:: Chjine - A Mazatec Concept Of Practicality ::

The Mazatec phrase chota chine (or xuta chjine) is often translated as 'wise one'. I believe that this is a mistake which misleads us about true Mazatec ways of thinking but also causes us to miss an important point about our lives.

Throughout salvia divinorum and Mazatec related articles on the internet, we are commonly told that the Mazatec phrase to refer to a shaman or curandero is chota chine and this is often translated as ‘wise one’ or ‘one who knows’.

Armed as I now am with a Mazatec dictionary of the Chiquihuitlan dialect of the Mazatec language, I now have reason to believe that this translation is deeply misleading; it actually says more about us Westerners than the Mazatecs. I also feel that the correct translation of this phrase leads us not to only to understand the Mazatec world-view a little better, but also leads us to a deeper vision of what shamanic techniques of ecstasy and healing actually mean.

Let’s begin with words. In the book ‘Maria Sabina Selections’, Maria Sabina is often described as a chota chine, a wise one. In the famous mushroom velada, she begins as many native Mexican curanderos do, by presenting her credentials to the spirits and saints:

In the dialect of Chiquihuitlan, the phrase for curandero is written xuta chjine, pronounced roughly as “shoo-ta chhee(n)-neh”, where the ‘chh’ represents a strongly breathy ‘ch’ sound and the ‘ee(n)’ a nasalized ‘ee’ sound. (For those that understand phonetic and tonal notation, xuta chjine is pronounced šu:ta čhį:ne) (*2)

Here, then, are the dictionary definitions given for both of these words (*3). Although some of the examples given may seem mundane, in language, it is very often the mundane and everyday implications of a word which are closest to the heart, and thus give the clearest impression of what that word means:

In considering the word xuta we see that it has a wider context than the English word ‘person’, and which barely touches on the idea of ‘one who is’. We see that it carries very familiar and affectionate connotations in referring directly to members of one’s own family or the lover one is about to marry. On the other hand it also indicates a more standard type of person, such as a foreigner, with whom one has no connections.

Similarly, chjine has a number of connotations, but it is certainly clear that the word in no way relates to such translations as ‘wise’. When following a noun, it tends to refer to something that is prepared, completed or ready, and when chjine itself occupies the initial position, it carries tendencies of maestro, master (*4) at doing something, one who excels at a certain job.

We may also note the inherent practicality of the word chjine, in that it refers to doing, acting in a certain way and jobs that have to be done, to working at something so that it is complete (whether making a fire or preparing food), or being a functionary at a ritual event (musician). It is this inherent practicality that I believe is missing from the notion of chota/xuta chjine as translated by Westerners.

A number of translations for this phrase are clearly possible, and it is not to say that the Mazatecs understand the xuta chjine in several ways, but that the English language does not really carry the right nuances to translate the phrase in a single way. A number of (for English speakers) disparate concepts are (for Mazatec speakers) here united:

Thus, we see that xuta chjine bears no resemblance to ‘one who knows’ or indeed ’wise person’. It is much more powerfully practical than such ideas.

One of Western literature’s best fictional creations is, in my opinion, Terry Pratchett’s elderly female witch, Granny Weatherwax. (*5) Living as she does in the tiny, mountainous and very wet kingdom of Lancre , in many ways she resembles such Mexican curanderos as Maria Sabina very powerfully. Her character is harsh and unforgiving on the surface, but underlying this is a powerful knowledge that life is not about concepts or ideas, but about living it, being it, putting oneself directly in the path of trouble and seeing how one’s own strengths match up to the task at hand. Highly dismissive of philosophy, she is often exhorting people to ‘put in some skin’, that is: stop talking about it and just start working at it.

And it is this kind of attitude which, it seems to me, is at the heart of the Mazatec understanding of what a curandero should be: chjine prepared, ready to place oneself in the heart of things, there in the moment when needed.

A wise person is one who knows, one who is adept at philosophy or knowledgeable in a certain field. S/he may be able to provide deep insight into life, but it is a conceptual, or theoretical insight. Wisdom, in English, is not inherently practical: wisdom is potential. A person can be wise by talking or by writing. S/he doesn’t actually have to do anything. Of course, wise words can indeed spur the speaker or listener into action, but that, in the English way of conception, is deeds, not wisdom.

