The Orion Zone: Ancient Star Cities of the American Southwest

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Preface

Because of the heterogeneous nature of The Orion Zone: Ancient Star Cities of the American Southwest, at least some portion is bound to disturb or displease almost any faction on the intellectual spectrum. Part archaeology, part astronomy, part cultural anthropology, part ethnographic theology, part historical linguistics, part comparative mythology, part metaphysical speculation, pervaded at times with an aura of poetry, the book serves as a point of convergence for a wide variety of disciplines. As the author of such a peculiar ilk of investigative research, I will undoubtedly be perceived in certain quarters as an interloper— the proverbial jack of all fields and master of none. This bias, however, is more the result of the contemporary compartmentalization of epistemology that academia reinforces or the dominance of scientism in the average layperson’s world view than it is a valid critique of such a hybrid genre. If the aim is hard science, then one best look elsewhere. Although I have rigorously collected and scrutinized a substantial amount of archaeological and ethnographic evidence to support my book’s primary thesis, its ultimate goal is not the advancement of scientific theories or the patient accumulation of data. In fact, the stakes are much higher. The implications found here involve the daunting task of helping to redefine the paradigms and parameters of the cultural evolution and history of our planet.

The discipline closest to the concerns of The Orion Zone would probably be the fledgling field of archaeoastronomy. Struggling itself for a reputable niche among archaeologists and astronomers, this field investigates the physical structures, rock art and artifacts of ancient cultures, then speculates on the theories and practices of those people as they gazed upward to the heavens. However, the spirit of this book and that of archaeoastronomy are sometimes not quite simpatico. Perhaps this is the result of an inherent skepticism overarching the field like a cold, blank sky. The proclivity to measure and ratiocinate, quantify and catalogue, gives rise to the notion of the Earth as an outdoor laboratory where sundry hypotheses can be empirically tested —usually with the prospect of a tenured sinecure in the back of the mind— rather than a natural altar upon which hierophanic visions may be received. As John Michell, one of the leading authorities on archaeoastronomy, has written, Astro-archaeology [an older term for the discipline], therefore, if pursued where it inevitably leads, takes its followers back down to earth and into the realm of spirits and earth energies— losing its academic status and respectability in the process. Spiritual energies are not recognized by archaeological excavators, nor are they much esteemed by modern astronomers! Yet no serious inquiry into the problem of megaliths can avoid the subject of geomancy and the mysterious energies it locates in the landscape.i In other words, one will be missing the point if he or she cannot acknowledge such seemingly metaphysical concepts as the mystical energy of ley lines functioning as the terrestrial nervous system of Gaia. Furthermore, in order for the material in my book to make sense one must countenance the possibility of an infusion of spiritual energy flowing from specific stars in the sky to specific points on the earth.

Ultimately, the spirit of this book might best be summed up with the coined word archaeo-astropoesh. For the Greeks the word poesis (from which the word poetry is derived) literally meant to make or to craft something. Thus, by taking the archaeological and astronomical evidence and intuitively constructing a schema, I may have stumbled across a system that had an incontrovertible meaning for the Ancient Ones. Only the individual can decide for him/herself. To accept the primary theory of my book will take a leap of faith that only poets and mystics are wont to make. Of course, I am not asking readers to leap blindly, but would encourage them instead to bring along the analytical portions of their minds as a compass with which to enter what Joseph Campbell called the magic ring of myth.² It takes even greater courage to penetrate this circle knowing that it was drawn upon the earth by cosmic forces of interstellar space. In the very distant past the seeds of sidereal consciousness spiraled downward to impregnate those creatures emerging from the dust, including Homo sapiens, and in so doing shaped their cosmology and basic ontological understanding. Even though it were possible to resolve all mythology to a basic astral mythology—what the mythological consciousness derives from contemplation of the stars, what it sees in them directly, would still be something radically different from the view they present to empirical observation or the way they figure in theoretical speculation and scientific ‘explanations’ of natural phenomena.³ As the philosopher Ernst Cassirer has stated, we must first attempt to grasp the mythical consciousness of our ancestors if we are to conceptualize the spiritual framework and concomitant complexities of their world. At this late stage of civilization this is perhaps a difficult if not insuperable task.

Or perhaps not. The hallmark of a truly advanced civilization might be the ability to fuse mythology and science, to incorporate all the ancient traditions of sacred geometry, astrology, alchemy, etc. within the most contemporary theories or technologies of archaeology, astronomy, and the rest of the modern disciplines, thereby creating or making a new synthesis of the religious-intuitive and the rational-empirical.

A Definition Via Negativa

In trying to show what this book is, I can likewise show what it is not. For instance, this book is not specifically about Hopi religion and culture. Where a given Hopi ritual or concept is discussed, it is done so only in the context of what might have held true for the Anasazi. (The connotations of this term will be discussed in Chapter 1.) No secret lore or exclusively esoteric ceremonial details have been revealed in these pages. All the information regarding myths and rituals has been previously published in earlier ethnographic texts. No elders are coming forth to state the ultimate meaning of existence or expound on the prophetic ramifications of what increasingly seems to be the End Times, or, as the Hopi say, the Time of the Purification. In the process of writing this book I have merely articulated the idiosyncratic coincidences supported by archaeological or mythological facts and then speculated on the far-reaching consequences of the apparent schema as it emerged. Nevertheless, I regret any offense that either any single Hopi person or the Hopi and other Pueblo people in general may have suffered as a result of a larger readership being exposed to the evidence in this book. Opinions differ on what should or should not be told, but in these chaotic times many Native American elders seem to favor more rather than less disclosure.

