Have you ever been to a church that felt terribly cold and distant? Last Sunday we visited a cathedral that was full of joy and love of nature: the Kasha-Katuwe Tent Rocks National Monument.
Like an ancient labyrinth of red stone, carved by water that no longer exists, and by wind that is still howling in one’s ears, this place reminds of the legends that make this place to a sacred place for the Native Americans.
One legend says that Apache warriors pursued by a hostile tribe jumped off the rocks. Maybe the white stone towers are their souls, I do not know. In any case, the wives of the fallen warriors wept so much that their tears turned into black obsidian. Everywhere along the way, you can find these tiny, shiny oval stones. We would have gladly taken some of them with us, but it is a nature reserve. “Take only photos leave only footprints”, as says the sign at the entrance.
This place is holy, and you can taste these words in the wind. Holy, holy, calls the echo of our footsteps. Holiness is written on the red rocks which hug anyone entering the cathedral, and the tarantula paints it with its eight legs in the sand. Holy, calls the tree clinging with its roots to the stone. And if you listen closely, you can hear the Apache women as they cry for their lost men.
Hannah
