Call of the Condor
Vision Council for Bioregional Action

Sixty kilometers to the north, the Willcamayo River rushed headlong through the sacred valley, its milky-white waters saturated with the Andean soil streaming off maiz fields under the pouring spring rains. Mount Verónica rose up above the river, her glaciated peaks shrouded in heavy clouds. Axel Rudin grinned down from his perch on the side of the mountain. Had he looked down at just the right spot, he might have seen a line of ant-like beings, moving heavy bundles from one side of the river to the other. They formed a long chain, beginning at the green bus on top of a small hill, spanning the river via a pully system, and continuing up the embankment into Camp Verónica, where a small village was being constructed. Had his vision been extraordinarily good, he would have seen Alberto Ruz and several of his caravanistas, struggling to set up the enormous, blue and white circus tent in the fierce wind that swept across the Andean valley.

For earth-loving people everywhere, the crisis of environmental destruction causes us to ask the urgent question - how can we turn the tide? The organizers of the Call of the Condor Vision Council for Bioregional Action - commonly shortened to the encuentro (meeting), believed nothing less than the fulfillment of an ages-old prophesy would be required. Indigenous visionaries of the South have long spoken of the need for the “Eagle people” of North America to join with the “Condor people” of the South, bringing heart and mind together to create an era of heaven on earth. The encuentro, held in the fall in the Sacred Valley of Peru reflected this vision, gathering 700 ecologically-minded people from 36 different countries--the majority arriving from North and South America. The goal was to join movements with distinctly different strategies for restoring the earth. An eclectic crew, participants included indigenous healers, bioregionalists, rainbow warriors, ecovillage organizers, environmental activists, and members of the Mayan Calendar movement. Commonly referred to as “thirteen-mooners”, members of this group believe that a shift from Gregorian to nature-based Mayan time is a necessary precursor to true restoration of the earth.

I arrived in Peru three weeks early as a volunteer, to help construct a “temporary ecovillage” for the gathering. My friend and fellow Missourian David Haenke, originator of the first bioregional gatherings in the Ozark Mountains, had told me about the encuentro. As it turned out, instead of toting around solar panels and constructing temporary huts of native grasses as I'd envisioned, I found myself in Cuzco, helping a small band of volunteers promote the event, register participants, and gather supplies for ceremonies to take place during the gathering.

Liora Adler, a pixie-like South American transplant from New York headed these efforts. She and former partner Alberto Ruz were the visionaries behind the encuentro. It was the latest in a series of joint projects over the past twenty-five years, which included the creation of the Rainbow Caravan of Peace. The rainbow caravan--a mercurial mix of international poets, actors and ecologists - has been traveling south from Mexico toward the Tierra del Fuego since 1996. Along they way, they promote ecological practices, nurturance of indigenous cultures, and communal living through drama, dance and music. Alberto and the rest of the caravan were expected to arrive at the camp two months before the event, with some caravanistas helping out in Cuzco.

Instead, after a series of breakdowns, culminating in a near-fatal accident, they arrived just three weeks before the event, tired, with many injured. Tensions ran high the day I arrived in Cuzco. Liora was leaving until the day before the gathering, to organize two pre-encuentro events - an Equinox Celebration at Machu Picchu, and a Global Ecovillage Network meeting. She said to the small group of volunteers, as she delegated her list of fifty tasks: “I am hoping that we can be like a flock of wild geese, so that when one leader pulls back, another will take its place.” A common sight in front of the office in Cuzco was a tall young man with long, strikingly blond hair and an infectious smile, greeting the volunteers with a bear hug. This was Axel, a Swiss-born healer with a large and growing following across South America, just returned from his vision questing climb of Mount Verónica. “Wow!” he'd almost growl with excitement, “It's happening, can you feel it?” We could. We all felt it. Liora was right, this energy activated each of the volunteers, creating a dynamic “flock” of leaders. And finally, the day we all worked toward arrived.

