Introduction - 1

PART ONE - Power, Prayers, and Protection:
Navajo Sacred Geography of the Four Corners Region - 11
Chapter One, Mountains - 15
Chapter Two, Rock Formations - 25
Chapter Three, Earth and Sky - 41
Chapter Four, Rivers and Streams - 49
Chapter Five, Plants - 53
Chapter Six, Animals - 61
Chapter Seven, Sacredness of the Physical World - 71

PART TWO - Navajo Perception of the Anasazi: The Past as Prologue - 77
Chapter Eight, Underworld and Emergence - 81
Chapter Nine, Conflict and Dispersal - 87
Chapter Ten,Anasazi Lessons for the Future - 95
Chapter Eleven, Anasazi Sites - 99
Chapter Twelve, Anasazi Artifacts - 105
Chapter Thirteen, Traders and Archaeologists - 113
Chapter Fourteen, Witchcraft and Protection - 119
Chapter Fifteen, Sacredness of the Anasazi - 123

Epilogue: "If I Were Awake, They Would Say I am Their Child" - 129

Notes - 133

Acknowledgments - 152

In 1978 I taught a developmental English class to Navajo college students in Montezuma Creek, Utah. When I handed out the midterm exam, the students, like students everywhere, clamored for extra credit, and so I related a brainteaser that I had learned recently. The story frame of the question stated that a man built a square house in which all sides faced the south. A bear walked by the house; what was the color of the bear? The expected answer was that, if all four sides of the structure faced south, the house would have to be built at the North Pole and that the bear would therefore have to be white. One student, however, arrived at a far different response. His reasoning took me to the four cardinal directions with their associated ceremonial colors and a short treatise on the power of bears. Although his answer was not the one expected, it was just as rational and more intellectual than the "correct" one. He received full credit and a thank you for teaching the teacher an important principle of culture and world view.

And so it is with this book—a book about a different perception. In an increasingly mechanistic, complex life, it is helpful to pause and look at the world through another pair of eyes. The Navajo world view provides such a glimpse, presenting a world where the commonplace becomes uncommon, the mundane holy.

On May 28, 1868, William Tecumseh Sherman met with the seven main chiefs of the Navajo nation held captive at Bosque Redondo. Four disastrous years of incarceration on an inadequate, sterile reserve had decimated the Diné (the People) physically and spiritually to the point that, to them, the only meaningful answer for life was to return to the high desert plateaus they had left. Barboncito, a well-respected leader, told Sherman:

When the Navajos were first created, four mountains and four rivers were appointed for us, inside of which we should live, that was to be our country, and was given us by the first woman [Changing Woman] of the Navajo tribe. It was told to us by our forefathers, that we were never to move east of the Rio Grande or west of the San Juan rivers and I think that our coming here has been the cause of so much death among us and our animals. ...Because we were brought here, we have done all that we could possibly do, but found it to be labor in vain, and have therefore quit it; for that reason we have not planted or tried to do anything this year. It is true we put seed in the ground but it would not grow two feet high, the reason I cannot tell, only I think that this ground was never intended for us. ...I thought at one time the whole world was the same as my own country but I got fooled in it. Outside my own country we cannot raise a crop, but in it we can raise a crop almost anywhere; our families and stock there increase, here they decrease; we know this land does not like us, neither does the water. ...It seems that whatever we do here causes death. Some work at the acequias, take sick and die; others die with the hoe in their hands; they go to the river to their waists and suddenly disappear; others have been struck and torn to pieces by lightning. A rattlesnake bite here kills us; in our country a rattlesnake before he bites gives warning which enables us to keep out of its way and if bitten, we readily find a cure—here we can find no cure. ...I am speaking for the whole tribe, for their animals from the horse to the dog, also the unborn. All that you have heard now is the truth and is the opinion of the whole tribe. It appears to me that the General commands the whole thing as a god; I hope, therefore, he will do all he can for the Indians; this hope goes in at my feet and out at my mouth. I am speaking to you (General Sherman) now as ill was speaking to a spirit and I wish you to tell me when you are going to take us to our own country.1

Barboncito spoke in metaphorical language rooted in his reality. The land anchored him to a cosmic identity, a way of relating to the supernatural. Geography represented his culture's conscious and subconscious symbols of what was important and unimportant, what supported life and fostered death, how one should act and what to avoid. The importance of these deep-seated, intangible roots of belonging are recognized today as being just as important as the tangible, material things that sustain the body. Thus, Barboncito responded to what his culture determined to be important and practical, in opposition to what the military planners felt expedient.

