Ancestral Gathering at the foot of Lighthouse Hill

Sunset at the foot of the hill

The second day in Torres began with a lesson in flexibility: plans suddenly changed, and the trip would be cut short. I had intended to stay through the weekend, when the weather forecast promised sunshine, but life aligned for my return on Friday morning.

At first, I felt frustrated by the news, but I soon reminded myself that there are no mistakes in divine plans; that Ahmyo is about trusting that whatever happens is always the right thing.

I allowed acceptance of the present moment to gently wash over me while I drew in the room reserved for me. In the quiet of the morning, birds were singing, and the colored pencils brought me peace.

Suddenly, as I looked out the bedroom window, a hummingbird came toward me. It was as if it wanted to peck at me, as though I were a flower!

What a good omen! There is nothing like life sending messages through nature. A huge smile spread across my face as I watched the flight of that messenger of joy.

After another warm family lunch, I headed to the beach, this time carrying my sacred maraca in my backpack.

At the beginning of the walk, emotions were still tangled in my chest, but I am used to transformation in movement. Each step taken is a weight left behind. Walking is also an instrument of purification.

And this walk had something special to it, for the wind carried the sea breeze, which I breathed in deeply, consciously, as I drew closer to the beach.

Along the way, a pink hibiscus tree caught my attention. It was a bold, vibrant pink that contrasted with the gray day.

Instantly, I understood that I should pick a flower and offer it to Iemanjá. I asked the tree for permission, greeted it with my hands joined above my head, and harvested a hibiscus flower.

I carried the flower with me and, upon arriving at the beach, stuck its stem into the sand. I lit incense for the caboclos and placed it beside her: two offerings facing the sea.

Two offerings facing the sea

Being there, sitting in front of the sea, with the incense smoke dancing in the wind and that vibrant pink flower illuminating everything, was the sign that the alchemy was complete; I was finally at peace. The celebration could finally begin.

I stood up and, barefoot, stepped onto the sand. I chose my favorite caboclo chants, put on my headphones, and let the atabaque drums guide my steps.

Energized and with a heart full of love, I picked up the flower from the sand and walked to the sea, letting the waves wash over my feet. The water was cold, but the embrace I received from the ocean was deeply comforting.

Holding the hibiscus in my hand, I spoke to the Mother of the Waters.

As the song by Gerônimo Santana says: “Nada pedi, só agradeci” — I asked for nothing, I only gave thanks. I gave thanks for so many blessings, for every internal conflict I was able to resolve within myself, for every challenge that became a lesson and a stepping stone in my evolution, for every person who cared about me and showed love, for all the synchronicities that kept proving I was on the right path. I gave thanks for life, I gave thanks for being at the edge of the sea, I gave thanks to my godmother, who invited me and made it possible for me to be there with my feet in the sand. I gave thanks for my strength, determination, and courage. I gave thanks for everything that was happening in my life.

I simply gave thanks and let the flower be carried away by the water.

Then I returned to my things on the sand, knowing the time had come for my maraca to meet the beach once again.

I learned to play it through practice. At first, the sound of the seeds was intimidating because it was so loud, and it felt like I would never catch the rhythm. But I slowly allowed it to teach me how to play it. I learned back on the beaches of Aldeia Xandó, in Bahia. Ever since, it has accompanied me wherever I go, teaching me a little more every day.

From the terreiro chants, I moved on to the Huni Meka, the traditional songs of the Huni Kuin people. Originally, the Huni Meka were chanted with voice alone, but today one can find various versions of these prayers accompanied by guitars and drums. It's healing music.

Connected to this Amazonian force, I took my sacred maraca out of my backpack and began to match the rhythm of the music. I was playing, singing and dancing with my feet in the sand and my eyes on the horizon.

At the height of a prayer I hold very dear, physical reality brought me back: I noticed two young men pass very close to me, staring intently at my movements and my things. I felt a wave of discomfort, but I decided I would finish the prayer before moving out of fear.

When the music ended, I honored the direction my intuition was pointing me in. I put on my sneakers and made my way toward the rocks at the little beach of Torres, situated at the base of Lighthouse Hill, which I had climbed the day before.

I looked upon that situation with clarity. I felt safe; I knew no one could enter my energy and take it from me, and precisely to honor that knowing, I trusted my intuition. If the heart says to move along, it is best to move along.

I gathered my things in my backpack and walked along the beach, listening to the sacred prayers in my headphones and carrying the incense in my hand. When I reached the first rocks, still a short distance from the hill, I left the incense there for the caboclos and stepped up to the boardwalk.

As I walked along the boardwalk, I was listening to the Saiti Yawanawá “Anope”, a traditional chant of the Yawanawá people that evokes the force of nature. I was singing softly when a Great Kiskadee swooped right over my head. It was beautiful! I felt that the force celebrated by the music took shape in my reality at that exact moment, and I couldn't help but smile.

That swooping flyby from the bird was the confirmation that I was protected and connected, propelling my steps until I reached a very rocky area of the beach, right at the base of Lighthouse Hill.

There, among the rocks, I took the maraca out of my backpack once again, but kept my headphones put away so I could sing freely and truly hear my own voice.

As I sang, I dedicated the sound of the seeds to the Guarani people who lived freely for thousands of years on the beaches of Brazil and, today, live isolated in small villages, with restricted access to all the abundance that nature has always provided. Anyone who walks through Torres today, in 2026, will understand exactly what I am talking about: the city has turned into a forest, but one made of concrete.

The afternoon gently faded away by the seashore as I sang to Iemanjá and chanted songs for Cabocla Janaína, honoring the Mother of Salt Waters. It was right at that moment that I unlocked a new skill: playing a three-beat rhythm on the maraca while singing at the same time! You see, rhythm has been an enigma I’ve been unraveling throughout my life. But from now on, I can say with immense joy that when I play in three-beat time and sing, it was Iemanjá who taught me.

At sunset, infinite gratitude permeated my whole being. I brought the singing to a close and began a prayer of thanks out loud, honoring the ancestors.

Being there at the foot of the hill made me reflect on all the stories the ancient peoples must have told about the origin of that hill and all those rocks surrounding me.

What would they have said, around the campfire and beneath the stars, about the emergence of the sea and the sand? What stories would the elders have passed down to their children and grandchildren about the creation of the world and the universe? What lore might they have known about the fish in the depths of the ocean and the giant whales that cross our coastline? How much wisdom had those stones, our grandmothers, kept in silent guardianship over thousands of years?

In my complete ignorance of those fantastic stories, yet in my utter respect for that ancient tradition, I thanked every single stone on that beach.

“Aguyjevete Nhanderu!”, I said, feeling the spirits of the native peoples dancing along the shore, as though they had never left that place. I thanked those spirits with an open heart, and energizing goosebumps coursed through my body. I felt in perfect communion with the astral realm. Even if nothing could be seen with the eyes, in my heart I had absolute clarity that they were grateful to be remembered and celebrated.

Upon completing my prayer to the sea and the rocks, I gave thanks to the gentle waves, the sky, and the clouds. I gave thanks for the birds, from the hummingbird that had greeted me in the morning to the Great Kiskadee that had just crossed my path; to the egrets, which seek their sustenance from the sea in solitude, and to the Southern Lapwing, whose call brings me the comforting feeling of being home.

In that late afternoon at the foot of the hill, I felt that a gathering had taken place. I do not know which entities were present, but I know it was a grand celebration.

I left with a sense of total peace, laughing to myself, smiling for no reason at all.

I walked back along the beach, gently taking my leave, knowing that the next day I would be back for another celebration of life.

Liah'ah