History is rarely a neat line of absolute conquest. In the Philippines, the colonial archives of the Spanish Empire accidentally preserved a profound monument of spiritual warfare: the Bolinao Manuscript (1679–1685). This document records an inquisitorial crackdown in the borderlands of Zambales and Pangasinan. It exposes a highly organized, underground network of 148 indigenous shamans who explicitly refused to let their ancient anituhan religion die, a full century after Spanish occupation.

The composition of this network was a testament to pre-colonial social structures: 145 female Katalonans spanning multigenerational lines of grandmothers, mothers, and daughters, alongside 3 Bayoguin (feminized male shamans) named Calimlim, Calinog, and Mamacuit.

To bridge the human world with the realm of the gods, a feminine disposition was culturally mandatory. The biological women and the gender-nonconforming Bayoguin both grew their hair into long, sacred tresses to act as spiritual conduits. When Dominican friars launched their raids, they violently sheared the heads of these 148 individuals. For the women, it was a forced stripping of matriarchal status; for the three Bayoguin, it was a malicious attempt to enforce Western patriarchal binaries. Yet, you cannot shave away a people’s consciousness.

The Cosmic Blueprint: Ama-Gaoley, Malayari, and the Healing Efficacy of Akasi

The spiritual infrastructure protected by these shamans was a fluid, cross-regional alliance of the Pangasinense and Sambal pantheons. At the absolute apex stood Ama-Gaoley (also known as Anagaoley), the supreme creator father. The network seamlessly bridged his domain with the Sambal supreme deity, Malayari (the lord of Mt. Pinatubo), through their shared celestial and terrestrial children.

Central to their spiritual system was the sun and war god Apolaki, whom the Pangasinenses revered as a direct manifestation of Ama-Gaoley, while the Sambals knew him as the brother of the moon goddess Mayari. When the KatalonanBolindauan was interrogated under the threat of torture in 1684, she defiantly claimed Apolaki as her personal patron anito.

Underneath these high rulers operated the Diwatang Akasi, the grand arbiter of health, sickness, and pestilence. The Katalonans invoked a highly specialized medical ministry of Akasi spirits:

• Akasiabat for general body and muscular trauma.
• Akasidawan for chronic illness.
• Akasigansyam to calm the ocean waves for maritime travelers.
• Akasimbayen specifically to alleviate severe knee and arthritic pain.

The Efficacy of the Diagnostic Fan

To heal the sick, high-ranking matriarchs like Da Ana Masanti (from whom the Spanish seized 67 ritual objects) and Michaela Samari (who lost 61 items) utilized a complex inventory of agamiren (ritual tools). Central to their practice was the diagnostic fan (paypay).

These fans were treated as communal property, borrowed by lesser-trained families across Bolinao to save dying relatives. When the fan swept through the air, it was believed to capture or sense changes in the unseen currents surrounding the human body. The Katalonan read the physical feedback of the fan—the weight of the air, the swirl of the wind, or the patient’s body shivers—to diagnose exactly which Anito or nature spirit was causing the sickness.

When the friars confiscated these tools—ordering local children to urinate on the broken shards to prove the Anitos were powerless—they were attempting to break the community’s medical lens.

The Colonial Backlash: Bitter Resistance and the Vernacular Bible

Because Pangasinan resisted Catholicism longer and harder than almost any other lowland Luzon province, early Spanish Augustinians and Franciscans labeled it a “barren and unfruitful land” and abandoned it entirely. It took the Dominicans three full years of constant threat just to secure a single baptism in 1587.

This brutal, century-long tug-of-war is the direct reason why Pangasinan ironically became a pioneer of Christian print media. To break the linguistic shielding of the Katalonans, Spanish friars had to study the local dialect aggressively. Centuries later, in 1873, a rebellious, pro-indigenous Dominican friar named Father Manrique Alonzo Lallave completed translating the Gospel of Luke into Pangasinan.

Published secretly in London in 1887, it achieved an immortal historical milestone: the first-ever translation of any book of the Bible into a vernacular Philippine language. The very intensive evangelization meant to erase anituhan accidentally turned Pangasinan into the linguistic cradle of localized scripture.

