|
My next pilgrimages were to two sacred Native American sites, Chaco Canyon and Canyon de Chelle (pronounced Canyon da Shay.) These are two of the most profound canyon ruins of the Four Corners region as they were the major centers of Anasazi civilizations. I went first to Chaco. I had been forewarned that Chaco Canyon felt “eerie,” and that many people felt the presence of the Ancient Ones there. This didn’t surprise me, for the Anasazi were a thriving culture until they mysteriously disappeared. Anthropologists offer differing explanations for their sudden mass exodus from their exquisite rock dwellings, but no one really knows what happened or why. As I descended, in a stance of reverence, into the canyon toward the most famous grouping of ruins, I felt the mystery of this place myself. The multistoried rock houses nestled close to the red canyon walls are a marvel to behold. You can’t help but wonder how they were made, what kind of culture thrived here, how these people bonded so intimately to the land not only because they lived within the rocks themselves but because the earth had so obviously mothered them here. And then it had all ended. In the dry and lifeless surroundings, I felt the void of a displaced mystery that hung in timeless suspension and pondered the possibility that if the human race continues to denounce its relationship with Mother Earth, then perhaps it too may be disappear from the face of the earth. All I could do was trust that through the retrievals, the rocks and the Earth Spirit itself would provide insight.
I opened my heart to the stone ruins in which I was wandering and felt called to a nondescript space between the rock house edifices. The towering rocks looming over the ruin complex oversaw every movement I made. I bowed to the rock beings, then sank down onto the earth and pressed my forehead against the rock face and entered that place of silence within. I felt energy spiraling within me, and I felt myself be pulled down into an energy vortex. Then I heard the rocks speak.
The journey into the unknown is the sacred spiral of life. Grandfather Eagle rides the natural thermals of the sacred wind, spiraling high into the great sky. Great Spirit’s breath is the moving pathway of the sacred spiral, down which we descend into the lane of matter. It is the paternal breath that holds the pattern of the great design, impregnating Spirit into the maternal, the Matter of all things. Patera Sky and Matera Earth, the grand parents, the grandmasters, hold the edges of the grand loom for the weavings of their creation as they come into being. From the central point of this sacred spiral,which is the void, the place of no-thingness, evolves the conscious movement of creation, which fills space, seeks and expands the knowingness of its source, of itself. Moving and dancing into the light where sacred dreams and visions abide. Great Spirit calls, and it is that call that winds us in, to once again re-turn through this spiral path to the sacred source of Love.
As I always did, I sat in the silence for a few minutes after the retrieval. Then, as I was rising to leave, I looked up and was astonished to see, carved high on the rock wall above me, a large spiral. I was astonished, for it was such an immediate and undeniable confirmation of all that I had just retrieved. I was sure that, like the owl feathers that had been placed in my path by the spire priestess, Chaco Canyon was now reaffirming in the physical world the information I had just retrieved from the rock-spirit world. In the Native American tradition, the spiral is a symbol of “the journey,” either the unfolding journey to a physical place or toward the realm of Spirit. Through the retrievals, I felt I was taking both kinds of journeys at once. As I hiked out of the ruin, the wind picked up. It blew through my hair as if it wanted to whisper something in my ear. At first I thought I was imagining things. But soon I was confident that the wind spirits had something to say. So I stopped and stood in the softness of the breeze to allow the wind wisdom to reveal its message to me.
The wind, too, knows of the sacred spiral as it weaves and moves its way through space. Its consciousness pierces into the unknown, seeking knowledge as it slinks upon and around the ancient ruin walls that had once housed the people of its land. The Ancient Ones who moved in the cycles of the ancient pathways of the sun and the moon, the wind and the clouds, the stars and the sky. They listened to the message of the wind, the spirit of the stones, the call of their Earth mother, their visions and dreams. They knew, too, of the sacred spiral path back home to their ancestors and of their Creator. The wind holds memories of passing moods, passing encounters, and passing dreams. It’s like the tongue of Great Spirit that licks and tastes the memories and history of the land and its peoples, taking this into its own inner journey, through its spiral pathway as a carrier of knowledge and information. The sacred wind is not only the courier of information, but seems to purify us and cleanse our lands. It is Great Spirit’s breath that cleanses our soul and clears the passage for our journey home.
I thanked the spirit of the land, smudged myself with smoke of burning sage, offered some bee-pollen to the rock beings and then drove northeast, back into Arizona to visit Canyon de Chelle. It is notable how each ancient site contains its own embodiment of Spirit of Place and how it holds in its own way, a revelation of wisdom. Canyon de Chelle combined a magnificent vastness with a desolate sparseness that made me think of the eagle riding the wind in an expansive sky, that overlooks the vistas of the parched desert and the hard canyons below. It was at once “more than” and “less than.” Perhaps all ruins are a paradox, embodying a seemingly empty presence but pulsing with the aura of the life that once thrived there. One such ruin is the famous White House, a cluster of ancient stone buildings tucked at the base of a five-hundredfoot sheer rock wall. Access was not permitted to the actual site, so I scouted the area for a more tangible connection with the rocks themselves. I was drawn into an old desolate orchard, and while walking through the dry thicket I noticed a large cave in a nearby cliff wall. As I approached its entrance I asked if I might enter so that I could glean its wisdom to offer it back to the people. Once I had intuited an affirmative response, I entered the cave. I merged with the unique energies of Canyon de Chelle and listened to the rocks talk. Their message hummed with the qualities of the energy that Canyon de Chelle was imparting to me:
Time has passed; long ago is now. Seasons move like the clouds above; crows hark and loom the airways heralding the memories of our ancestors. Do not forget who you are and where you have come from. Your heart lies deeply in the core of the earth.Your experience in life is like eating an apple: enjoy the flesh of the fruits of life and gain nourishment from the absorption of your experience. Eat slowly; chew well, for there is no hurry. If you hurry, you are left with indigestion. Take your time to listen to the earth, ingest her fruits and the wisdom of life slowly, for like an apple, you eventually will reach the core, the heart of the matter,where the seeds of the memory of whom you are lies. The memory of being is about being one with the earth, one with the sky, one with the space of time, one with who you once were in the ancestral arc of life and one who you are in the future to come. The seeds of knowledge lie in the core of your heart and deep within the bosom of the earth. Hear Earth’s heart beat; listen to the wisdom she offers through your own heart. You are one with the earth, you are one with the earth.
After the retrieval, I stood at the mouth of the cave and energetically waved an emerald green spiral into its darkness. I then touched my lips to the outer rock wall and breathed my heartfelt gratitude into it. On my way back through the orchard, something caught my eye-a crouched form that became visible only at the farthest reaches of my peripheral vision. As I focused more intently, I saw it was an old, hunched woman who I took to be about ninety years old. Her face was lined and her eyes pierced into me like the rays of an intense sun. I did not approach. I simply nodded my head in respect and projected the wisdom of the cave to her, hoping that I had not encroached upon her privacy. Without a word and without taking her eyes off mine, she slowly walked over to me and pulled from her large apron pocket a fresh, rosy apple! I gratefully and silently accepted her gift, and thought of it also as a gift from the cave for awakening its senses. I ate the apple slowly and mindfully, core and all, just as the earth had instructed.
|
|