Some readers may criticize a few of the book’s sources. In particular, Frank Waters’ work has drawn considerable fire in recent years, and I am well aware of the controversy. One anthropologist has called Book of the Hopi a notorious confabulation of fact and imagination.⁴ Although inaccuracies obviously exist in the ethnographic research of Waters, to summarily reject it might be a case of throwing the proverbial baby out with the bath water. Undoubtedly, Waters in his zeal to impose the universal framework of structuralism upon the heterogeneous Hopi culture unwittingly created a somewhat distorted picture. In the end though, one should ask whether or not his contributions to an understanding of this native group outweigh the misapprehensions caused by the book. In all truth, I believe that one would be disingenuous to respond in the negative.

In addition, certain rumors persists on the un-Hopi (qahopi) nature of Waters’ primary informant Oswald White Bear Fredericks, focusing on his reputed ostentatious and gasconading manner. However, to discount a serious work such as Book of the Hopi solely because of certain culturally incongruent traits of its primary informant would be tantamount to faulting the expertise of a successful Wall Street broker just because he or she may happen to be non-competitive, non-aggressive, and diffident. Adding to the controversy, the popularity of Book of the Hopi, published in 1963, unleashed a wave of animosity from the Hopi people that has not receded to this day. The work unfortunately became a convenient paperback guidebook, luring to Hopiland a horde of counterculture seekers of enlightenment whose ethos could not have been further from that of the people they were emulating. Both the libertine lifestyle and psychedelic drugs that these long-haired pahanas brought were deeply offensive to the Hopi. Ultimately this intrusion caused misunderstanding and rancor on both sides. In the final analysis, however, I think that Waters wrote a useful book to be approached with caution, not a book to be ignored.

More recently, Thomas E. Mails, former Lutheran minister, talented artist, and prolific writer on Native American culture and religion, has stirred up a similar brouhaha with his books Hotevilla and The Hopi Survival Kit. He too has been charged with revealing ceremonial secrets and helping to unravel the tightly woven fabric of Hopi society. In many cases, however, the genie had already been let out of the bottle. This was done, for good or for ill, by a number of late nineteenth and early twentieth century ethnographers— men like H. R. Voth, the Mennonite missionary who was accustomed to forcing his way into kiva ceremonies uninvited, or Alexander M. Stephen, who lived on and off with the Hopi for years, producing a massive and richly illustrated journal on Hopi religious practices, but who could still write words such as the following: "They hovered on the boundary of philosophic thought, but they were incapable of pursuing the thread of their investigations, an incompetent reasoning faculty involved (sic) them in a labyrinth of vague and dreamy impressions…. In the kibu [kiva] they were content to hide their ignorance in mysticism, and they inculcated their fallacious ideas of nature under this veil."⁵ Clearly, the ubiquitous prejudices of one’s own era sometimes overshadow the best of intentions.

At least today the majority of the observers of Hopi culture show a more profound respect and even reverence for the object of their inquiry than did their predecessors. Despite this, destabilizing factors persist. A factionalism endemic to many contemporary Indian reservations contributes to the ardor with which certain religious leaders are denounced, including Mails’ primary informant the late Dan Evehema.⁶ Time and again arises the question of which chief has greater religious authority and power. Add the traditional schism of hostiles and friendlies perpetuated in part by the B.I.A. (Bureau of Indian Affairs) and the tribal government, and you have a cultural landscape fraught with peril. In the face of all this the only prudent course, it seems, would be to give the benefit of the doubt to those writers who are articulate, sensitive to cultural needs, and genuine in the methods of their research. To give any one source too much credence is foolhardy, but to ignore any substantive research is equally imprudent.

Nonetheless, some people even go so far as to refuse to read some ethnographic literature, especially those examples written earlier. In addition, among certain academic circles the mistrust of the recently transcribed oral tradition vis-a-vis the Anasazi is extreme. Jeffrey S. Dean, a renowned expert from the University of Arizona on dendrochronology, recently stated: ‘I don’t think the Hopi oral traditions are worth the paper they’re written on.’ This comment shows his cleverness but not necessarily his common sense. Dean claims that the two fault lines — one being the pueblo abandonment that followed the great drought in the last quarter of thirteenth century and the other the Spanish entrada in the mid-sixteenth century— fractured the Hopi culture so badly that it is, for all practical purposes, as far removed from the Anasazi as are contemporary Anglos.⁷ Clearly, the evidence shows otherwise. Archived in the Special Collections library at Northern Arizona University is a photograph taken in the early twentieth century of a young Hopi maiden with characteristic butterfly (sometimes misdesignated as squash blossom) hair whorls called poli’ini on each side of her head.⁸ (See Chapter 13.) Depicted in Fig. 1 is a petroglyph with the very same hairstyle carved in about the late thirteenth century. If a simple fashion like this can endure for well over six hundred years, how much more important would be the transmission of myths and legends essential to Hopi cultural identity and beliefs.

