It was not through a conscious quest that my interest in Indigenous peoples was born, but rather through a succession of encounters. At first, I set out simply to see the world, to walk its landscapes and follow its contours. But along the way, it was faces, voices, and ancestral gestures that awakened in me a deeper impulse: the desire to understand what exists beyond hurried gazes, what is passed on quietly yet fervently.

 

Over the years, I have been fortunate to glimpse cultures rooted in both land and memory. Indigenous peoples across the globe, whether in the far north, the folds of the jungle, or the wind-swept Andean highlands, have welcomed me with a quiet dignity. They have shared fragments of their knowledge: how to read the sky, heal with plants, listen to silence, and walk with respect. Their languages sing of worlds absent from our maps; their myths tell truths our systems have long forgotten.

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And yet, these guardians of a unique cultural heritage, these weavers of stories and rituals, now face countless threats: the erasure of their languages, the loss of their lands, the collapse of the ecosystems they have protected for centuries, and the slow erosion of diversity under the weight of uniformity. They resist through words, through song, and through the sheer strength of living by their values.

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Through my writings, I hope to bear witness to these crossings of paths, where one receives far more than one gives. These peoples have taught me slowness, listening, humility. It is often they who have brought me back to what is essential. This notebook is my way of paying tribute to their quiet strength, to their knowledge in motion, and to the fragile beauty of their worlds in awakening.