The Weight of the World on Anasazi Shoulders

by Steve Skinner

From Hidden Passage, the Journal of Glen Canyon Institute
Volume V

While the sounds of music were echoing off the high vaulted walls, I noticed that a shaft of sunlight from high above was resting on the center of the pool. Suddenly, I stopped singing and gazed in amazement at the pool. An unexpected gust of wind swirling through the cavern had raised a four-foot waterspout in the center of the pool. There it stood for a few seconds twirling and dancing. Spotlighted by the golden of sunlight in the dim mystical cavern.
                                                      - Larry R. Stucki
                                                        Glen Canyon manuscript, 1962
 

That description was of a cavern called Music Temple in Glen Canyon. For those who have vibrated in its embrace, Music Temple is a holy place. It was named by John Wesley Powell, the first American explorer to navigate, survey and chart the mighty, untamed Colorado River. Powell discovered the magic of Music Temple in 1869.

When 'Old Shady' sings us a song at night, we are pleased to find that this hollow in the rock is filled with sweet sounds. It was doubtless made for an academy of music by its storm-born architect; so we name it ‘Music Temple.’
                                                           - John Wesley Powell

The temple entrance was lined with majestic box elder and cottonwood trees. Inside there was a clear, deep pool of water. A one second note was said to resonate for eleven seconds. Powell went as far as to measure the dimensions of Music Temple (200'+ high, 500' long and 200' wide).

The temple was in a beautiful neighborhood. Glen Canyon was full of places like Forgotten Canyon with its plunge pools and dramatic Indian cliff dwellings. Magical, dense, priceless and detailed petroglyph panels narrated the beliefs, stories and secrets of America's ancient Indians.

Lake Canyon had thirty-six Anasazi sites in a five-mile stretch. Some were described as 'perfect' because of the intact and detailed art in the masonry and stonework.

In her performance last October at the Wheeler Opera House in Aspen, singer, famous river runner and writer Katie Lee described a secret nook she discovered as the "first holy place" she'd ever seen. As she read from her book All My Rivers Are Gone, you could feel the heartfelt anguish in her words as she described this sacred place.

She described scenes of unbearable beauty where she and her companion wept at the splendor surrounding them. There is another side canyon called Balanced Rock Canyon where wind and erosion had left a field of unlikely smooth round boulders perched on delicate points. Dungeon Canyon was a dark and spooky passage sidelit by puzzle-piece holes and side vents.

On the walls, and back many miles into the country, numbers of monument-shaped buttes are observed. So we have a curious ensemble of wonderful features-carved walls, royal arches, glens, alcove gulches, mounds and monuments. From which of these features shall we select a name? We decide to call it Glen Canyon.

                                                               - John Wesley Powell

These natural rock and water wonders were inhabited by a spectacular array of animals and plants. Hanging gardens, groves of trees, ferns, fungus, cactus and desert shrubs provided habitat for ravens, herons, eagles, lizards and frogs. They wove their way over tens of millions of years through a fabric of life which had evolved under the flawless care of Mother Nature. Fossils wedged in the varying strata provided mute testimony to mind-boggling creatures that lurked in bygone epochs.

Whatever your spiritual beliefs, there was no doubt that Glen Canyon was a masterstroke of the creator. Voyagers through the canyon spoke of life-changing spiritual experiences cascading together in a dream-like paradise. They spoke of the light as being otherworldly, as though being cast from heaven itself.

No matter how far down the road you go, if it's the wrong road, you have to go back. I was not of the generation that allowed this mistake to occur in what is now my backyard. It's time to go back.