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Untitled
by Peter Avriett
The panel of petroglyphs pecked out by the Ancestral Puebloans, left me speechless. Their age engulfed my twenty-one years of existence, then ground its meaning to dust with the stone molars of time in order to digest my short heritage through the bowels of the earth. My eyes tried to trace the images that spanned the rock face from right to left but they soon became distracted by the chaotic scatter of images. Their placement did not fall obediently into the lines and rows like the words that my eyes were use to whipping across. I found myself completely illiterate in deciphering the meaning of these ancient images without the aid of Joe Pachak, the guide who was readily made his way up the trail behind me. So in this short window of time I scanned the shapes until I found something familiar, a spiral. A curved line of untouched rock radiated slowly outwards, bordered by cobbled paths of small pecks.
A heart forms a spiral, twisting as it flexes and contracts. In our genetic code DNA spirals together into a double helix. But the creator of this spiral on the rock couldn't have known that. Spirals represent infinity, giving the illusion of both approach and retreat at the same time, but that is the significance within my own culture, not his.
For me spirals symbolize my own sense of place, one that does not reside in the urban atmosphere of my upbringing, but slowly spirals outward from the central core of my immediate family. This focal point offers the stability and confidence that I need to fuel my transient nature and allow the path of my life to slowly radiate outwards in a spiral that carries me farther and farther from my home until last summer, when it took me to Indonesia, geographically as far from home as possible.
But this was my own personal significance, not that of the creator of this spiral on the rock before me. In my search for meaning I had committed the sin of transference. My interpretation had sprouted up from my own culture, and my own experience, both which are mere scratches in time compared to these petroglyphs.
Joe approached and gave his explanations that quickly disassembled the meaning I had cast upon this image. The spiral on the rock face in front of me is not a representation of a transient nature, it is not a depiction of medical or genetic structures, rather, he believes it was used as calendar by marking the passing of the solstices. A rock spire casts its smoky shadow along this spread of petroglyphs while allowing a splinter of light to slip through a crack in the rock and slowly works its way across the images. On the summer solstice this blade of light slices through the apex of the spiral.
This calendar and the knowledge of the passing of the solstices suggest a stationary life, one that was rooted enough to watch the sun rise behind the same canyon wall each day, observing its slow progression north along the rim as the summer months dragged on, only to retrace its steps southward as the winter months brought their dry icy chill. By noting the day that the sun rose farthest to the north or south along the rim the Ancestral Puebloans became aware of the passing of the solstices. They then marked the date with the creation of this very spiral calendar. A sunrise for me is a rarity and a sunset is a luxury. The walls that so often surround me cast dark shadows around my life and I do not mark the passage of light that flows through my bedroom window illuminating a square patch on the wall next to my door.
After his explanation, Joe moved from the spiraling petroglyph to the ruins of these people's ancient dwellings. As we peered down into the circular base of an eroded room known as a kiva, he told me that a spiral lay within the ancient walls construction. Kivas were constructed by anchoring a single stone into the earth. Then another was placed directly to the east of the first. This arching pattern continued until a circle had been formed whereupon the next stone was placed on top of the first, crating a layered look and a spiral of placement.
The difference in the lives of the creators of these spirals and my own life sent my mind wandering from the true significance of the spiral. And yet my aimless wanderings weren't completely invaluable, because when the two interpretations finally collided, this ancient culture reminded me of the necessity of a firm fixed foundation. I must remain rooted in my family just as a spiral is always rooted in its center, and a kiva is always constructed around the primary stone that is firmly anchored in the earth. A spiral represents a balance between rootedness and exploration, its twisting path takes some further from the apex than others. The Ancestral Puebloans were rooted enough return to watch the sun rise and set along the same desert, while I have traveled halfway around the globe, where day and night are inversed. But wherever the spiraling path of my life takes me, it can always lead me back to the core of my sense of place and identity, my family.