The descent down the steep and narrow passageway reminded me of my fear of heights. Although I knew we had to get everyone in our group down, I urged myself to take it slow. My legs shook slightly, but not noticeably. My hands sweat, but I wiped them before they became a slipping hazard. After five flights of stairs, I planted my feet at the canyon’s floor, relieved. Once I got my bearings, I walked forward a few steps and then spun around in slow motion. “Where am I? Is this real?” As far as my eyes could see, terracotta-coloured sandstone walls in every direction. Something within me shifted. The air was filled with magical dust, which I inhaled in. My lungs expanded, opening up airways to my heart, beating with astonishment and appreciation.
There was no welcome mat or homeowner to greet us, but I felt like a much-anticipated guest being received with a warm hug. “Welcome. Come in. Let me show you around.” Although Xavier was our guide, something far bigger drew us to this spectacular dwelling (I believe Xavier thought the same). I was out of my comfort zone, but I trusted the canyon as our host and Xavier as our guide.
As we passed through the entryway into a tunnel of brush-stroked walls, I ran my fingers along the ancient surfaces. There are layers upon layers of history at my fingertips. Each ribbon tells a story spanning thousands of years, and I wish to pocket them all. Age has given the walls a certain strength and frailty. As I sweep my palm along, sandstone particles fall. With each touch, I do little to alter the distinct lines, but I imagine heavy downpours shaping each panel, changing the nature of its curves and edges. And with this weathering, depictions of animals become visible.“Over there is a lion, and this is a sheep,” Xavier says, gesturing above. I spot every sculpted creature but notice no placard. The sculptor remains nameless. In this home, which resembles an abstract installation, we transform curves and edges into familiar imagery. The artist conceals a story in each. I ask for the story to unfold. And it does. A pan flute echoes through the chambers, telling the story without words but leaving an impression on my soul.
Golden red sandstone glitters on my palms and I hear the words, “From dust you came, to dust you will return.” I’m aware of my modest stature in relation to the great scale of her walls. I am not scared by her size, nor do I feel inferior to her. Her majesty inspires awe. I am at peace. We are connected. I want to savour this experience and bring home a memento, yet it is not ours to take. I carry on kicking sandstone into my runners. A small smile appears; my white socks are stained a burnt crimson, and my feet are covered with my memento.
Xavier points up, ”Do you see the heart?” A perfect depiction of the warmth and love coursing through my body. I wrap my arms around my husband, which adds to the experience. As we turn to face the heart, Xavier snaps our picture. We walk onward, climb the ladders, and emerge back into the open air. Before continuing uphill to complete our venture, I turn to the humble opening in the Earth that conceals such a spectacular wonder below to thank her. “Good bye”
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