Continuity is an important hallmark for the Hopi. This trait allows us to reasonably assume that what is true for these contemporary people was also true for their ancestors, the Anasazi, at least to a degree. Even though cultural variations are inevitable through time, the Hopi more than most have preserved the culture of the Ancient Ones. This sense of continuity is primarily due to their general nature, which is stubbornly and obsessively conservative. (The terms conservative and liberal as they appear in the modern political context have very little meaning in our discussion. The fact that the Hopi are considered conservative rather than progressive helped them to survive the genocidal tactics used first by the Spanish in the 16th and 17th centuries and then by the Anglos in the 19th and early 20th centuries.)

The Upshot

The Orion Zone adds to the Mounting evidence gathered world wide that the Ancients constructed their villages and religious sanctuaries to reflect certain aspects of the stars. One of the first books to illustrate this theory was The Orion Mystery by Robert Bauval and Adrian Gilbert. This international bestseller basically notes the spatial correlation of the pyramids at Giza and the constellation Orion. My book acknowledges this research and expands it to include the North American continent. In essence, Orion provided the template by which the Anasazi determined their villages’ locations during a migration period lasting centuries. Spiritually mandated by a god the Hopi call Masau’u, this terrestrial Orion closely mirrors its celestial counterpart, with prehistoric cities corresponding to all the major stars in the constellation. By its specific orientation the sidereal pattern projected upon the Arizona high desert also encodes various sunrise and sunset points of both summer and winter solstices. Although this configuration extends to a number of contiguous constellations, a central flux of ley line energy occurs along a series of ancient pueblo sites and geoglyphs ranging from southwestern Colorado to the mouth of the Colorado River. This indicates the functional chakra system of Orion as reflected in the transfigured Earth.

Fig. 1. Petroglyph of a woman with a

maiden whorls hairstyle, in Hopi also

called nogla, or butterfly whorls

By analyzing geodetic alignments of pueblo ruins, photographing rock art, correlating indigenous cultural motifs, and utilizing astronomical computer programs to determine star positions in the ancient past, I explore the fundamental principles and ultimate purposes of the Orion Correlation as manifested in the American Southwest. In doing so, I share participation in an ideological movement that is currently shattering conventional paradigms of human history and evolution. The world suddenly has become far different than previous assumptions about it would ever have admitted. The uniformitarian paradigm of slow, gradual, steady progression from simple, primitive societies to more complex, highly refined civilizations no longer explains the data now coming to light. To account for schemata such as astral-terrestrial correlations, some theorists are beginning to posit both catastrophism and diffusionism as major influences in the development of diverse ancient cultures around the globe. For many people, in fact, the paradigm shift has already occurred.

The Outline

Although I advise against taking the chapters out of sequence, readers will find the book’s central thesis in its most concentrated form (viz., the Orion Correlation theory as it is implemented in Arizona) in Chapter 2. The first chapter researches the character of the Anasazi, while Chapter 3 inquires into the mythological significance of Orion according to the various cultures around the world, including the Hopi, who associate the constellation with their god Masau’u.

Chapter 4 describes in greater depth the village and ruin sites corresponding to the belt stars as well as to the shoulders and legs. Chapter 5 deals with the effects on Anasazi culture of both a supernova explosion and a volcanic eruption in the 11th century. It also discusses the Hopi stone tablets and a specific star map/solstice marker petroglyph. Chapter 6 enumerates the Arizona sites correlating to the head and arms of Orion; in addition, the chakra line is talked about in greater detail. Chapter 7 explains the Katsina Phenomenon, especially the celestial beings, while Chapter 8 designates the companion sites to Orion in the Southwest, including Grand Canyon, Chaco Canyon, and Death Valley.

Part II of the book begins with Chapter 9, which delineates the Hopi-Mesoamerican connection. We follow the chakra line’s vector into the South Pacific in Chapter 10, delving into some surprising correspondences to the ancestral Hopi. Chapter 11 investigates the global Orion legacy, focusing upon the Orion Correlation at Giza and Egyptian influences on the ancient peoples of the Colorado Plateau. Chapter 12 involves the Phoenix stargate, the ancient Hohokam, and the Masonic heart of Aztlan. Finally, Chapter 13, the most far-reaching in the book, explores the stunning implications of the Serpent People (i.e., the Knights Templar), Hopi prophecy of the End Times, and the Ant People from Orion.

Mea culpa and Pronoun Usage

The great quantity of statistics in a work such as this makes it especially prone to errors of number, for which I take full responsibility. Errors of interpretation are more egregious, and for these too I must claim culpability. However, during the course of this seven-year project every attempt has been made to clarify concepts and refine the basic theory. One must admit, though, that every speculative book, published or not, is ultimately a work in-progress, given the persistent influx of new data and hypotheses into the constantly changing intellectual climate. If this book were written five years from now, it might be markedly different in style and/or content. On the whole, The Orion Zone unavoidably is a product of the late 20th and early 21st centuries fraught with their millennial fever and Aquarian Age fervor.

