October 20, 2023
He called me his little hummingbird. I bought the stone with the hummingbird trapped inside. I was shown the image which became my book cover as the hummingbird was escaping from my enclosed heart. These incidents seem to tell me it is a circle complete to arrive here and now physically set us both free. These are the thoughts I woke up with this morning at 2:00 am. It is also a circle complete to have without any effort on my part the grandson of a woman who served Che and his men, now drive me to say good-bye some 56 years after they stopped at her restaurant in Samaipata, before continuing their journey into the mountains. One has to ask – what are the odds for this connection to happen? For me, it can only mean the guiding hand of those in the “Spirit” realm who are responsible also for showing me this path. I would never have found it otherwise.
We will leave after breakfast for the last leg of this journey, after which I will know more and perhaps even change what I feel the purpose of the journey is. But for now, this is what poured out of me after waking with just one statement in my thoughts. After realizing there would be no more sleep for me, I had to ask again – Why am I here?
A story can be written, however if no one reads it does it have any purpose? My story has been written, it has been read by a few, but still remains largely unheard. Therefore I am not a threat to anyone, the time long passed when it could have made a difference in how we understand government. With no way to prove what happened, there can never be enough interest, it’s the simple truth. I’m left with the hope one day my children will want to understand, although I doubt they will, as it seems they too are plagued by the fear which stops most people from leaving their comfort zone. The answers are not important to them – it is easier to live with suffering which becomes acceptable over time. In this way they have their own story where blame can be assigned and regret can be forgotten. On the other hand I have never been too comfortable living without the truth. Right or wrong, I am in Bolivia because of my need to understand why Che Guevara’s story is connected to mine. If I am not his daughter then what possible reason could there be for me to have such a strong love for him. I did not seek him out, he came to me, he insisted I remember him. Had he not presented himself to me through the dreams, I would never have had a reason to search for his identity which led to this incredible, if not unbelievable story.
A very clear understanding of government also came to me this morning as I sat in the quiet of the hotel room. Based on what happened to me it is a fair assessment of how our world is run, the very aspect of corruption which allowed my life to be redirected was what my father was fighting against. The cost of his attempt to bring this corruption to light became mine to bear after his death and after my mother escaped into a world she felt safer in, leaving me in the hands of my abusers.
There is a common thread amongst leaders – they love attention, are in need of gratification constantly and enjoy the wealth of the position. It is always about power and control – it has never been about the needs of the people over the needs of government, always it is the needs of those in power which dictate the course of action they choose which we then must put up with. As long as we the people are content to allow someone else to live so far above us we become insignificant, we will continue to have the same issues cycle through again and again. There are no candidates coming up for re-election which display honour and integrity over the need to be in control. After the elections forthcoming, we will be back in this game of complete frustration because of the incompetence of our government – to think otherwise is to fall into the honey trap of deception at its finest. Deciding between corrupt politicians is not a true choice and we will suffer the consequences as long as we continue to believe checking one box over the other is going to make a difference. We need to wipe the board clean and choose with better intention because if we do not, we will remain in this cycle of corruption and the defeat of our right to live respectable yet comfortable lives.
I have never voted and choose not to until there is a candidate who will live with the choices made as we are forced to. Our leaders never touch the ground where our feet must walk because of their decisions, giving them the power to choose without conscience. This is what must change or we are doomed as a race. We are so far down this road in every country worldwide, I cannot see an easy solution, so like my father we must buck up and make a choice to ask for better. I am not suggesting violence, my life was full of violence acts against me and those I loved, so for me there has to be a peaceful way of getting the changes we want. The truckers started the ball rolling, we must continue to find ways to challenge those in power, ready to sacrifice all that is dear to us in order to be the change. This was what my father represents to me, and to many others. There is still reason to fear and I can see that now. My presence is still a threat, so caution is important. This was why I didn’t tell many people before going on this trip.
While everyone has their right to an opinion of Che Guevara, it is those who actually were in his presence as he passed their village or home hidden in the mountains who tell the truth about who he was. To those who hate him it is most likely due to his fight being a threat to their lifestyle which takes advantage of those less fortunate.
Why am I here? This was the big question in my thoughts when I woke this morning at such an early hour.