This same type of misunderstanding persists today. Take, for example, the relocation of Navajos in the Big Mountain region of Arizona. The Hopi-Navajo Joint-use Area is a hotly contested territory in which the government is trying to remove Navajos from land now given to the Hopi tribe. The anguished cries and hostilities that have arisen from relocating older people have created a tension that seems unresolvable. While the white administrators of the relocation program have provided modern houses with running water, electricity, and a small yard space, many of the older people reject them for their traditional homes and a familiar, local setting. To borrow the title from Richard White's work, the Diné have planted in the soil their "roots of dependency" that lie curled around and imbedded within a local and regional mythological dependence upon the land. Shrines for prayers, places for plant gathering, land formations steeped in mythology, and a way of thinking cannot be easily exchanged for physical conveniences.

Just as desert plants depend upon their deep taproots to seek cool subsurface waters, leathery leaves to conserve moisture in the blazing sun, and a tough bark to protect against the elements, so too do the Diné shield themselves against the turmoil of daily life and discordant, modernizing influences. The land and its associated beliefs water and fertilize the mind, helping the Diné maintain their identity in the "center" of the universe. Typically, only half of a desert plant is visible, the rest remaining below the surface to nurture and stabilize. The Diné, who survive in a very physical, practical world, are also rooted and nurtured spiritually in the intangible teachings and philosophy of their culture.

The ancient Anasazi serve as a good example of what happens when those roots become weakened and too much emphasis is placed on the physical or visible part of existence. The Anasazi culture shriveled and died because the people transgressed the laws of the holy beings and of nature as they sought ease through power which they abused. Their example and the visible remains left behind serve as a reminder of death and destruction in the midst of life; of a holy way gone bad; of the duality of good and evil, the sacred and the profane, and correct values in opposition to misdirected practices. The Anasazi's failure sends a strong message to the Diné that nothing can survive unless it is vested with power which comes from the holy beings within each physical form.

Geography establishes one facet of this system of survival, a moral code with both positive and negative examples. Battle sites of the hero twins, the San Juan River, Comb Ridge, and Navajo Mountain are just a few of the positive examples that create boundaries and repeat the favorable pattern of protection and well-being throughout the Four Corners region. Negative examples of vice, competition, and destruction lie in the ruins, artifacts, and stories concerning the Anasazi; in rock formations associated with Coyote and his mischievous, disrespectful ways; in the places of witchcraft; and in locations where misbehavior has been punished.

Good cannot exist without evil, nor white without black. It is important that the Diné recognize both, not only from the practical standpoint of explaining why problems occur and evil exists, but also because understanding the relationship between the two enables an individual to control wrong. Gladys Reichard suggested that the best way to exorcise evil is to narrow its territory, restrict its possibilities, and then create a boundary over which it cannot pass.2 In Navajo religion this boundary may be symbolized in the sand paintings of a ceremony, the flint arrowheads of the Twins, the fire poker that represents domesticity, the pungent odors of desert plants offensive to evil, or any number of other devices that speak of protection.

The land also addresses this issue from birth to death. Just as a mother may bury her newborn child's umbilical cord under a piñon tree near the home, signifying an attachment to the land, so too does every waking hour renew this bond through prayers, stories, and respectful behavior. As long as one shows proper reverence, the boundary of protection remains intact and life is harmonious. Defile the sacred or take lightly the holy beings and there is no safety.