Although I have tried to standardize orthography, variant spellings and usages from multiple sources have made this a difficult task. If I have failed at one point or another, I beg the reader’s tolerance.

Except for this Preface, which uses the first person singular pronoun due to its more personal nature, the book employs the first person plural. This we should be conceptualized as the author and the reader journeying together toward a realization of the book’s basic theme, namely the Hermetic maxim: As Above, so Below.

The Penguin Dictionary of Astronomy provides the following rudimentary definition of our primary topic: "Orion (The Hunter) A brilliant constellation straddling the celestial equator, widely considered to be the most magnificent and interesting in the sky."⁹ To this I heartily agree. A few questions posed by the Biblical author Job are also relevant here at the onset of this book.

"Canst thou bind the sweet influences of the Pleiades, or loose the bands of Orion?…

Knowst thou the ordinances of heaven?

Canst thou set the dominion thereof in the earth?"¹⁰

The Ancient Ones knew those ordinances well. As we shall see, they did indeed establish the stars’ dominion upon the face of the Earth.

Part I

Chapter 1

Leaving Many Footprints

—the Emergence and Migrations

Of the Anasazi

Understanding the creation stories requires that we bend our minds away from the confining concept of linear time and think with the astrophysicists who explain that we are all made of the original stardust.¹

Gregory Schaaf

He [the Great Spirit] then gave them instructions according to which they were to migrate for a certain purpose to the four corners of the new land, leaving many footprints, rock writings, and ruins, for in time many would forget that they were all one, united by a single purpose in coming up through the reed.²

Dan Katchongva

Tracking the Anasazi: An Archaeological Perspective

Who were the Anasazi, how did they come to inhabit the American Southwest, and why did they leave? These questions are constantly debated among archaeologists and will undoubtedly remain a focus of controversy. Even so, the quintessential Anasazi always seem to hover beyond such academic concerns. Far removed from the exigencies of our modern world, their existence is an enigma we never will fully understand. Despite the limitations of the archaeological perspective, it is nevertheless useful in following the clues these ancient people left behind. Before proceeding though, we should stress that our inquiry emulates the spirit in which most American Indians still track their game, i.e., with respect and reverence for what will provide both physical and spiritual sustenance.

In addition, we need to recognize that the term Anasazi is a misnomer. The word derives from the Navajo language and means ancient ones or ancient enemies. Most ethnologists generally accept that the Navajo migrated into Arizona and New Mexico circa A.D. 1500-1600. From the very beginning a strong animosity existed between the long established pueblo people and these newcomers, and the term the former used to describe the latter reflects this. They called the recent arrivals Tusavuhta— tu meaning person and savuhta meaning to pound. This nomadic tribe would capture its enemies and kill them by pounding their heads with a rock or a stone club.³ For the generally gentle agrarians who had been living here in masonry and adobe cities for at least five centuries and in isolated pit houses for even longer, it must have been quite a cultural shock.

The contemporary Hopi sinom (people), many of whom live on the land in much the same way as their ancestors did, clearly prefer to use the term Hisatsinom (old people or ancient ancestors) in referring to the original inhabitants of the land. Speaking the Uto-Aztecan (Shoshonean) language, the Hopi readily identify with these people and the villages they abandoned. The term Hopi itself means people of peace, or more specifically, those who adhere to the sacred laws. Notwithstanding, the concept of warfare had a small but enduring influence on their seasonal life; thus their pacifism historically was not absolute. While the Hopi traditionally had a disdain for violence and would rarely initiate warfare, they did follow the custom of going on the warpath after the fall harvest to obtain scalps from enemies. Upon returning home, they would frequently perform the Warrior Dance.⁴

Just as a monolithic representation of an entire culture can be unreliable, so too is the use of a single name to describe a culture. For instance, the Navajo in referring to themselves prefer the term Diné, which complicates the matter of mis-designation even further. However, to avoid confusion this book will use the more common terms Navajo and Anasazi with the full realization that the other terms mentioned are more acceptable to the native groups.

From an archaeological perspective, the Anasazi had a long and dynamic history in the Southwest. The Western Anasazi lived primarily in what is now northeastern Arizona, southern Utah, and southwestern Colorado. The Kayenta Branch of the Western Anasazi was located in Canyon de Chelly and in Tsegi Canyon (where Navajo National Monument is located.) The Mesa Verde Branch inhabited the Four Corners area along the upper San Juan River in southwestern Colorado. Another branch lived along the Little Colorado River drainage and ranged from east-central Arizona in the east to the San Francisco Peaks in the west. The Virgin River Branch existed along that river in southwestern Utah north of the present Lake Mead. At the opposite end of Anasazi domain, the Eastern group was comprised of the Chaco Canyon Branch in northwestern New Mexico and the Rio Grande Branch in central New Mexico. Of course, these classifications are used by archaeologists and not by the native groups themselves. Furthermore, these divisions are not absolutely discrete: architecture, pottery, and other cultural influences of one area sometimes can be found in the area of another.⁵

