EARTH’S TERRACED BOWL
I
Four are the terraced Mountains that uphold the Heaven in that Land and Four are the Colors that pattern the Life of Man.
In that land where the stars of the night are ever near and burning,
—eyes of spirit watchers through the Black pine forest;
In that land where the azures of day are quivering and intense,
—precious the blue turquoise in the womb of the treasure hill;
In that land where the red-scarred mesas sunder and canyon the earth,
—walls of jasper and sard ribboned with malachite;
In that land whose corners are keyed by heaven-locking mountains,——
Glorieta, the Herald of Morn,
Sandia, who purpleth the South,
Jemez, the hearth-fire of Evening,
And fourth, the Hills of the North,
The cloud-gloomed and crimson-flared Mountains of Bleeding Christ....
In that land doth the white cumulus froth unto the blue summit of Day,
and the ochres and beryls of earth fade into violet Night;
In that land do the terraced hills uphold the terracing clouds;
In that land do the Weavers of Rain spin filaments many and delicate,
silvering horizons many,
veiling with luminous veils,
baptismal with blessing....
There also marcheth the Sun in the splendor of Beauty;
There also wandereth the Moon in the softness of Beauty;
There all the colors unite, patterned in Beauty;
There all the cloud-forms assemble, vestured in Beauty;
Daily in that land man walketh in Beauty;
Nightly in that land man dreameth in Beauty.
II
There the Indian Woman adorneth her potter’s work with symbols of the life that falleth from Heaven and of the life of Earth that ariseth responsive thereto.
Behold, where the Indian Woman fashioneth her Bowl of red clay!
Ceremonial water it shall contain,
Ceremonial meal it shall contain;
It shall contain the Water and the Bread of Life,
Even as holdeth this Earth the Water and the Bread of Life!
Behold, earthen-red is the Bowl,
smooth-rounded and rising rimmed,
bordered with terraces four,——
Yea, as riseth this Earth four-terraced into the Heaven!
Behold, fair-painted is the Bowl, with the forms of Heaven painted,——
cloud-terraces thereon painted,
filaments of spun rain thereon painted,
the wayward-darting lightning thereon painted,——
With curves many, with angles many, with lacings of thin lines,
painteth she them, cunning-handed....
Who are they who give answer unto the rains, save the leaf and the flower?
Who are they who joy in the freshness of sweet dews, save the bird and the butterfly?
To whom shall the moisture be more precious than unto the Seeds of Life?
Wherefore these also, cunning of hand, she painteth fair upon the Bowl.
Therewith, painteth him who sitteth upon the margin of the high cloud, fluting,——
Him with the rain-pack humped upon his back, him the Cloud-Musician, flower-garlanded, fluting,——
Him also she painteth, cunning-handed,
singing as she fashioneth her earthen Bowl,
singing as she painteth thereon the forms of Heaven,
singing the Song of the Cloud-Musician,
singing the Song of the Beautiful Sky!
And this is her Song of the Beautiful Sky and of the Spirit Mother whose abode is in the Pool of Heaven.
“Beautiful Sky!
The mountains are dark behind me;
The sun is low beyond them.
To the billowing cloud blown over the plain, the mountains are bidding farewell,
The sun is touching it in farewell....
“Underneath, it is of the deepest blue, like the waters of soundless pools;
Underneath, it is fringed with fringes of light-falling rain.
But above, its face is sunward;
Above, it is filmed with pale gold, as of the day-seen moon....
“Beautiful Sky!
In the heart of the cloud is a perfect Rainbow, seven-hued with beauty;
Over her is a perfect Rainbow——
Her spirit mother!”
III
There the Indian Man maketh him beads that are symbols of Earth’s Quarters and of the Place of Man’s Life, central in the World.
Behold, the Indian Man, where he drilleth and polisheth——
Where he maketh him beads of four significant colors,
Talismans shapeth him, singing the Song of his Central Life!
White shell beads——
Are not the disks of Dawn faint-lustrous, as on the Eastern crests fall the earliest footfalls of Morning?
Turquoise beads——
Broken are the shapes, irregular spaces of azure, where the white clouds part, to mottle and pattern the sky....
Talismans of crystal——
Clear is the bubble of Day, zenith-high it is blown when all things are perfect!
So the Father and the Mother
In their Night of Meditation
First the lustre of the Dawn laid,
Then the azure light of Morning,
Touched them with translucent crystal,
Touched, and lighted perfect Day!
Talismans of black stone——
Jet as the starless Night, as the cloud-enfolded Night....
Talismans of abalone——
Opalled as is Evening on the Western Sea, many-reflecting,——
These also shapeth he him, remembering....
For whither shall they pass, whose sun is in the West?
And whither shall they pass, whose lodge is in the deep Earth?
Theirs are the many reflections of the Sunset land!
Theirs is the black unfathomed Night!
Behold, the Indian, where he sitteth beside his hearth,
Making him beads of four significant colors;
Singing the Song of his Central Life,
Singing the Song of this Middle Place!
The four colors of the Wheel of Day and the four colors of the Circle of the Earth unite in the Middle Place, this is the song of the Indian Man, as the winds of his mind are singing it.
“White light of Dawn,
Blue light of Day,
Saffrons of Sunset,
Thereafter swooning Night:
“In the Middle Place all are gathered together——
Morning and the East,
Nooning and the South,
The vanishing Eve of the West,
And Northering Night:
“In the Middle Place all colors meet,
To the Middle Place the Four Winds blow:
The Circle of the Earth,
The Wheel of Day,
In the Middle Place they are united:
“I am the Middle Place!
I am the Central Man!
The life of the Four Winds is my breathing life,
All colors unite to illuminate me!”