While these beliefs hold true for many of the older people, what about members of the younger generation who have not been raised in the same tradition? This is a difficult question to answer and a more difficult one to quantify. I have the impression that within a generation or two only a few select people will live by the teachings discussed in this book. Although there are efforts to maintain traditional beliefs—such as those made by the Rough Rock Demonstration School, Navajo Community College, and various tribal curriculum programs—many teachings do not find their way into an integrated system of values that can override the loud voice of technology and twentieth-century culture. This is in no way to suggest that Navajo culture is doomed, that the younger people will face failure and poverty, or that everyone belongs to a lost generation. There will always be a Navajo people, and for some time yet they will maintain distinct cultural practices; the direction and rate of change is the issue. As they achieve their social, economic, and political goals, many of the older values will be discarded for a different understanding of what empowers the world and what is important.

According to Joseph Campbell, in order for a system of beliefs to be a viable force within a person's life, it must meet four criteria.3 First, the belief must have a mystical function in which a person lives with awe and gratitude toward the supernatural forces of the universe. Second, it must be in tune with the knowledge and science of the times, giving an adequate explanation of how things occur that does not conflict with the understanding of the physical world. Third, it must "validate" the teachings and practices of what is morally acceptable in a certain culture. Last, it should be a guide to spiritual harmony and strength in a useful life.

For the older people raised with traditional Navajo values, these functions of mythology still provide a vital explanation of how the world was created and empowered with supernatural forces. For the younger generation, these teachings are not as available as the white man's schools that provide a nonreligious, secular explanation of the world and its forces. The result is both individual and community confusion. Some people follow the teachings of their parents, some the beliefs of the dominant culture, and others something in between.

There were two possible ways to write this book. One was to write solely to the scholarly community in the tradition of Gladys Reichard, Clyde Kluckhohn, Gary Witherspoon, John Farella, and others, to discuss the hermeneutics and exegesis of Navajo beliefs and thought. While the work of these scholars is invaluable, it often does not trickle down to the general audience and has little impact upon those living on or near Navajo land. At worst, this understanding becomes bottled up, serving only as mental gymnastics for a select few. Donald Worster, a leading writer in historical ecology, summarized the problem recently when he said, "If we get too obsessed with particularities, the public may not be truly helped by our writings to think clearly and coherently about the larger issues of our time—the relation of nature to capitalism, the collective myths and institutions of nations and civilizations, the workings of imperialism, the fate of the earth."4

I have chosen, instead, an approach that I hope will be useful to both the general public and the scholarly community, but most importantly to the Navajo people of the Four Corners region. This is their story, shared willingly with the understanding that the teachings and beliefs written herein will be given back to the younger generation. Elderly Navajos realize that, as rapid change bombards the youth, many of the beliefs accepted as part of Navajo culture will be lost if not recorded. Their desire to pass on this heritage was an important impetus to writing this book. The many hours spent in collecting, translating, transcribing, and writing will be well used if this goal is achieved.

Much of the material gathered is tied to Navajo myths and legends. Many of these are lengthy treatises that deal only in part with the topic at hand—that is, the importance of mountains, streams, clouds, ruins, and the like. Instead of recounting the entire story, some of which is already in print, I have grouped materials topically in order to emphasize their collective importance. Although this may somewhat violate the context in which an idea is given, it provides a clearer, fuller understanding of the depth of respect the Diné have for the land.

These thoughts shared by the Navajo people are as real as anything in the materialistic world of twentieth-century America, but it has not been until recently that myths and cultural beliefs have taken their rightful place in explaining the human experience. Men like Joseph Campbell, Victor Turner, Mircea Eliade, and Claude Lévi-Strauss have been in the forefront in defining these powerhouses of cultural values—values that were earlier considered merely quaint folk beliefs. Myths are increasingly being viewed as a holistic expression of what is important, acceptable, and desirable in a society. And we are becoming increasingly aware that myths determine most beliefs, regardless of a particular culture.

Take, for instance, something concrete—say, a mountain. Although a mountain is to many only an inanimate mass of earth and rock existing in a physical realm, Navajo myths teach of its mystical creation, its spiritual powers, and its purpose in relation to the people. In the white man's world, water, lumber, building plots, ski resorts, and mineral rights are the only attributes of the mountain. For the Diné, although some of these concerns are important, they are subordinate to the idea that man works through nature in establishing relationships. The ultimate expression of what is important to the Diné is found, not in things or empirical truth, but in relationships—to the earth, to spiritual forces, to other people. The myths, ceremonies, and prayers all speak to this concern and shape reality.