In addition, additional native cultures variously known as Sinagua, Hohokam, Mogollon, Salado, Mimbres, Cohonina, Patayan and Fremont have all contributed to the overall characteristics of the region prior to the Spanish entrada in A.D. 1540. At that date Francisco Vázquez de Coronado in his frantic but unsuccessful search for the fabled Seven Cities of Cibola sent out from Hawikuh (near the present Zuni Pueblo) a party led by the senior lieutenant Don Pedro de Tobar into Hopi territory, which he called Tusayan. Another lieutenant named Garcia Lopez de Cardenas set out northwest with twenty-five horsemen until they unexpectedly reached Grand Canyon, ethnocentrically discovering it and nationalistically claiming it for Spain.⁶ Fortunate because of its remoteness, Hopiland was one of the places in the Southwest least affected by the Spanish presence. But however interesting and important to the development of the Anasazi and their descendants the Hopi, the details of the above mentioned non-Anasazi groups and expeditions of the later historical period are, with a couple exceptions, beyond the scope of this book.

Various changes or developments in the Anasazi culture are marked by a series of chronological periods. Most likely descending from the Paleo-Indian bison and mammoth hunters of the late Pleistocene epoch, the earliest of the Anasazi are called the Basketmakers. As the name implies, this group wove finely crafted, coiled baskets out of split yucca leaves, reed or grass bundles, and apocynum, a plant related to the milkweed. Shaped into trays, shallow bowls or globular jars, the warm yellow or brown colors of these beautiful baskets were accented with red and black dyed willow splints— a precursor to the geometric designs painted on pottery for which the Anasazi are renowned. The people also made large conical water baskets lined with pinyon gum. Provided with a tump strap to go across the forehead, these baskets could carry two to three gallons of water.⁷. Tightly twined carrying bags and large snare nets made of yucca fiber and human hair were produced as well.

In the Basketmaker II period from A.D. 1-450 (the Basketmaker I period being only theorized but not verified), the people lived in shallow caves or rock shelters, some in which they dug slab-lined storage cysts. Corn and squash grown along alluvial flood plains were the mainstays of their diet. These staples were supplemented by pinyon nuts, acorns, berries, cactus buds, and yucca fruits as well as by sundry seeds, roots and wild greens. They also hunted deer, black bear, mountain sheep, pronghorns, birds, rabbits and other smaller rodents, using curved, wooden throwing sticks or atlatls and darts. Dogs and turkeys were the only domesticated animals; however, they were not used for food. The former were employed as pack animals and for companionship, while the latter were highly prized for their feathers. Clothing consisted of juniper and yucca aprons or breechcloths and fur robes. Durable, square-toed sandals were woven out of yucca fiber. Beautiful necklaces and pendants made of polished bird wing bones, seeds, and various types of stones such as turquoise or red shale exemplify a well-developed aesthetic sensibility. Highly prized olivella or abalone shells traded from the Pacific coast provided additional adornment.

In the Basketmaker III phase (A.D. 450 to 750) the bow and arrow replaced the atlatl, beans were added as an important dietary factor, and scattered pit houses began to be built. These circular structures were dug three to five feet deep and were about eight to twenty-five feet in diameter. Cut down with stone axes, four upright main timbers were imbedded in the floor to support cross-beams upon which rested a cribbed roof made of smaller sticks covered with brush, bark, grass and mud. Banquettes, or earthen benches, stretched around the inner circumference of the pit house, and upright stone slabs sometimes lined the walls. Aligned on a south to north axis along the packed dirt floor were the following: a ventilator shaft with a deflector stone, a fire pit, and a sipapu, or small hole symbolically leading to the underworld. (As we shall see, the latter is a crucial concept in the cosmology of the Anasazi.) Entry was by way of a ladder through the smoke hole in the roof. All in all, it was quite a snug refuge, especially in winter. In this phase the earliest pottery also began to be produced— a plain gray ware made by the coil-and-scrape method.

Despite the growing native cultural emphasis on ceramics and the increasingly sedentary lifestyle which that presupposes, archaeologists have deemed the next phase of Anasazi development the Pueblo period, using the Spanish word for the architectural structures of the region. Some archaeologists recognize five requisite cultural signatures that separate the Anasazi from other surrounding native groups:

*    the kiva— a circular or sometimes rectangular underground structure used for ceremonial and kinship purposes.

*    the unit pueblo— a residential structure made of a room block of at least two but sometimes a dozen or more rooms adjacent to a plaza or work space that contains the kiva

*    orientation— kivas and unit pueblos that face south or south east

*    a gray-and-white pottery decorated with black paint to produce distinctively Anasazi designs as well as a corrugated pottery for utility purposes

*    inhumation— bodies with legs tightly flexed against the chest, knees to the chin, and heads often facing east.⁸

In Arizona the Anasazi of the Pueblo I period (A.D. 750-900) experienced minimal change in comparison with the Eastern Anasazi, who underwent a true burgeoning of the pueblo culture. In fact, there is little to distinguish this period from the previous Basketmaker III period. For reasons we do not yet understand at present, the great Chaco system that swept up so much of the Four Corners region in its religious and organizational embrace left the Hisatsinom [of Arizona] essentially untouched. ⁹