A decision is made as I run my fingers over the smooth surface of my necklace, something I have always found comforting. I’ve worn this necklace since receiving it in 2019 while living in Ecuador, representing for me the path of the heart my father spoke to me of being difficult. It has served as a reminder of this truth as I struggle to find my way in a world which does not see me. As a symbol I will leave my heart in La Higuera because like this small pendant, my heart also has a hole in it where my father used to be. There is no recovery from such a loss as was amplified once again by Fernando, my driver. His grandmother had a restaurant and through our conversation, I thought his mother still had this restaurant, but he said no, she could not keep it going after her mother died. There were many memories, making her too sad, her heart too heavy. Yes, I understood her situation. As I ponder this in the quiet hour this morning, I realize there are different reasons for me being here, one of them being able to hear stories from those who actually met my father, something I could never experience in Canada. Canada is a country strangely quiet on the subject of my father. But then Canada is strangely quiet on many subjects, content to live in ignorance rather than face change. Yes, the heart pendant will stay here because it feels as though my heart has been here all along. This is where my spirit was shattered; the day I saw them bury his body secretly, I went to a place which I never wanted to come out of.
Coming here is the process of releasing the hummingbird from its encasement. Perhaps the reason for its sudden disappearance at the airport customs was a reminder it is wrong to hold onto that which is a visual representation of our captivity. Like my father, I have been trapped in the little school room on the top of a mountain with no where to go. As an empath, I felt his concerns when he understood his time had come, accepting he would not leave alive. Resignation. Everything he worked towards, the responsibility he took for so many men, not to mention his heartfelt desire to save the masses from North American tyranny, came suddenly and cruelly to a finish. I feel he knew this would be the result shortly after arriving in Bolivia, betrayed by the man he thought was a friend – Castro. It came to me as we travelled this very difficult road to La Higuera how much of my life could be a reflection of this sentiment of his failure as if it was mine too. I was a child unaware of the many nuances involved in his complicated journey. Plagued by doubt and insecurity because I was able to feel his moments of reflection. Coupled with the fact the Phypers imprinted their feelings on me of hate and mistrust, my life could never be a success. In the end this has been a lesson in retrieving all that was positive about who I am, leaving the imprinted version of what the Phypers wanted me to believe about myself and about my father, behind.
We left for La Higuera around 8:00 am after a lovely breakfast of a fresh strawberry drink made with milk and a pastry filled with cheese. I also had a delicious coffee. The moment we hit the road, the tears began which surprised me – I did not expect such a sudden release so soon. The tears flowed many times along the way as in my minds eye, as if watching a movie, I could see him traversing the territory with his troop of men, their green fatigues barely visible, moving slowly and silently. It was as though I had travelled back in time to witness their progression once more. Quite an eerie feeling. Their movement felt quite heavy to me as I watched them, I could feel them as hope dwindled, yet not wanting to give up. Although I have felt this many times over the years, this intense need to give up, but knowing it was not in me to do so, but most prominently during my last months in Ecuador. There was no room left for error as I could not go back, yet there was no clear path forward either because my money to continue living there would last at the most 3 more months. There is heaviness until you find acceptance and in this moment one becomes lighter with a different sense of freedom. These men had not yet reached the acceptance stage of their journey. They would fight until the end.
Seeing the journey they made at least in my mind during this waking dream, made me realize just how difficult it would have been for them to face – for most of us, I believe it would be an impossible feat. I thought my journey over the many years to get here was tough, but it didn’t take long to comprehend it was nothing by comparison to the many weeks and months they spent climbing these mountains with minimal supplies. How many of us could endure what they experienced?
I couldn’t help but think how his death gave him more power because this way he has lived in the hearts of those in many parts of the world which may have never heard of him otherwise. How many thousands of travellers have come to this isolated area in Bolivia to see for themselves as I am, the importance of his life, his journey?
There were moments along the way when panic started to set in and I truly wanted to turn around and head back. How does one explain this complete emotional connection if there is no tie to the person involved?