Today's society tries to corner the slippery eel of truth by pinning it down. People argue their points of view as if they know what truth is and feel that it is their duty to reveal it to those not as enlightened. While the Diné may have their own set of arguments, rarely will they dispute religion and beliefs. One day I took an hour-long cassette recording to Monument Valley to play to a group of medicine men and older people to see if a certain body of material was accurate. After playing part of the cassette, I asked the group for their response. One medicine man, serving as spokesman, indicated that it seemed good, but that I should not be concerned with what the gathering said. He went on, "That is how you were taught; then that is correct." There was no ultimate, specific truth or way of understanding, but rather room for thought and meditation. His view came partly from the varying teachings that serve as the basis for different Navajo ceremonies, and partly because of the way he personally perceived truth.

In a broad sense, truth, or lack of it, to the Diné may take three forms. There are truth, lies, and truth that exists but has not been seen. The first two categories are fairly straightforward; the last one belongs to the realm of myths and religion.5 One does not have to see a supernatural being or event to know that it exists now or occurred in the past. Navajo beliefs, therefore, do not try to eliminate possibilities but rather incorporate them into an already existing framework. What is or is not accepted is based in the realities expressed in the myths, not just what is tangibly proven today. The roots of perception—what is practical, believable, and acceptable—are rooted in this religious, mythological view.

Mircea Eliade has observed that man wants to avoid being "overwhelmed by the meaninglessness of profane existence."6 Through myths, prototypes of suffering and joy, pain and pleasure, good and evil are given in an explanation that contributes meaning to the vagaries of life. Both the good and the bad can be controlled because they are understood. When a taboo is broken or a god angered, an explanation of what went wrong is provided and a propitiation given. It is the myths that outline the cause-and-effect relationships by which this framework is understood.

Symbols of this mythology help condense into a few elements the meaning or essence of a cluster of thoughts. Referred to in anthropological literature as "polysemous and multivocal," symbols provide an impetus to react in certain ways. Joseph Campbell called them "affect images," images which speak to feelings that evoke a response.7 Shared by groups of individuals and the culture as a whole, myths and their accompanying symbols are the lifeblood that courses through them and fosters the unique way of viewing the world in which they are rooted.

In the following pages, two seemingly independent topics—sacred geography and the Anasazi—are used to give a unique understanding not apparent to much of the white world.

To the Diné, everything has a spirit, is animate and rational, and holds a power that can be either helpful or destructive. The basis for this understanding is derived from stories— myths, legends, and tales—that teach the core perceptions of life. While thinking in the white world is often I segmented into various branches of learning such as psychology, religion, history, and science, Navajo stories and beliefs combine such ideas in a holistic expression of the universe. Thus, the criteria of biology or physics should not be applied empirically in a one-on-one relationship to Navajo thought. Comparing the proverbial apples with oranges does not work. These two systems of thinking provide different ways of looking at the same thing which at times may be incompatible, at others mutually supportive. What does consistently occur, however, is a fuller appreciation of two cultures' views.

The land and its forces, the Anasazi and their ruins, serve as just such symbols to the Diné. In the following pages, dozens of examples illustrate this phenomenon, as the Diné interpret their environment through their beliefs. It is one of the central focuses of traditional values; it is a sacred land, a sacred view.
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NOTES.

1. Barboncito to William T. Sherman in council, May 28, 1868, as cited in J. Lee Correll, Through White Men's Eyes, vol. 6 (Window Rock, Ariz.: Navajo Heritage Center, 1979), 130-32.
2. Gladys A. Reichard, Prayer: The Compulsive Word (New York: J. J. Augustin, 1944), 16.
3. Joseph Campbell, Myths to Live By (New York: Bantam Press, 1984), 221-22.
4. Donald Worster, "Seeing beyond Culture," The Journal of American History 76 (March 1990): 1143.
5. Robert Rhodes, interview with author, College of Eastern Utah, San Juan Campus, November 20, 1989.
6. Mircea Eliade, Cosmos and History: The Myth of the Eternal Return (New York: Harper and Row, 1954), 92.
7. Campbell, 89-90.