A person who is chjine, however, has gone one step further from wisdom in their development. They have translated their knowledge into the ability to act, and this is what chjine is: the translation of previously-learned knowledge so that one is always prepared or has the ability to act. Chjine is still potential – it is not deeds, but it is a deeper, more realised potential: it is wisdom applied to the situation at hand. It is the potential for practicality.

In effect, chjine provides the bridge between knowledge and action, and a xuta chjine is one who has fully realised this bridge and is able to be practical, to ‘put in some skin’. S/he is not a theoretical holder of knowledge but a fully realised actor-upon-the-knowledge-s/he-holds.

This practicality of the Mazatec way of thinking is also evident in another phrase often used to refer to curanderos: xuta vincha nascuan – literally: person who places tobacco. Here we see it is not the potential that the curandero holds which is the focussed point, but the action that the curandero customary does: placing tobacco in the mouth to begin the divination process. We may compare this with one of the translations of chjine given above: one who is a functionary in a certain ritual act.

What then does chjine mean for us westerners in our lives? In some ways I think of Bruce Lee, who spent many years learning martial arts (and thus gaining knowledge), as well as making movies (acting and teaching, doing deeds). It was said that he could defend himself in any situation, that he had brought himself to a point where, even if he was exhausted and taken by surprise in the most unlikeliest of situations, his martial arts skill and realised potential was such that he could move from asleep to effective, razor-sharp fighter in zero time. This is chjine.

Similarly, Maria Sabina spent much of her childhood exploring the hallucinogenic plants and mushrooms that grew around her native village, and in doing so gained knowledge of their power. But it wasn’t until she felt able to perform her first healing ceremony – the knowledge of the saint children translated into ability to act – that she became chjine (*6).

chjine the realised potential of knowledge, the practical ability to act

xuta chjine one who has realised their potential and has the ability to fulfil it

So, ask yourself now, after having read this article, and understood the facts and knowledge contained within it…

chjon jintaya nka tso

...how are you going to realise that knowledge and translate it into the ability to act? How are you going to turn it from theoretical wisdom into practical application?

chjon fanyeya nka tso

…how are you going to use it to become chjine?

chjon chjine nka tso

Bruce Rimell, March 2006

(*1) Another interpretation of these types of opening dedication in native Mexican shamanic healing ceremonies is that it is the spirits of the mushrooms speaking through Maria Sabina, and thus, it is the mushroom spirits who are here presenting their credentials to the assembled humans. Among ethnobotanists and ethnopharmacologists, the tendency is to follow this interpretation (Blosser, Wasson), whereas anthropologists and mythologists tend to follow the interpretation given in the main body of the text (Houston, Campbell, Eliade). My opinion is that there is room for both to be true in certain contexts.

(*2) Maria Sabina lived in the village of Huautla de Jimenez . In the dialect of that village, the phrase for curandero is rendered chota chjinenčò:t a čhį:nę with an additional nasal vowel ę at the end of the word. Chiquihuitlan dialect lacks the ‘o’ sound of Huautla dialect.

(*3) Jamieson Capen, Carole - Volcabularios Indigenas 34: Diccionario Mazateco de Chiquihuitlan, Oaxaca Summer Institute of Linguistics

(*4) Chjine doesnt carry any kind of gender connotation as the words ‘master’ and ‘maestro’ do.

(*5) See Pratchett’s books such as ‘Equal Rites’, ‘Witches Abroad’, and especially ‘Carpe Jugulum’ which is essentially a vehicle to expound on Granny Weatherwax’s personal philosophies on the nature of magic, being a witch and how to live on’es life.

(*6) Many people find it strange that Maria Sabina was in contact with considerably powerful and esoteric knowledge, and could produce some of the finest poetry during her healing ceremonies, yet she would also happily drink beer out of bottles and laugh at bawdy jokes and songs with her friends. For me, this shows she never lost sight of the inherent earthiness and practicality that chjine implies.

Final note: I often find facial expressions very significant when trying to discern someone's character, and I think in this case it can even be applied to a fictional character! Notice in the faces of both Maria Sabina and Esme Weatherwax the same discerning expression, the same eyes that watch you calmly as if to say 'I am an accomplished and prepared person and I am watching to see if you are too'. Also, the same stern mouth is apparent in both their images. Clearly Maria Sabina was a woman accustomed to respect - as is the case in fiction with Granny Weatherwax.