Areyto Naboria

I want to talk about spirituality, but to do so I recognize the need to talk about specific deities, and in order to do that we need to talk about and have an understanding of Cemínism/Zeminism (for continuity and understandability, I will be using the academic “Cemí” spelling with a “C”, but please keep in mind, Zemí is valid as well recognized academically and in the tribal nation, I just don’t want confusion).

There is no single term that fully captures this the Taíno spiritual system in its original context, and even the use of words like “religion” or “spirituality” can be limiting. What is being described is not a separate sphere of life, but an integrated way of understanding relationships—between people, land, ancestors, realms, and the forces that sustain existence.

Within the Cemínism framework, cemís are central.

Cemí are not easily defined in singular terms. They may be understood as ancestral presences, spiritual beings, forces of nature, or the material forms through which those presences are engaged. In short- objects imbued with a presences. Cemís may be represented through a carved object or natural form; they can also be encountered through place, memory, or practice- most notable examples are sacred places, some are sacred because they are imbued. These distinctions are fluid, and often depend on context (Pané, 1498/1999; Oliver, 2009). Because of this, cemís are not distant or abstract. They, the objects, exist within relationship— imbued with a presence that is carried through lineage, expressed through environment, and recognized through interaction rather than belief alone.

In the most basic of terms - a cemí is molded to one’s own perception of a deity or ancestral spirit, it is imbued by it and represents the relationship between a community/family/person and said deity or ancestral spirit. It is a physical vessel or embodiment of spiritual power.

The basic anatomy of what a cemí represents:

The Embodiment/Object: It is believed that the physical object actually contains the spirit or essence of a deity or ancestral spirit. NOT that it is the deity or spirit directly (no deity can be contained, nor should anyone seek to that’s viewed as malevolent and world harming behavior).

The Materials: They are crafted using a wide variety of materials, including wood, cotton, stone, shell, clay, and even bone, which were often carved or molded to reflect incarnations, visions or dreams to the deity and ancestral spirit. Sometimes clothing and accessories are crafted to adorn the cemí, as additions (see after sources for photos of some preserved documented cemís).

The Function: Acting as intermediaries, these objects are used to communicate with the spirit world, seek guidance, influence, and ensure the community's (or persons) prosperity, health, protection, etc. The concept is deeply relational, serving as a direct, tangible link between the physical world and the sacred unseen.

(Jiménez (2021), Doyle (2020))

To put this into context, the most common cemís that come to mind are of those of Yúcahu (there are other spellings, far too many to individually list on this post), Atabey, and Guan Ban Sech. For many these names invoke a Cemí to come to mind, but one of the most common ones in connection to Atabey is the Coquí. You can’t drive on the road anywhere in a major city with a Puerto Rican population without coming across a Taíno Coquí symbol, weather it’s on someone’s car, flag, or tattooed on their body. While there are different beliefs around the Coquí- some view it as the symbology for luck, being safe guarded, others as an extension of Atabey’s Fertility incarnation, the nurturing care of a mother. There are some that just view it a symbol of pride and origin. Regardless of the individuals view- they are have the core reasoning of a relationship with nature, safety, and Puerto Rico as an island, and it has been a cultural Cemí carried through lineage and recognized through interaction rather than belief alone for loner than any academic can pin point. See how cemís can be more than merely an object?

With all this say, let me disclaim - It is also important to acknowledge that not all aspects of this knowledge are meant for public or generalized discussion. Some teachings, ceremonial practices, and interpretations are held within specific communities, families, or initiated spaces. What is shared here reflects information that is more widely documented or openly discussed, and should be understood as partial, relative, and foundationally basic rather than comprehensive.

Much of what is commonly known about Taíno spiritual life comes from two sources, early colonial records and cultural knowledge passed through family and communities across the Caribbean. Archeological and anthropological accounts, while valuable, were written through external perspectives and are often incomplete. As a result, contemporary understanding is shaped not only by these texts, but also by oral tradition, community knowledge, and ongoing cultural practice (Curet, 2014; Keegan & Carlson, 2008).

This is where variation becomes important.

Taíno-descendant communities exist across different regions of the Caribbean and its diaspora, and their approaches to cemís can reflect those environments. In some areas, there may be a stronger emphasis on agricultural relationships and land-based practices (ie. like personal gardens, keeping of ancestral trees, dances, etc), in others, a more pronounced connection to coastal or riverine environments (ie. Meditative swimming, Water/River Cultures, etc), and some even blend with other spiritual beliefs (ie. Afro-indigenous communities have a similar practice, cemís crossing into Orisha spaces happened naturally), one’s environment shapes how certain presences are understood and expressed- and under the practice of cemínism it is all valid.

Even within the same region, differences can emerge between families or communities. These variations may influence how cemí are named, how they are approached, or how relationships with them are maintained. Rather than indicating inconsistency, these differences reflect continuity—adaptation over time in response to place, history, and lived experience (Oliver, 2009).