Despite what a proud moment it was to realize I was the daughter of this beautiful man, what I carry is indeed as heavy as the shaman who did my ayahuasca ceremony told me he saw. It is actually not as much the trauma, but knowing my story has no meaning if it remains lost as it has been. The importance is not connected to who I am as much as why it happened and how my birth could be such a threat due to its political implications. Once more it is how our countries are run for those in power, not the people’s needs, which would have created such a devastating consequence if I had been discovered. This is the burden I carry – knowing the possibility of something beautiful and positive cannot happen because it cannot be shared. Disclosure would show how two people from opposing political countries broke the boundaries created by others. But love does not understand restrictions or boundaries, it is unstoppable. So if love, even temporary, could be found in the midst of the political time bomb of 1960 (like Romeo and Juliet), could we then begin to see the irrelevance of such opposition which does much to destroy lives rather than save them. It is greed and greed alone which keeps my story buried under doubt and fear.
Fernando and I travelled in silence for this trip, mostly because we needed the translator to communicate such deep thoughts clearly. I could not have asked for a more thoughtful, kind, patient man to help me get through this day which is a lesson for trusting in the divine guidance of our inner voice which should not be ignored. Had I forced my need to do this my way, I would not have received this very special gift. I wondered if he was a bit surprised by the many times I started crying during this 2 hour drive (50 km).
Sapphire joined us, my spirit bird who has been with me over the years to remind me never to give up. He flew across the road in front of us from the direction of the valley to my right. He was low enough I could have touched him if I was standing on the road as he passed. I thought about taking his picture once more, but it seemed wrong, it was a private moment for my understanding alone. Just as I thought he had once more vanished, he flew across our path, closer still as he flew past my window, it’s fine wing feathers translucent as they caught the light. I understood his presence, but cannot expect others to. I thought seeing him at this point on the road meant we were close, but it was still quite a distance. He did not join us again until we were on our way home and never again did he come so close.
God speaks to us in many languages, we need only to be open to hearing the different voices. Because God is in all things, we can understand his messages of love through everything around us if we wish to. I have chosen since my heart was pierced with the crystal needle to see the messages of God presented in the smallest of messengers to the largest. I have seen his messages in the eyes of other people, heard them in their voice, yet not connected to their words. There is much gratitude in my heart for this special way of communicating – the silence can be our best teacher. As we neared the village I was surprised to see a flock of parrots fly overhead. I did not realize the type of bird I was watching until the sun hit the feathers on their back illuminating a brilliant green. Fernando confirmed my suspicions. It was a wonderful unexpected moment. They would fly overhead while I spent time in the village and on our return journey as well. So of course I looked up the spiritual meaning of the parrot and this is what I found, which is a completely appropriate messenger for the journey.
In Hinduism, parrots are associated with the goddess Saraswati, the goddess of knowledge, music, fine arts, wisdom, and more. For Buddhists, the sight of a green parrot symbolizes loving-kindness with its capacity for beauty, healing, and comfort.
Parrots also represent empowerment, liberation from confinement, and breaking out of outdated mental paradigms that hold us back from fully expressing our potential. This makes them a symbol of transformation in addition to their place as messengers of joy and peace.
How can I explain to anyone who has not experienced such a tragic loss as a child, the deep crevice from which the sorrow began to bubble up from. There are simply no words to describe how I was feeling as what came into focus was all the monuments seen on YouTube over the years now right in front of me in real time. Since learning his identity (2017), like a starving child I searched for every article and video which could verify what had been dreamt of over so many years. To at last hear his voice and see his picture was to understand he was real, he existed somewhere other than in my thoughts. This also brought the devastating realization I would never meet him as I’d hoped each time I dreamt of him. Then came the further understanding with the undeniable heaviness in my belly, I would never be able to tell anyone, because who would believe it was possible? The frustration of carrying this story, is due to remaining one of the disappeared, remaining invisible.
The tears began once more as I got out of the car and made my way slowly towards the school where he died.
