El Vuelo de águila y el cóndor :Historia de un yachak

At that time, when my body just eighteenth birthday, and my spirit He looked uneasy in a misty fog mirror whose left not look at me same, even worse the other side of things. Just remember grateful, it was a little later, perhaps in Airón or Tulabug, sacred regions near Licto rural parish of Rio...

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Autor Principal: Noriega Rivera, Patricia
Formato: masterThesis
Idioma: spa
Publicado: 2015
Materias:
Acceso en línea: http://dspace.ups.edu.ec/handle/123456789/10463
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Sumario: At that time, when my body just eighteenth birthday, and my spirit He looked uneasy in a misty fog mirror whose left not look at me same, even worse the other side of things. Just remember grateful, it was a little later, perhaps in Airón or Tulabug, sacred regions near Licto rural parish of Riobamba, province of Chimborazo, which stroked my birth, I came across face to face with the Aguacolla1 grandmother, or San Pedrito, whatever you want call so that the name contains tenderness and reverence. Aguacolla, drink sacred than, well conducted, lets look at things invisible. The guide at that time was Luis Bayas Tutal, a sorcerer's apprentice, mestizo man whose place of origin coincided with mine. I remember her eyes, the last fathoms lit that night, his face clear and bright as those stones constantly caressed by the river. Magical encounter ours, as stone and water. Up and out of the circle, the big night covered us, provided our meetings were crossed by the moon, cold and fear, but protected by the sacred fire and goodness of Andean medicine (Bayas always said that the San Pedrito, the dense potion that bitter brew, virulent, so rough that incites return immediately, he was delivered to earth by the Great Spirit of Life, not as the bitter cup of religion in the West, but as an expression, essence, breath, finding everything that surrounds us, what we are and will be for always).