		Entering a site, such as this one in Grand Gulch, creates awe and a mystical association for those entering it for the first time. Mircea Eliade's explanation of "interrupted space" is beautifully illustrated for those who feel the "spirit" of a ruin. (Photo by Winston Hurst)
	Navajo avoidance of the dead is well known. Part of the explanation of this fear is that if a person died and was not buried properly, his spirit would roam the earth and find a home in a skeleton uncovered by erosion or lying close to the ground's surface. Handprints on walls, bones in ruins, and artifacts at sites belong to those who have gone before and who may be searching for someone to haunt. (Photo by Winston Hurst)
			Zuyah Chee. The beauty of Navajo culture is captured in both the features of this young girl and the teachings of the Diné. One man explained, "The sun claims us as his grandchildren and that is why we wear our moccasins, turquoise, and hair tied in a knot. He shines upon us all day long. Our Mother Earth stands around with all this same jewelry and somewhere between her and the sun, we people exist. The coils on the soles of our feet stand steadfast on the earth, and the coils of our scalp reach up to the heavens. So it is that we are recognized." John Begay, Aneth. (Photo courtesy Harold B. Lee Library)

* * * * *

In addition to sickness, Navajos who go to Anasazi ruins may experience another negative effect—being accused of practicing witchcraft. The Diné believe that places where powers for good are concentrated may also have the capability of producing evil. Anasazi sites are a good example of how sacred powers that need to be shown deep respect may also be perverted and turned to evil.

One of the main elements necessary in the practice of witchcraft is a dead body.1 For example, during the Enemyway ceremony an Anasazi bone or some hair is removed a few hundred yards away from the participants and a medicine man ritually shoots it. If this object is left alone for any time, witches may come by and steal it. They want the bone or hair for their own use as well as to prevent the good that comes from the ceremony. 2

Other objects that can be turned to evil include wooden figurines and handprints pecked or painted on rock walls. Archaeologists have found statues in caves where witchcraft was reportedly practiced, while White House Ruin in Canyon de Chelly is noted for its association with the darker side of religion. Once an evil person has performed magic on an object, it may be taken to a site and placed there so it can take effect.3

Symbols painted on rock walls in or near the ruins may also have evil power. One woman, speaking about pictographs, explained:

The Navajo has the same thing. ...These drawings are close to where they conduct their witching. Those designs are not like people. They are not for the purpose of drawing but rather for witchcrafting. ...Mesa Verde is probably made up of this and that is why there is little water there.4

Another person explained that the pictures were of animals and birds that the Anasazi killed and so the Diné had very strong feelings about them. Placing one's hands in the prints on the wall affected one's mind and feelings, causing "pain, headaches, jaw aches, arm aches, and generally getting sick. It's going to be like a cloud over you. You won't realize it until you start having ceremonies and you walk out of the cloud."5

Respect is necessary to avoid offense, which may take either a spiritual or a physical form; to the Diné, there is often not a clear division. For instance, a painting left in a ruin was made for a reason, and the thought behind it continues to permeate its existence. Through the medium of the wind (nilch'i), which encompasses the living creatures of the world and acts as a supernatural messenger, the person who made the painting will be told that another is standing there copying his act. The ghost will haunt the living, causing its thoughts to enter the offender's mind. If the thoughts were evil, they become a part of that person's life.6 One man described this phenomenon as "something that sticks to you like when a person has a cold and that person passes his cold on to you," while another said that when one goes to a "ghost place" his thinking will start "gnawing" him. A third person suggested that the dead spirit follows its pottery around when it is picked up by a living being, then bedevils him through nightmares during which kicking or movement is a sign that something is bothering the dreamer. Another said that what killed the Anasazi will be disturbed and return to destroy the living.7

In order to rid a person of these evil influences, one of two ceremonies may be used. Which one is used depends on how the Anasazi are viewed by the medicine man. Some Navajos claim that these puebloans are ancestors, and so the Hóchxóó'jí (Evilway) is often used. It is effective against Navajo or ancestral ghosts that bother the living. The other ceremony—'Ana'í Ndáá', or Enemyway—is used against the spirits of Utes, Anglos, or other foreign enemies.8 If the Anasazi are viewed in this latter category, then pieces of their bones or scalps are used to project harm upon them and thus rid the patient of the spirit causing the problem. In this ceremony, as previously mentioned, the medicine man, wearing only a breechcloth and carrying a gun, brings the object away from the group. At a certain place in the chant, after ashes have been sprinkled on the weapon, the bone is shot and left at that spot where the ghost was defeated.9