Unlike Vallegrande, here the monuments were cherished, honouring the man they have come to know in death, more so than in life. There was note on the door, which was locked, saying there was a $10Bs charge for entry. Fernando went in search of the person who could allow us to enter while I stood there gathering up my courage, unsure if I could actually enter the building. It was taking a few minutes so I walked back to the car parked in front of the restaurant to wait, torn between wanting to run and go back to where the energy called me. As I reached the car a woman came over carrying the key to open the door, speaking to me in Spanish. My mind has had great difficulty processing the language while here, so in this moment of stress I did not even try to understand her, explaining my Spanish is not good. We walked over to the school, joined by Fernando who did have a conversation with the woman. This left me to focus on not falling apart – I was beginning to have a panic attack and was struggling to compose myself in front of total strangers. My arms wrapped around my belly as if I could stop the eruption by doing so. As I brought my breathing back to something resembling normal we approached the open door. I was first to enter, a sense of deja vu enveloped me as if I entered a portal from my past. Faced now with images dreamt of at a time when there was no understanding these events actually happened was overwhelming. To see the reality of what years ago I could not comprehend being actual historical events connected to my life because of who my father was, suddenly becoming tangible.
The images in some of my dreams came to me in the form of an old black and white film reel. They were difficult to focus on as there were so many images. In the end the only clear picture, because it was the only image to be shown for long enough to really focus on, was the one of my father which I later saw on the cover of his brothers book. In this room were all the images from those film reels, I could feel the truth in this as I looked at them. These men were in my heart even though I did not know them, because they were in my fathers heart. I was shown the images because he wanted me to understand the purpose of his life’s journey, which he hoped would help me forgive him for his absence in my life. There is nothing to forgive! Without my father, I would have remained lost in the void.
Despite her talking non stop as she explained all she knew, the building itself was quiet. I do not know how to describe better what I mean by that, but it was as if the building was a separate space not connected to the sound of her voice. Or maybe her voice was outside the room because I created the space needed. There was a terrible moment when I realized I was looking at his bloodied clothing, providing the evidence he was shot many times. It was confirmed for me that one of the first bullets hit him near his knee which I felt. I wrote about how excruciating the pain was disabling me from feeling where the other bullets struck his body. Years later I would remember the bullet which entered his right lung which I also felt. The last hit him in the throat, which was the kill shot as he choked on his own blood. It was not an easy death. Everything written by me about this part of his life was in front of me in a detail to confirm I did know what happened to him even though this would never have been discussed in the home where I was raised or anywhere else for that matter.
She explained how he brought food to give to the peasants, her love for him was obvious. I also know he brought medicine and money to give to those in remote areas, helping them with his doctoring skills in the best way he could. And incredibly he travelled, at least in the beginning with a school set up. He insisted anyone who fought with him had to know how to read and write. In this way you could not be deceived or forced to accept something without your knowledge because of your inability to read. For me this was an incredible fact to learn about him. I think it was perhaps the one which inspired great loyalty to him as it speaks of his commitment to improving the lives of everyone.
The Bolivian soldiers did not spend such precious time, nor did they offer assistance to the locals. Threats were all they offered. To me it would be overwhelming to see the state of peoples lives struggling in such poverty, which in turn would only provide encouragement for him to continue with greater intention.
She pointed out the small chair of a child where he sat, his hands tied behind his back. She explained where he was killed and I wondered if the divots in the cement floor were from the bullets after they passed through his body. I listened to her without hearing the words, her intention behind those words was what I was paying attention to. This was important for me to see as well, teaching me the depth of commitment the locals have to the dedication of keeping his memory alive – something I needed to connect to. Again this was never something I would have felt from a distance, even as close as Vallegrande.
Nowhere have I been and experienced this sense of devotion, love and respect for one human being. It truly was an overwhelming experience! I realize it is selfish for me to wish my part in this story could be heard too as I see his other children proudly displayed on the walls, something I will probably never experience. I am his silent yet very enthusiastic supporter, hidden in the darkness of his unknown past. From this day I must make peace with this understanding as I make my way forward.
I did not want to leave, there was a strange sense of belonging here. I was comfortable with the silence in the building and on the road going through the village. My only wish was to be left alone with what I was trying to absorb in this room dedicated to a man barely known to me and forgotten for far more years than remembered. Our time together was for the briefest of moments on the timeline of my life. Short visits were all we had, yet the impact was obviously great for I am here today to receive closure. The curator was dedicated to her position and so it seemed inappropriate to ask special permission to be left alone. Had I been able to prove my heritage, I could have done so, but this was not possible, so like any other tourist, I left the way we went in – together. Just before going, I placed my heart pendant in the basket on the table hoping she would not remove it to give back to me. She left it which helped me relax a bit. How could she understand as I wrote my name in her visitors book that this woman before her from Canada could have a biological connection to this man who she felt she knew so well.
