Ayni in Appalachia: Sacred Reciprocity & STIGMA
Ayni—a simple Quechua word with profound meaning.
At its heart, ayni is the practice of sacred reciprocity, a way of living that honors our relationship to a living universe.
During my time with the Pachakuti Mesa Tradition, Joan Parisi Wilcox, and the Andean teachers in Peru I was taught that ayni teaches us to approach life with intention, acknowledging that every action is part of an intricate web connecting us to others and the earth.
It’s not just a transaction; it’s a relationship.
Ayni is about creating balance, where love and respect meet practical action, a reminder that we belong to something greater than ourselves.
Ayni is that spark, where intention meets action, creating the kind of energy exchange that doesn’t need to be named. It’s felt. It’s that moment of doing the dishes after someone cooks, or pouring water onto the earth with a quiet prayer, “As I drink, so does the earth.” Ayni’s roots are deep in Andean soil, but its principles are universal, echoing the subtle cultural nuances we carry here in Appalachia—the familiar refrain of “You get what you give.”
For the Andean people, ayni is a natural law as essential as gravity, an unceasing flow that asks us to see ourselves not as separate but as integral parts of the whole. As Kiara Windrider says, "When you are in ayni, you are in a state of flow. There is no need to accumulate, fear, judge, or reject." It’s a radical trust in the inherent goodness of life, a trust that is mirrored here in the mountains, where the community is built on shared effort and the land itself breathes the legacy of reciprocity, especially in the wake of Hurricane Helene.
"Ayni is the simple yet profound act of balancing love and action—a quiet promise between us and the world."
Ayni is “putting love and reverence into practical action,” as Don Oscar teaches—love that lives through the hands that build, the hearts that offer and the quiet actions that ground us in a cultural complexity of mutual belonging and care.
The challenge of Returning Home.
Walking in the Appalachian mountains, I remember that ayni is here, too. It is found in sudden appearances of critters on a daily walk, home-cooked meals & gatherings, and long-held traditions of “lending a hand.” Ayni teaches us that we are never truly alone; we are bound by an ancient flow of reciprocity that runs through us all, like water through mountain springs.
I left my small Appalachian town at 25 years old for Knoxville, TN one of the largest Appalachian Cities. Later I moved to Atlanta, GA & Los Angeles, CA. It felt like stepping into a world far beyond the familiarity of Northeastern Tennessee where I’d grown up. I traveled to Peru on several occasions to explore my childhood dreams of Amazonian culture. My journey took me to places I’d never imagined. Guided by teachers who embodied the wisdom of Andean traditions, I felt my spirit expand, as if I was being reminded of something I’d always known but had forgotten in the hum of daily life back home. I completed yoga teacher training in Peru in 2017 alongside a legal ayahuasca journey. I won a scholarship to Rythmia in 2022 to sit with ayahuasca legally in Costa Rica.
These experiences were transformative in ways I could never have prepared for. Ayahuasca unraveled parts of myself I didn’t even know existed, opening my heart, clearing my mind, and bringing me back to a center I’d long lost sight of. The journey was a return to a kind of reverence, a belonging with nature, ancestors, and myself. I found myself learning to regulate my own emotions, becoming more intentional with my actions, and prioritizing time with my parents and grandparents more than in any other era of my life.
Shoutout to the mamaws & papaws!
And yet, when it came time to return home, a wave of uncertainty washed over me. How would I integrate back into the culture I came from, where ideas of shamanism and ayahuasca were met with fear, judgment, and even ridicule? Utter the word “shaman” and some Appalachian folks immediately think of evil, seance, and the devil. My experience with “shamanistic” cultures has been pleasant, kind-hearted, and reverential. Appalachia is a place of strong roots and powerful traditions, but it’s also a place where exploring the unknown can be seen as a betrayal of community values. The decision to start the Appalachian Psychedelic Society feels like a risk and an honor—stepping out of the shadows with a belief system that many might find foreign or even threatening.
But in my heart, I know I owe something to this land and its people, just as much as I owed my own transformation to the traditions I had encountered in the Andes. The wisdom of Andean cultures taught me that life is a cycle of giving and receiving, of tending and nurturing.
It taught me that ayni is not something I can simply leave behind—it is a gift I am meant to carry home, to plant in our own soil.
Starting the Appalachian Psychedelic Society was a leap into that belief, a way to share this wisdom and cultivate a sense of curiosity and community in a region that has both enriched me and at times challenged me to my core. I hope that, through the Society, others can find the courage to explore their journeys, free from stigma, and that perhaps one day, Andean wisdom teachings of unity and reciprocity might weave themselves more into the heart of Appalachia, just as deeply as they had woven themselves into mine.