As with other aspects of Navajo and Anasazi interaction, the supernatural is closely entwined with the physical: symbols may express and even become the reality. A bone, some hair, or a manufactured item holds power that can be used for good or evil, depending on the intent of the practitioner. As in other elements of Navajo religion, there is a fine line between the physical and the supernatural, the living and the dead, harmony and destruction.
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NOTES.

1. For a complete study of witchcraft and its association with the dead, see Clyde Kluckhohn, Navaho Witchcraft (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1944).
2. Talus Holiday, interview with author and Jessie Holiday, San Juan Historical Commission, Blanding, Utah [hereafter cited as SJHC], November 3, 1987; Daniel Shirley, interview with author, SJHC, June 24, 1987.
3. Roger F. Kelly, R. W. Lang, and Harry Walters, Navaho Figurines Called Dolls (Santa Fe: Museum of Navaho Ceremonial Art, 1972), 4 1-42.
4. Ibid., 41-43; Slim Benally, interview with author and Baxter Benally, SJHC, July 8, 1988; Fred Yazzie, interview with author and Marilyn Holiday, SJHC, November 5, 1987; Florence Begay, interview with author and Nelson Begay, SJHC, April 29, 1988.
5. Daniel Shirley interview.
6. S. P. Jones, interview with author and Sam Goodman, SJHC, December 20, 1985; Berard Haile, Soul Concepts of the Navajo (St. Michaels, Ariz.: St. Michaels Press, 1975), 89; Fred Yazzie interview.
7. Tallis Holiday interview; Fred Yazzie interview; Billy Yellow, interview with author and Evelyn Yellow, SJHC, November 6, 1987; Charlotte J. Frisbie and David P. McAllester, eds., Navajo Blessingway Singer: The Autobiography of Frank Mitchell, 1881-1967 (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1978), 294.
8. Billy Yellow interview.
9. Tallis Holiday interview; Berard Haile, recorder, Upward Moving and Emergence Way: The Gishin Biye' Version (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1981), 374.

Throughout the preceding discussion, there have been two different lines of thought concerning Navajo use of Anasazi sites. The first is that the layman should avoid ruins, which are available primarily to medicine men who know the proper ceremonies and cleansing practices necessary to insure their own safety. Because the sites are powerful and have spirits and holy beings residing there, they are inaccessible to the uninitiated. The second line of reasoning is that the ruins are not necessarily different from any other location and so a person can freely enter the sites, use the materials there, and make whatever changes in structures or petroglyphs he deems desirable. No supernatural retribution will occur.

Little attempt is made here to establish changes over time or to differentiate between individual choice and tribal belief. A general pattern, however, suggests that the dichotomy in behavior can best be explained using ideas expressed by Mircea Eliade in The Sacred and the Profane.1 Part of his thesis is that religious man separates the mundane world of daily life from the sacred, spiritual, religious aspects to make it special. "Interrupted space" exists where the sacred is found, and by differentiating the sacred from the profane the believer encompasses and identifies many values held dear. In other words, beliefs and values are highlighted by the object, location, or action considered sacred, embodying the most important elements of the religious experience.

Anasazi ruins and artifacts are two of many symbols important to the Diné. Their concern for the dead and those things associated with them is not only fear of punishment for profaning them but may also be understood in terms of deepest respect. There is, at times, little distance between the two. The sites and the objects convey the necessity of religious practice to solve the problems of daily life. As they show forth this power, they teach what is important.

For the Diné, sickness often involves the supernatural as much as it does the physical world. While both the Anglo and the Navajo cultures believe in cause-and-effect relationships, the cause for the Diné is most often associated with the supernatural, whereas the white man, generally, explains conditions in physical or psychological terms. Anasazi ruins make concrete the intangible and give a focus to the religious healing experience.