It would take until the Pueblo II period (A.D. 900-1100) for the architectural and cultural changes mentioned above to become apparent in this region. In addition to the introduction from Mexico of cotton cultivation as well as the custom of deforming infant skulls by wooden cradle-boards (a cultural tradition that initially caused archaeologists to incorrectly posit the migration of a different racial group into the region), major shifts in religious, political and social organization were taking place. Prior to this period the individual extended family living in a pit house had its own altar shrine and sipapu for religious rituals. In the Arizona Pueblo II period these were moved out of the separate dwelling and into the kiva for the common use of the village. At each end of a row of contiguous and aboveground masonry granaries, rectangular jacal (daub-and-wattle) rooms were attached for domiciliary purposes, forming the characteristic U-shaped unit pueblo. Subsurface rooms for the communal grinding of corn were also constructed. In essence, the beginning of the collective life was at hand. They gathered together in villages and seemed to be approaching urban life, just as the agriculturists did in the Tigris-Euphrates Valley at the beginning of the era of Middle Eastern Civilization.¹⁰

Pueblo III (A.D. 1100-1300) is considered by many to be the classical period in pueblo development and a virtual florescence of the culture. Perhaps the use of check dams and other improvements in irrigation provided the nutritional boost sufficient for a general increase in population. Along with a rise in numbers, the population density increased as well. Coalescence into larger and larger villages housing thousands of people seemed the trend. "Up to this time the Anasazi had lived in villages totaling no more than a few hundred people, and most settlements had far fewer. Now they began to congregate, answering some call that is a mystery to us. They certainly were a gregarious people and their villages became cities, [italics added] ¹¹ Multi-room, multi-story masonry pueblos exhibiting exquisite architectural styles and craftsmanship were erected. In Chaco Canyon the great house later named Pueblo Bonito consisted of a D-shaped pueblo with over 800 terraced rooms, some of which were five stories tall and surrounded by immense plazas. It has been estimated that it could have sheltered 1200 inhabitants, and it was the largest ‘apartment house’ in the world until a larger one was erected in New York in 1882." ¹² A number of Great Kivas —one nearly sixty feet in diameter— provided areas where a whole community could worship. A system of over 300 miles of ceremonial roads, some of them thirty feet wide, was constructed. Other regions such as Mesa Verde, Canyon de Chelly, and Tsegi Canyon flourished as well. During the same period the Sinagua were building large pueblos near the San Francisco Peaks and in Verde Valley. This was also the time when the first large-scale construction of villages on the Hopi Mesas was achieved. At last the People of Peace had found the Center of the World.

Increased specialization of labor allowed more time for spiritual activities. A complexification of religion and a possible centralization of religious authority developed. However, the pueblos seem to have avoided the type of autocratic priesthood that sometimes arises under similar conditions. Egalitarianism and coöperation, especially in regards to building projects, had apparently reigned. Little evidence of either internecine warfare or what we today call crime can be found. During the end of this period the awe-inspiring katsina cult took hold and provided a spiritual grounding that remains to this day. (More on this subject in Chapter 7.)

With improvement in the artistic technique of ceramics, the high quality basket making, at which their ancestors had so excelled, began to decline. Finely woven cotton and turkey feather blankets were coveted export products, while items such as copper bells, conch shell trumpets, scarlet and green macaw feathers and even live parrots were imported from Mesoamerica. If not a paradise, it was at the least a communally rich and spiritually fulfilling place to spend what by our standards would be considered a brief lifespan.

Shortly before the end of this period the balance of life changed: the Anasazi diaspora had begun. It was not a mass exodus; instead, various clans gradually drifted away from the once great cities. The Pueblo IV period (A.D. 1300-1540) is seen by some as a regressive phase, though many contemporary native people dispute that claim. This era marked the period of final unification. Many of the ancient sites were abandoned. The people who built them did not disappear; they moved and regrouped.¹³ Because the more northern regions of Chaco, Mesa Verde, and Kayenta appear to be most affected, the main vectors of travel were probably east and south. Many Anasazi relocated along the Rio Grande to build the impressive sites of Bandelier, Puyé, Pecos, Kuaua, and later the contemporary pueblos such as Taos, San Juan, Santa Clara, San Ildefonso, Jemez, Zia, Cochiti, Santo Domingo, San Felipe, Isleta and a few smaller villages. Others settled at Acoma and Zuni farther west. Early in the fourteenth century a large pueblo called Homol’ovi was constructed on the Little Colorado River. Evidence exists that the Anasazi even built villages among the Mogollon communities south of the Colorado Plateau in Arizona.