A day at Camp Veronica looked something like this:
I wake up at 7:00, after the strong Andean sun has made a sauna of my tent. Crawling out, the first sight to greet me is Mount Verónica. The mountains Quechua name, I have learned, is Wacay Huilquc, which translates to “Sacred Tear”. This name was a tribute to the tragic flight of the last Incan ruler, Manco, who is said to have fled from the Spaniards through the pass at the mountain's base. The second sight is a group of 100 people, gathered in a circle, offering sun salutations. I know that in moments, they will hold hands and begin a round of Om. In a setting like this, and with the spiritual-leader-to-normal-human ratio standing at about 1: 5, spontaneous ceremonies crop up at any available moment. Feeling more privately spiritual this morning, and quite a bit hungry, I grab my dishes and name tag, required I.D. for entrance into the breakfast line. Printed below my name is my Mayan calendar sign, serpiente solar--solar snake.

As I wait for breakfast, I overhear two Chileans discussing the workshop schedule for the day. A taiter from a nearby pueblo will be teaching a workshop on maiz (corn) readings. At the same time, a pair of young punks from Mexico will present a video on their ecobarrio in the heart of Mexico City. Jonathan Dawson from Findhorn will lecture on sustainable economies. In addition, caravanistas Deva and Quena will offer a Hindu dance class.

After breakfast, I head off to the circus tent, where the morning plenary is beginning. Over 300 people have already assembled. Outside the tent, the rainbows from Brazil have gathered. Festively dressed in tunics and colorful scarves, many faces painted with fantastic designs, they drum and chat, enjoying the morning sun. They have made their own camp across the river, and promised to pass "the magic hat" and make some contribution, and to help disassemble the camp after the Llamado has ended, in lieu of full monetary payment for the event.

The first part of the plenary has been devoted to the nuts and bolts of ecovillage living. Caravanista Odin has begun his comical routine of how to use a pit toilet, pantomiming the "little eagle", and "big eagle", strategies for waste elimination. An awkward conversation about disposal of "feminine products" follows, bringing Mexican elder Abuelita Margarita onto the stage, indignant. Her long white hair, gathered in braids, encircles her eloquently lined face, and her eyes snap as she speaks. “It is a sad thing that people are ashamed of their own cycles”, she says. “Women's blood is sacred!” She offers to teach a women's workshop on the ceremonial offering of menstrual blood to the earth. After Abuelita's admonition, a demonstration is given on how to wash dishes, followed by a request for participants to wash their clothes in the river, to conserve water. Finally, the reminder is made to WASH YOUR HANDS AFTER USING THE TOILET!

Next, Peruvian caravanista Mary and I announce the service project in the local community. We ask for a show of hands, and only ten are raised. “Why didn't more people volunteer?” Mary asks in frustration as we sit down. “Jose Arguelles just arrived,” the woman sitting next to us offers. “He's teaching a workshop at the same time.” Pancho, the president of the pueblo is seated quietly behind us. I look back at him, and feel a rush of blood to my face. I know that for a number of people at the gathering, Jose Arguelles was a primary reason for coming. He is the spiritual head of the Mayan Calendar movement, and renowned in spiritual circles for his coordination of the Harmonic Convergence in 1987. Still, I am embarrassed, wishing more people had signed up to work with the community.

After the plenary, everyone rushes off to the consejo, or council tents. There are seven, covering the themes of Ecology, Spirituality, Health, Traditions, Children, Social Movements, and Arts & Culture. I choose the Ecology consejo which, due to a shortage of tents has been combined with social movements. Sixty people: activists, ecovillage founders, bioregionalists and rainbows are crammed into this tent, which is the size of a station wagon. Everyone is speaking at once. I watch as the Uruguayan facilitator, Lucia, skillfully navigates the chaos and confusion. By the end of the hour, a list of ten workshops has been made, to be offered by groups throughout the week. In the seeming mayhem of the meeting, valuable networks have been formed, which will strengthen over the next few days as groups organize workshops together.

After the councils, work groups form according to their Mayan Calendar signs and meet to clean toilets, pick up trash, and haul wood for the sweat lodge. After an hour of work, lunch is served, and finally participants take on the torturous task of deciding which workshop to attend. I escape for an hour to visit the river. As I sit and watch the Urubamba river flow past, I relive a moment from two weeks previous, on the shores of this same river. Before Cuzco, I had volunteered my first week and a half at Inti Ayllu, a spiritual center fifteen kilometers downstream. Healer and bread maker Hermano Vidal, the center's founder, had led a group of caravanistas and I down to the river to wash off the dust from a hard day of work. We each made a ceremonial offering before entering the water. “Wyanai Manco” Don Vidal offered the river its Quechua name, Willcamayo, as he stood out on a small rock that led into the water. He held out three coca leaves from the mountains, and in the center, a golden lemon candy, sweetness returned for the sweetness of the water. He dove in and swam across the turbulent river, his sixty year-old body more fit than any of ours. Alesa followed, a slender Italian woman with a gentle smile. “Gracias” was what I remember her saying most clearly, as she offered thanks to the river, and the earth. “A las montañas” I added when it was my turn and I, like the others, let the coca leaves and candy fall into the swirling current, watching as the water carried our prayers and blessings down into the heart of the Valley.

