At Chaco

AT CHACO

Near the time
Of my departure
From New Mexico
Just forty years ago
My best friend Michael
Decided it was also time
For me to visit Chaco Canyon,
That sacred place at which
He’d celebrated the spirit
Of the Anasazi, the light,
The timelessness, the land they shared
In many of his most beautiful
Musical works.
 
As we made our way
Down the makeshift ladder
To the finely wrought stone circle
Of the Great Kiva,
Of which only the base remains,
I was stunned by the beauty
Of this intimate space,
So human sized,
Not like the splendor
Of a great French cathedral
Nor the grandeur of
A Mayan or Egyptian pyramid.
So intimate, so human
Seemed that place.
 
Walking instinctively
To ledges at opposite sides
Of this wheel of stone, we sat
Silently listening
As small desert birds
Flitted and looped their way
Through the keyhole windows
In the upper region
Of the remaining
Stone.
 
Sitting, I could almost hear
The voices of those ancient people
Singing, chanting, whispering,
Dancing in the firelight
Of that underground round
While the myths of the ancient past
Came alive in the seeming
Vastness of this timeless space.
It brought to mind, though briefly,
A lovely phrase by Shakespeare,
“Sermons in stone,” as I sat there
Absorbing, or believing I absorbed
The spirit of what it meant to be
One of those ancient people, from the
Stones, the sand, the bold blue canopy
Of cloudless late-afternoon sky,
Connected to the earth itself
By the navel of the earth,
The sipapu at the center of that
Stony earthen floor.
 
With the coming
Of another group of tourists,
Half an hour after we’d arrived,
We took our leave, the thunder
Of that ancient voice still rolling
In my ears, still singing in my heart.
I thanked the gods
For the private time we’d shared,
And I felt a truth I had almost forgotten,
Almost forgotten in the busy years
That constitute a modern life. 
The sun, the earth, the moon and stars
Are miracle enough; their sacredness remains.
Their sacredness survives
The madness of our days and ways.
We need no better map to guide us home.
--Robert Seufert, 2021