Archaeologists have proposed many theories to explain this migration, none of which seems totally satisfying. Tree-ring studies have indicated the occurrence of a prolonged drought in the Four Corners area between A.D. 1276 and 1299. Deforestation, colder temperatures, arroyo entrenchment [accelerated channel erosion], lowered water tables, and shortages of arable land may have been related to the drought. All have been proposed as local causes, at least, for Anasazi dislocation or relocations. ¹⁴ Further hypotheses include increased pressures from overcrowded living conditions, nutrient depletion of the soil, spread of epidemic diseases, raiding by nomadic Shoshoneans who strayed south from the Great Basin and, most recently, factionalism caused by intratribal warfare. While the drought theory is still the most generally accepted scenario for the migration of this period, some factual inconsistencies exist. Probably most important is the fact that if the treering analysis is accepted, the Anasazi survived earlier droughts of similar intensity and duration. In some cases the Anasazi who abandoned their San Juan homes moved to areas that modern analysis has shown to have even less rainfall than the region departed, an example being Antelope Mesa [south of Keams Canyon, Arizona]. ¹⁵ In support of this, another observer of Hopi culture adds: …it has been discovered by scientists that during some extended droughts the Hopi did not move at all, and with their dry farming techniques in fact survived remarkably well. ¹⁶ With a people such as the Anasazi, who lived as close to the land as they did, certain environmental factors obviously did play some part in a given clan’s decision to move or stay. Nevertheless, we must ask whether or not this is the only factor of consideration. Because the Anasazi left no written records, we can only rely on unsubstantiated conjecture, and most archaeologists want to stay out of that arena. Furthermore, archaeologists tend to impose their own particular mind-set upon the objects of their inquiry, attributing rationalistic or pragmatic motives to that which otherwise might be more affected by spiritual or archetypal dimensions.

An oral tradition which has been handed down (and now, at least in part, written down) exists to verify what some contemporary Hopis are saying in contradistinction to the archaeologists, i.e., the migrations were more the result of a spiritual mandate and a covenant with the Creator than either a flight response to environmental hardships or the lure of a better life elsewhere— the push and pull theories respectively. Because an increasing number of contemporary Hopis are becoming bicultural and are thus articulating within the framework of the Anglo culture their own viewpoints in English, a comprehensive picture of prophecy and destiny superseding environmental factors is emerging. One example of this sort of statement among the many that can be found today is given by Alph H. Secakuku, a member of the Snake Clan who grew up in Shipaulovi on Second Mesa:

"The Hopi believe their greatest bond is their religion. It has given them the strength to resist external forces and has kept them united for centuries. It has also helped to maintain the Hopituy (uniquely Hopi) rapport with their land, which they proudly refer to as tuuwanasavi—the spiritual center of the earth. Tuuwanasavi is very special to the Hopi sinom (people) because it was established and developed during their migration of the Tuuwaqatsi (earth)."¹⁷

Tracking the Anasazi: An Archaeo-psychological Perspective

At times when walking among the thousands of potsherds found in one Anasazi ruin or another, we can easily imagine that Potterymaker rather than Pueblo might have been a more logical name for this period of development. Viewing some of the whole pots in a museum, we begin to get a inkling of the character of the people who created them. Most famous for their stark black on white designs, the Anasazi made pottery in a multitude of shapes: round jars, jars with lids or handles, bowls, jugs, pitchers, mugs, vases, ollas, squash vessels, ladles. The abstract motifs painted on their ceramics are nonpareil: serrate margins, terraced edges, triangles, rectangles, hooks, scrolls, spurs, frets, hourglass figures, checkerboards, parallel lines, hatches. An Escher-esque style of interlocking, abstract patterns together with an elaborate sense of symmetry impart an overall rigorous, balanced, almost classical tone to the art form.

Of course, all these items were ultimately utilitarian in nature. The painted pottery served as eating or drinking vessels, while the gray corrugated ones were used for cooking or storage. In order to produce a pot the wet clay tempered with sand or crushed rock, which prevents cracks in the shaping process, was built up using the coil-and-scrape technique. Polished with a small pebble, coated with a slip of white clay and painted with black pigments of boiled beeweed or iron oxide, the pot was then fired in a low oxygenated kiln to achieve the desired gray and white color. ¹⁸ The geometric designs painted on this pottery are not merely decorative. On the contrary, these abstract motifs are incontrovertibly iconographic, i.e., they all represent aspects of the Anasazi world: clouds, rain, lightning, water, river, wind, earth, sky, stars, day and night, the four directions, mountains, house, pueblo, corn, peace, war, death. ¹⁹ (This is to say nothing of the obviously representative zoomorphic and anthropomorphic pottery that perhaps reached its zenith with the Mimbres people of western New Mexico.) Developing over a period of fourteen hundred years, this art form is unique to the North American continent. Although putatively derived from central Mexico via the Hohokam and the Mogollon to the south, the pottery in their hands took on a distinctively Anasazi character and undeniably reflects the mind-set of its makers.

Admittedly, archaeo-psychology is difficult to prove and can only be intuited. Who were these people? Why did they produce such transcendentally pure art? What quality of consciousness allowed the creation of this elegant geometric elaboration? Who might have influenced them? A clue to these questions may be found in the theory of the noted anthropologist Ruth Benedict. Using the fashionable Nietzchean dichotomy of her day, she proposes that Native Americans can be divided into two groups: Dionysian and Apollonian. An example of the former would be the Plains Indians, such as the Lakota (Sioux), whose vision quests and self-torturing sun dance rituals were performed to achieve ecstatic results. As further examples of the former she cites such Southwestern tribes as the Pima, who ingest cactus beer, or the Yaqui and others of the Sonoran Desert, who use peyote and jimson weed to create a sort of divine intoxication so that individual visions and dreams received in this state can be accessed by the tribe as a whole. In fact, she claims that Native Americans in general, including those of Mexico, were …passionately Dionysian. They valued all violent experience, all means by which human beings may break through the usual sensory routine, and to all such experiences they attributed the highest value.²⁰ On the other hand, the Pueblo people are unequivocally Apollonian. Balance, form, order, tradition, peace— these are key words in the Pueblo lexicon.