Once the door was locked, knowing I was not able to leave yet, I sat under the tree on a rather worn bench looking at the face of the building. There was a feeling I should have done something more, but all I could do was sit there and cry, a tormented experience of so much lost and misunderstood during a life of emptiness. It took great effort to walk away because I saw myself staying there indefinitely. Fernando allowed me to take as much time as I needed, sitting quietly on his own. So I walked around, took more pictures, then continued on to the new school where he showed me there was yet another monument to his memory. Nowhere though was there such a heart pull for me than at the place of his death. It was not the photos or sayings which had such a great affect on me, those I have read and looked at since 2017 as I tried to learn the most about him I could. No, it was the energy in the room where he died which kept calling me – the room had invisible strings pulling me back, the strength was shocking. Every time I looked at the building, I was overcome with grief and a need to stay.
I sat with Fernando for a few minutes exchanging comments. He asked me if I was successful in removing any doubts I had. I said yes. I also told him it really hurts, and it did, a pain never felt before because this village is a reminder there is no one left from the part of my childhood which held beautiful happy moments. My life became a darkness after he and all the others who loved me died. Having closure at last, I can begin to let go of this hurt which was not allowed to be felt at the time of its making.
I also told him that today it became real, until now it was just something abstract, not part of my reality. It was comforting to hear him say (although I cannot remember his exact words) this was necessary for me to have closure and that it would change my life forever. It may take time, but it was important. Our thoughts were the same. Although I told him I was ready to go, I had a sudden need to go back one more time without knowing exactly why. Fighting my need to really fall apart emotionally, I went with intention so I could slow my thoughts down and try to understand what was left for me to do. Realizing there was no one who would come to me recognizing me as I was told in my dreams, there was something more for me to leave besides the heart pendant. After drawing a heart in the dirt which would never be seen, I realized as I sat once more on the bench under the tree, what I needed to do. With the translator to help me I wrote out a note explaining who I was.
Soy Gabriel de Canada
Soy la hija perdita de Che Guevara. Su nombre para mí era – mi pequeña colibrí. Cuando era niño me decía “el camino del corazón puede ser difícil”. Esta ha sido la verdad.
I’m Gabriel from Canada
I am the lost daughter of Che Guevara. His name for me was my little hummingbird. When I was a child he told me “the path of the heart can be difficult.” This has been the truth.
Still after folding the note and leaving it placed in the crack between the doors, I did not want to leave. Truthfully I could have laid down and never moved from the door of the building because of the intense sadness and loneliness wanting me to stay. This makes sense as I think about it now because this sadness has been the strong link between us – a connection through time. Saying good bye means letting go of the pain in order to remember the joy life brings. I have been wrapped in the sadness far too long, it’s time to join the living and remember the light of the hummingbird he saw in me.
Dreams are messages, but not necessarily to be literal translations of what to expect. Because I’ve had so many dreams, it was not easy to understand where the lines were drawn between message and staging. There were times when I hoped the dreams were literal such as when I dreamt of my father telling a woman I would come looking for answers and she would recognize me because of my hair. It was apparent he gave her something to give to me to help me accept the truth. I related this to the act of going to where he died in the hopes the woman who gave him his last meal would be the one who would recognize me by my hair. It seemed so simple, but then that should have told me it would not happen this way, because nothing about my life has been simple. I actually see now intention was placed on this detail in order to give me a reason to go to La Higuera. It, like so many other dreams was giving me a place to start.
As I prepared for the trip, I understood there could be no expectations placed on the outcome as this would change the course of events which would not be beneficial. Standing in front of the building it was difficult to not have a spark of hope my dream would come true and I would receive the proof needed. There was no disappointment, just this longing to stay.
As we drove back we were once more silent as we made our way down the difficult winding road. It was easy to understand how the rainy season would have stopped us because there would be no margin for error if the roads were wet and slippery. My experience in Ecuador taught me one had to respect the dangers of these rough dirt roads which become slick very quickly. In places there is room for only one vehicle with a drop off the edge which would mean certain death.