As a cultural example, if you’ve ever read the memoir “My Broken Language”, by Quiara Alegria Hudes; she describes her mother’s spiritual garden dotted with stone lines, carved sculptures, 4 directional sections, and specific plants planted per section. An outsider reads it, takes in the environment described, it might be new to them and they continue. Someone with an even basic understand of Caribbean indigenous beliefs or living cultural experience in the Caribbean though, they read it and can recognize the stone dividing lines as cibas, the sculptures likely cemís of Taíno and Orisha presences, the divided section being the wheel, and even the specific plants reflecting the Taíno cardinal directions. When you have the lived experience of culture, you can fill the blanks, understand without a full course explanation which means authors like Ms. Hudes can share semi closed practices in this form, and it works. Those outside get a glimpse, those with context get validation and recognize the meaning.

In general there is no single, fixed system that can fully represent Taíno spirituality as it exists today, but cemínism is such a central part that it has undeniably been carried through lineage, expressed through history, and recognized thoroughly culturally, regardless of personally held beliefs.

For those beginning to learn, it may be helpful to approach this not as a system to be mastered, but as a set of relationships to be understood gradually. Definitions may shift with time, exposure, and while building community with others. Meanings may deepen over time. What is learned in one space may be expanded or reframed in another. It is all a process.

Talking about Taíno identity today requires care, because it intersects with Indigenous rights.

This is not a simple historical question of what it is or was, but rather it is a living one—shaped by colonial disruption, incomplete records, and ongoing processes of cultural continuity and revitalization across the Caribbean and diaspora.

In contemporary Indigenous rights discourse, especially in international frameworks like the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (which recognized a large degree of today's Taíno yukayekes and communities as authentic), identity is not defined solely by colonial documentation or uninterrupted institutional recognition. Instead, Indigenous identity is generally understood through a combination of:

self-identification

community recognition

historical continuity

cultural connection

Importantly, these frameworks also recognize that colonial systems often disrupted the very records used to measure continuity. Notice that they indicate "community recognition" instead of "National", "Federal" or even "International", because it is the community that self-identifies.

Taíno identity today exists in a range of expressions across different communities and individuals. Some people trace ancestry through family knowledge, oral history, or regional memory (which fulfills, self-identification, cultural connection, and historical continuity). Others engage in cultural revitalization through language, history, or spiritual reconstruction (ie. cultural connection and community recognition. Should be noted that revitalization is often treated as making up or taking from other cultures instead of what it is which is the intentional recovery of knowledge disrupted over time. Every culture participates in revitalization, as it is central to growth while maintaining culture and history). Some participate in communities that actively identify as Taíno in the present day (self-identification and community recognition).

These expressions are not all identical, and they should not be treated as interchangeable—but they are all part of how Taíno presence, the Nation, in individual communities and individually as a whole, is understood in the modern world.

A necessary distinction

It is important to separate three things that are often blended together when people discuss Taíno identity and culture: - historical Taíno societies, documented through archaeology and early colonial records. Can referred to as Classical Taíno/Arawak Culture. - cultural continuity, which may appear in fragmented, adapted, or indirect forms. Often in reference to as surviving families/communities. - contemporary Indigenous identity, which can include revitalization of historical Taíno societies and self-identification today through cultural continuity even if it in the barest of forms. Confusing these categories leads to oversimplified conclusions—either erasure (“it ended”) or overstatement (“it remained unchanged”). Both extremes miss the reality, and are unrealistic expectations of any Indigenous peoples. Taíno survival should not be reduced to a single model.

Indigenous survival is not always visible through continuous institutional records, in fact is nearly never the case, because colonial systems were not designed to preserve Indigenous continuity or recognition.

But survival is also not something that exists only in abstract reconstruction. Instead, it is best understood as:

disrupted continuity

ongoing cultural recovery

and present-day identity formation

All existing at once, in different ways, across different communities, and at various stages. This is the process nearly all indigenous communities experience (even the notable exceptions, like The Māori of Aotearoa, still aren’t exceptions to colonial disruption and recognition legal battles), but is often more harshly criticized in smaller communities and those indigenous cultures directly impacted by Spain’s Empire.

We can’t leave of the affect of language, the way we talk about Indigenous peoples affects how own existence is understood.

Phrases like “disappeared,” “extinct,” or “vanished” are not neutral—they come from historical narratives that often erase complexity in order to simplify colonial histories and make them more palatable and agreeable to its audience.

At the same time, it is also important not to flatten all contemporary expressions of identity into a single uninterrupted line of tradition. Doing so assumes that if a culture has survived, it must have done so in a perfectly continuous, unchanged form—like a straight line that can be traced cleanly from past to present. In reality, very few cultures exist that way, and Indigenous histories are especially shaped by disruption, adaptation, and uneven transmission due to colonial systems.

For Taíno identity specifically, this matters because colonial violence did not only affect people—it also disrupted the conditions under which cultural knowledge has been recorded, passed down, and made visible to outsiders.

Both erasure and oversimplification distort the reality. Indigenous identity in general is not something that can be measured only through historical visibility. It is also shaped by how people understand themselves, connect to heritage, and continue cultural memory in the present. Holding space for that complexity is part of respecting Indigenous peoples.

Taíno identity today exists at the intersection of historical disruption, cultural memory, reconstruction, and contemporary self-identification.

It is not a claim that everything remained unchanged, that is simply unrealistic and unwarranted for anyone to ask of any given culture.

It is not a claim that nothing survived, because science and anthropologists keep confirming details on various oral stories and practices maintained and shared regionally and by various families/communities across the Caribbean.