I am startled out of this memory by one of the camp staff, who has come to pick up trash. Roberto is a small 26 year old with a ready smile. I ask him how his community feels about the gathering. “Es bueno,” he says. He thinks it is good that people are gathering in circles to meditate and pray. Later, I will ask the camp owner, Ricky, the same question. He tells me, “It's positive for the local economy. The stores in town are empty, have you noticed?” Yes, I nod ruefully, every store is out of chocolate. He also feels people are learning a lot from the event. The decision had been made early on that people from the local pueblo should be allowed in for free to attend the workshops. Though it was difficult for many to find time away from their small farms, a number made it at least to the evening performances. Local farmers had also expressed interest in the permaculture workshop, offered this afternoon as part of our service project in the pueblo.

I leave my meditation spot, to gather up volunteers for the service project. We are twenty, double the number that volunteered in the plenary. Walking the half-mile path around the side of a mountain, then across the bridge into the pueblo, David Haenke says to me, “This is the most important part of the whole event.” I understand what he means. It seems so easy to forget, wrapped up as we all are in our own creation, that we are guests, of the community of people who eat, sleep, labor, dance and raise children here. As we make our way down a row of corn plants, pulling mal hierbas--weeds out of the soil, I feel comforted by the physicality of this work. It adds vital balance to the headiness of daily discussions and workshops, and the spiritual energy raised in daily ceremonies.

The evening entertainment over the course of the week varied from the moving theatrical performance of La Caravana the first night, where they relived their accident - to marvelously varied open mikes. Tonight's show features two traditional Andean groups. The first performs energetic, multilayered songs, skillfully harmonizing a diverse set of instruments including large wooden flutes, enormous, fur covered drums, horns and whistles. After each set, the second group bursts onto the stage in a rainbow explosion of dynamic, heart-stopping dance routines, performed in vibrant layers of traditional costume.

Sunday morning was spent in plenaries, considering resolutions offered by each of the councils. David Haenke had created his own personal resolution. After suggesting the cost of the Llamado to the earth, in fossil fuels to fly people there as well as personal energy - he offered the following: Now and forevermore to ask of ourselves and the people of the Earth to tithe - traditionally and approximately at least 10 per cent of our individual and organizational resources to the carrying out of physical actions for the healing, restoration, and nurture of the physical body of the Earth and its ecosystems.

David was not alone in his concerns about the event. Some participants were unsettled by the heavy emphasis on the Mayan Calendar. Others, who strove to mainstream their movements, feared that the counter cultural flavor of the event could marginalize it, and their own movement by association. These fears weren't so far from reality, at least in Cuzco, whose weekly magazine Somos dubbed the Llamado an “Andean Woodstock,” and characterized participants as “nomadic traveling hippies and idealists”. The rainbows, and others who strive to promote barter as a viable alternative to the monetary system felt that the Llamado marginalized those who could not pay with money. The encuentro presented each of us with an extravagantly diverse array of strategies for restoring the earth - many of which conflicted at various levels. This was at once a gift, and a challenge.

At 5:00 pm Sunday evening, we gathered for the final ceremony. In the center of the circle sat the taiters, arrayed in their vibrant traditional dress, reflecting their varied traditions and homelands. Each shared insights, and prayers. All at once, a collective cheer broke out as we looked up to see two large birds wheeling above us. The soft spoken Bolivian elder whose turn it was to speak did not break stride. “We need to critique this gathering.” He said, looking around the circle. “There are things that could have been done better. But they came,” he continued, gesturing at the birds, “so we must be doing something right.” According to this elder, and many others, the lower bird was an eagle, and the bird that flew up closest to the sun was a condor. David Haenke gave me a hug and confessed in a low whisper, “I'm obstinate, but I think I'm starting to get what they're trying to do here.”