Strangely enough I had no problem making the journey going to La Higuera, but coming down there were times where the heights reminded me of past fears. This surprised me a bit as it has been awhile since this fear had a grip on me. The crying mostly stopped, my breathing settled and I became calm. It felt like a picture was being formed from all the dots joining one dream to another, with thoughts and emotions all contributing to shape a new way of looking at everything I thought I understood. There was no way to begin writing all the information going through my mind which was coming pretty fast, so I hoped I would be able to recall what was necessary when I was back in my room. I wrote as much as I could when I got back, but I was tired and needed to just rest and let myself feel the experience rather than write about it.
Fernando brought me to his parents home, the front of which had been the restaurant where his grandmother provided the meal for Che and his men. The restaurant is gone, it is now after many years of service, just an empty room. Yet this room once provided tables, chairs and good food for soldiers who stopped briefly before heading to their final destination. Those soldiers lives are ingrained in the hearts of those who remain in Samaipata, providing memory of a time when there were some completely dedicated to creating change for all, especially those most in need. We had a lovely visit, a really positive way to end the day – a new beginning has already begun to happen.
I shared my photo of Lucas beside Che so they could see the strong resemblance and Fernando’s father took a photo in order to share with friends. It was actually a good feeling to realize closure did not mean the end of my story and possibly there was going to be a new way to share it. While I may leave in a few days, Lucas’ photo may stay for many years to come which seems a beautiful solution.
I could recognize in their faces acceptance of how complicated my story was with the impossibility of being able to tell it. My story is not easy to share in such a brief time, the years of piecing together such seemingly insignificant fragments means once you start to explain, one thought leads to another, then another until you realize you could sit for days to get it all out. This was why the books were written, but in English they are not helpful where perhaps they are most needed to be read.
We left after a lively discussion with the hope of returning Monday to Samaipata. It was my intention to also visit the ruins here, but did not have the funds. My concern about using my debit card to get more money to do this tour was due to the card not working while in Ecuador. If it didn’t work and I was locked out from using it, this could affect the balance of my trip in an emergency situation. But this is a new beginning, so I decided only fear was standing in my way of having another beautiful experience, so we decided to try. Once back in Santa Cruz, we located an international bank machine and while I held my breath the card was inserted. There was success, meaning the trip goes ahead on Monday to the ruins. This was cause for celebration as I realized how much one decision can change your life. From this day forward which is appropriately the day before my birthday, my life can begin in a new direction. As a friend pointed out, the fact this is not my true birthday does not matter because it was always perceived as though it was. My response was: Yes I understand it must be considered the birthday gift it was intended to be. I left the day after Lucas’ birthday and experienced closure the day before mine. The mark of a new beginning represented by the symbolic date of a birthday. A relevant marker. Also the birthday celebrated for most of my life was forever linked to the anniversary of his death by a few weeks, so it is appropriate to find “home” on the anniversary of what happened to cause my hummingbird spirit to be crushed. Everything lost was now found in the tiny room where his life was taken while mine was lost because of it. Perhaps this explains the sense of urgency.
Things in my life have rarely worked out as planned. As my one friend said to me not long ago “nothing in your life is simple”, which is the truth, but my path has always been interesting. On a spiritual journey, one must realize letting go of what you expect to happen is the only way to be able to have the “spiritual” experience. Controlling everything leaves no room for the presence of God and the beautiful transitions which could happen if one did not need to have everything go a certain way. This is what my life has taught me, the lessons greater still during the last few years as I came closer to this day of reconciliation. Through this process I have understood reconciliation comes from changing our way of thinking, allowing forgiveness first from the inside. I came to this conclusion because there is no one for me to accuse, blame or ask an apology from. There are so many people responsible for what I endured, yet I don’t know who they are, and I’m sure most if not all have passed away, so how can I demand from them what I need to heal the invisible wound of torture and abuse?
Acceptance. Healing comes from the process of understanding this is our path and it is different for everyone, so there is no solution perfect for us all. Today was resolution for me, it was also reconciliation. Being in the presence of the memory of what Che and his men tried to accomplish plus seeing how many suffer because of poverty still when this should not happen at all, I know my story is one among millions. The way out of it is through forgiveness and acceptance we cannot change others, we can only change how we think and behave. It is through our actions we gain respect, not our inactions.
If we are content to play the blame game ensuring we remain a victim, we will never be respected nor appreciated for the journey we are on.
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