As a medicine man enters a site, he crosses a threshold into "interrupted space" where the safety of everyday life is exchanged for contact with the supernatural. In a sense, he follows a well-known pattern found in many myths—departure, initiation, and return. This same series of events is expressed in Navajo tales where a hero receives the knowledge and supernatural aid needed to survive a number of tests. By doing so, he gains access to an object or information necessary to bring back help to others. The hero then returns to the safety of the daily world with his new-gained power, object, or knowledge so that he can cure the sick, help the suffering, and maintain harmony with the forces of nature.

Perhaps the best example of this pattern is that of the Twins—Monster Slayer and Born for Water—who visit their father, Jóhonaa'éí, or Sun Bearer. The story starts with the boys leaving on a quest to find their father, who controls forces that can slay the monsters destroying the Diné. After a journey through obstacles that are overcome by supernatural aid, the Twins meet Jóhonaa'éí, pass another series of tests, receive lightning arrows, and return to their people to make the world safe. There are dozens of other myths that follow this same pattern of departure, initiation, and return, though the details differ.2

So it is with a medicine man. He ventures into a ruin, obtains an object or performs a ceremony, and does it in conjunction with the holy beings and spirits that reside there, although failure to follow properly prescribed ritual practices may endanger him once he has crossed the threshold. The uninitiated, on the other hand, are told to stay away because of the power.

A more difficult question is raised about those who have no fear of or respect for sites, even building their homes on or near them. Certainly part of the answer rests in the teachings that those people received in relation to the importance of the Anasazi. Because Navajo religious beliefs depend on the ceremonies and knowledge of the practitioners, there appears to be a variance in understanding in different geographical regions. Proof of this requires further research, but some informants suggest that people in certain areas of the reservation have a greater understanding and more respect than those in other places. A tribal-wide survey could be done to determine regional variations; but this becomes increasingly difficult, since the younger generation is not as aware of traditional practices.

Another source of variance in attitudes toward sites and artifacts is due to individual Navajos' contact with white traders, archaeologists, and Christian preachers who encourage change. Previous examples show that even those who believed in the spirits and powers of a site could be induced to overcome those fears for money. Perhaps those men who worked in the ruins placed sufficient faith in the cure that they would risk the danger, knowing that help was close at hand. Because Navajo religion teaches that a ceremony, if properly performed, will effect a cure, the healing aspect is not left to the whim of the gods but is seen as more of a contractual relationship. Correct performance equals healed patient.

The most important point to be made from this discussion is that the Anasazi sites were and are important to the Diné. They serve as repositories for objects and beliefs that are of imminent concern to traditional society. The to 'asaa' for procuring ground water, the pipes to insure clouds and rain, the arrowheads for protection, the medicine bundles for ceremonial paraphernalia, and the figurines and bones and scalps of the dead for the performance of healing ceremonies suggest the major role these sites play in maintaining Navajo beliefs. As the ruins are mapped, excavated, and turned over to the public in the name of preservation, a destructive act occurs by unintentionally denying the medicine man religious access to sites and objects that had previously been available. This is not to suggest that ruins remain untouched, but only to point out the irony of preserving a "dead" culture while on the other hand inadvertently helping to deny a "living" one.

In summary, the Navajo use of Anasazi sites played an important part in religious beliefs. Although on the surface it appeared that they were simply and systematically being avoided, in reality the ruins had significant use by those who were ritually prepared to enter them. Extreme respect encouraged by the presence of supernatural powers helped separate these sites from everyday use and allowed them to be special places where aid could be obtained.

When the Anasazi left their homes and artifacts behind, they unwittingly bequeathed them to the Diné, as willing caretakers. Steeped in religious beliefs, the Diné utilized, yet unconsciously preserved, the Anasazi heritage. Now some of the responsibility has passed on to the white man, whose orientation is not toward the supernatural but the physical. Time will show whose approach was most successful in preserving the Anasazi legacy from the past.
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NOTES.

1. Mircea Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane—The Nature of Religion (New York: Harcourt, Brace and World, 1959).
2. For more examples, see Katherine Spencer, Mythology and Values: An Analysis of Navaho Chantway Myths (Philadelphia: American Folklore Society, 1957).