As a practical example of the Apollonian principle, the ritual dances that some Anglos have misrepresented as being monotonous are performed to assure that the cosmological balance is not disturbed. Slow and stately, wheeling hour after hour across the plazas of ancient pueblos awash in the primary colors of feathered mask, clan kilt, sash and spruce ruff, the katsina dancers press their prayers into the hard packed ground with steps synchronized to the heart beat of a single cottonwood drum. With the clack of deer hooves and sizzle of squash rattles forming a hypnotic aural backdrop, they seek an identification with and participation in the inner workings of the natural world. In fact, during the duration of the dance they lose their human form and actually become the spirits they are representing with their ritual costumes and paraphernalia. In the course of the daylong dance, they help keep the sun-spirit Tawa in his ascribed track in the heavens, help the clouds conceptualized as ancestor spirits to form and the life-bestowing rain to fall. Through the entrancing repetition of dance rhythm and chant a gradual and steadfast accretion of numinous energy peaks at the parabolic apex where the natural and the supernatural merge, and where both are finally subsumed in the sacred order of the universe. According to Benedict:

Supernatural power among the Pueblos comes from cult membership, a membership which has been bought and paid for and which involves the learning of verbatim ritual. There is no occasion when they are expected to overpass the boundaries of sobriety either in preparation for membership, or in initiation, or in the subsequent rise, by payment, to the higher grades, or in the exercise of religious prerogatives. They do not seek or value excess…. They have made, in one small but long-established cultural island in North America, a civilization whose forms are dictated by the typical choices of the Apollonian, all of whose delight is in formality and whose way of life is the way of measure and of sobriety.²¹

As with the ritual dances, all the sensations and cognition one experiences when contemplating Anasazi pottery can be summed up by this Apollonian concept. A deep and abiding classicism and a conservatism in the most positive sense of the word were at work in the creation of these artifacts. Here were a people who valued the divine order manifest in the natural world of which they were an integral part. It is reality the Pueblos are after, so that they are in fact realistic, not idealistic. They are American empiricists, hopeful, reasonable, and hard. Something true and clear, massively unsentimental, runs through all their works, and this is, at bottom, the relationship between men and nature that they embody and reveal.²²An underlying humility and subservience to the dictates of the cosmological schema are readily apparent. All actions, prayers, and ritual performances attempt to perpetuate this sacred ontological system.

As one of the most respected and prolific early ethnographers of the Hopi, Jesse Walter Fewkes concurs with Benedict regarding the essential distinctive quality of the Hopi vis-à-vis the other tribes of North America, though he sees a kinship of the former with the Maya and Aztecs. "But while this type [the Pueblo people] differed in ancient times from those of Athapascan or Shoshonean aborigines, it bears evidence of a composite nature. It had become so by contributions from many sources, and in turn left its impress on other areas, so that as a type the Pueblo culture was the only one of its kind in aboriginal America [italics added]. With strong affinities on all sides it was unique, having nearest kinship with those of Mexico and Central America."²³

A central question remains, however: In what manner did this placid cultural island so unique to our Dionysian continent come to evolve in the way it did? Most likely, neither the archaeological study of potsherds among ruin rubble nor the anthropological conjecture spawned by in the field research will provide an adequate answer.

Tracking the Anasazi: A Mythological Perspective

The primordial age was infused with Tokpela, an immense empty space beyond time or light. All was void existing in the mind of Tawa, the Creator. Because he was lonely he created a nephew called Sótuknang, the Heart of the Sky god, to act as his messenger. Out of this endless space Tawa directed Sótuknang to create the First World. Sótuknang then made the earth, the waters, and the winds. He put them in their proper places and set them in motion. Koyanwuhti, or Spider Grandmother, was there as well. She presided over the mysteries of the Below while Tawa controlled the power of the Above. In addition, there was another being named Masau’u, the spirit of the earth, sometimes referred to as the Great Spirit. Together with Spider Grandmother he would have dominion over the terrestrial realms and the Underworld.

Tawa then noticed that there was no life upon the world. He instructed Koyanwuhti to mix some earth with her saliva and make two figurines. She laid a sacred white blanket (the ova cloth) over these two and sang the magic Song of Creation. When she uncovered the figurines, a pair of twins sat up to ask who they were and why they were here. She named the older twin on the right Pokanghoya. His duty was to solidify the mountains and keep them stable. She named the younger twin on the left Polongahoya. His mission was to travel throughout the earth, calling out to everything he saw. In this way all the earth nodes and objects thereupon were tuned to his vibrations, and sound became a way to carry messages. Then Pokanghoya was sent to the north pole and Polongahoya was sent to the south pole, where in unison they would keep the world in balance.

Spider Grandmother then created all the plants and animals in the same manner she had created the twins. She spread all these new