a pueblo at the top of the mesa, without electricity or running water. the spirits that lived here long ago--perhaps when the world began, live here still. imbued with power and mystery, it's a sacred place. where the skies are ever changing. where the people pray for rain and when it comes, the land is happy and the people rejoice. the acoma pueblo is a place where the beauty of the earth is astonishing. unencumbered by the taint of modern civilization, its structures and its people can reach up and touch the sky.
an acoma man drove us up to the pueblo. his thick black hair was straight and touched his shoulders. his dark eyes large and smiling, he told us that each year he leaves his home on the flatter part of the reservation to live on the mesa for a awhile. his is one of the 15 families from the reservation that maintain a home in the ancient pueblo. at night, he climbs the ladder to the flat roof of his home and looks up at the stars. in the silence and the stillness, when everything in the world is in harmony. you can hear your self think. "there's nothing like it," he smiles. i imagine. perhaps he converses with his ancestors. but that's not something he told me. nor is it something i asked.
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