The Modern Return: The Prophecy of Apolaki and Our Lady of Manaoag

During her 1684 trial, Katalonan Bolindauan issued what can only be described as a political prophecy. Mocked by the friars that her gods were dead, she replied that Apolaki was not defeated; he was weeping (The Cry of Apolaki). She stated that Apolaki had merely retreated into the deep, untouched mountain forests of Zambales because he was offended by the Christian crucifix in the town square. She boldly told the inquisitors that the colonial occupation was temporary, and that the moment Spain dropped its guard, the spirits would return to claim the land.

In the 21st century, this prophecy has manifested through a complex psychological phenomenon known as Folk Catholicism and syncretism. The ancient Katalonans learned to camouflage their mag-anito traditions to survive. Modern magtatawas (faith healers) in Dagupan and Bolinao still diagnose illnesses using candle wax and alum, but they hide their practice behind the Sign of the Cross, whispering oraciones (Latin spells hidden as prayers).

This brings forward a profound cultural possibility: Does the spirit of Ama-Gaoley reside within the image of Our Lady of Manaoag?

The Minor Basilica of Our Lady of Manaoag is the unchallenged pilgrimage capital of Northern Luzon, founded by the very same Dominican friars who persecuted the shamans. In pre-colonial animism, supreme deities were tied to sacred spaces, heights, and mother figures. By channeling their devotion toward the Virgin Mary, the local population successfully anchored their ancient reverence for a protective, miraculous celestial parent into a form the Spanish could never legally destroy.

Blessings and Guidance for Modern Followers of Anituhan

For modern Filipinos and practitioners seeking to reclaim their indigenous roots, the 148 Shamans of Bolinao are not dead historical figures; they are elevated, protective ancestors (Apis or Kaluluwa). When called upon, they extend specific lineages of wisdom:

• The Blessing of Radical Resilience: They offer the strength to withstand systematic erasure, teaching modern followers how to adapt, camouflage, and survive in spaces hostile to their truth.
• The Guidance of Gender Fluidity and Inclusivity: Through Calimlim, Calinog, and Mamacuit, they grant protection, self-actualization, and spiritual authority to LGBTQ+ and gender-nonconforming individuals, validating that queer bodies have always been sacred vessels in the Philippines.
• The Wisdom of the “Living Air”: They provide guidance in traditional healing, helping modern practitioners develop the sensitivity to read environmental energies, clear toxic blockages, and commune with the Diwatang Akasi.

Ancestral Prayer Invocation to the 148 Shamans of Bolinao

(To be prayed while facing the mountains of Zambales or the waterways of Pangasinan, preferably while holding a woven fan or lighting native resin/incense)

Agueo, Bulan, Apolaki, dumngei kayo.
Hear us, O celestial guides of the ancient sky.
We call upon the sovereign presence of Ama-Gaoley,
Who breathes life into the living air and guards the sovereignty of our soil.

We offer our breath, our memory, and our reverence
To the grand underground council of Bolinao—
The one hundred and forty-eight walls of unbroken fire.

We call upon you, Da Ana Masanti, keeper of the communal jars;
Awaken the generational lineage of our mothers, grandmothers, and daughters.
We call upon you, Michaela Samari, holder of the diagnostic lenses;
Grant us the vision to read the unseen wind and heal the spirit of our people.
We call upon you, Balingit, fierce mother and teacher;
Teach our hands to dance in trance and pass the ancient torch without fear.

We call upon you, Katalonan Bolindauan, voice of the weeping god;
Remind us that our displacement is only temporary.
Let the Cry of Apolaki echo through our blood,
Breaking the straight poles of our colonization.

We call upon the sacred third gender, the holy guardians of the bridge:
Elder Calimlim, Calinog, and Mamacuit.
You whose long hair was stolen, you whose skirts were torn—
Return to our queer children, our trans kin, and our fluid souls.
Unshave our dignity, wrap us in your ancestral tapis,
And validate our place at the high altars of the divine.

Diwatang Akasi, Akasiabat, Akasidawan, Akasimbayen, Akasigansyam—
Pour your healing waters through the names of these 148 saints of the forest.
Let our modern pagtatawas be sharp, let our hands be warm,
And let the camouflage of our survival finally be lifted.

O 148 Shamans of Bolinao, you who smiled by day and chanted by night:
We do not let your names die.
We do not let your rituals fade.
The old gods have awakened, and your children are listening.

Añganko ngani. (So be it. It is done.)