jacketmagazine.com/25/tarn-sab.html , retrieved April 2014
Stephanie Wood, John Sullivan et al, Nahuatl Dictionary, Wired Humanities Project, url: http://whp.uoregon.edu/dictionaries/nahuatl/ , retrieved April 2014
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