During a recent family vacation to Arizona, we visited Lower Antelope Canyon, located on Navajo tribal lands. Its stunning sandstone walls soar 120 feet above a (usually) dry streambed, carved over millennia by flash floods and wind.
For the Navajo, the canyon is a sacred place of great power, one where the heavenly realms mesh with the material realm. It is home to the spirits of their ancestors and the spirit forces of wind and water.
I understand the Navajo’s take on the place; it is breathtaking to behold. The canyon glows, the sandstone animated by sunlight. The walls ooze movement. Intellectually you know that they are solid rock, but as you traverse the narrow passageways, they seem to shapeshift before your very eyes, moving with you as you walk. I mean, such is the case for all of Mother Nature, right? It is alive. She is alive. All the time. Even the seemingly solid parts of her are constantly and forever changing; canyons would not exist otherwise.
As we walked the length of four football fields through Lower Antelope, our Navajo guide pointed out certain formations and explained the stories they tell — both the geological stories and the cultural stories. Here is a photo of one spot in particular that portrays figure deeply meaningful to the Navajo. Do you see it? (Our guide instructed us to take this photo in black and white to make the figure more obvious to viewers.)
Our excursion into Lower Antelope Canyon reminded me of an adventure from my early 20s. On a solo trip through Belize and Guatemala, I was guided through a rural cave system by its modern-day discoverer, William. As do the Navajo about canyons, the Mayans understand that caves are sacred spaces — a liminal zone where life and death merge. Full of Mayan pottery (which was still full of grain!), the remnants of sacrifice, and other relics, the cave system stretched deep into the Earth. Our exploration ended in a large altar room that had been a site for ceremony and ritual.
As William and I stood quietly in awe and reverence, he whispered for me to look up. He pointed to the ceiling area in the center of the chamber, 15 or so feet above what had clearly been an ancient fire pit.
“What do you see?” he asked.
Immediately, a shape took form. A large impression in the otherwise smooth stone ceiling looked exactly like the profile of a woman kneeling in prayer. I gasped; tears formed and rolled. (More than 25 years later, that moment still transports me, still makes my heart skip beats, still gives me chills.)
William explained how the Mayan fires that burned below would have very clearly illuminated and even enlarged the figure, casting her in shadow form to hover above all those gathered below.
I peppered William with questions, the two of us still whispering out of reverence for the space.
“Was it carved there by the Mayans? Was it a natural formation? Who made it? What made it?” I asked hurriedly, unable to modulate my fascination.
William just shrugged and smiled, his eyes glinting despite the low light. "Who knows? Does it matter? Isn't it amazing?" he seemed to ask in wordless reply.
We both turned our faces up towards the praying woman once more and then stood in silence for several minutes before quietly departing.
Sometimes, there are no words.
What do YOU see when you look at people, places, things, stone walls?
All that matters is that YOU see something and that it means something to YOU. That you wonder about it. That you are in awe of it. That you ask questions of it, and that you listen, look, feel, and experience the answers that come to you, through you.
The Navajo and the Maya are still with us. The wisdom of all the ancients is still very much alive and embedded and embodied all around us. It is within us. It IS us. All we need to do to connect with it? Take the time. Make the space. Go to the quiet places, and be quiet in those places. Ask the questions. Look. See. Wonder. Be in awe.
Perhaps even kneel in prayer.
Amy Rush | Death Doula + Medium
B.A. + M.A. Communication Lightarian and Usui Reiki Master
Mentor Practitioner, The Lori Project
Featured in lead story of St. Louis Post-Dispatch
Visit her website, Instagram and Vimeo
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