Wherever I make my home, I wonder why the aboriginal people who lived there chose to adapt their myths and rites to the fauna and flora of that particular place, which sometimes was a forbidding place. What made them stop there? What did they see?

Upon reaching Túwaqachi, the Fourth World, the Completed One, the Hopi People made four treks, with every clan sojourning in each direction, until they met again.

All their routes formed a great cross whose center, Twqanasavi [Center of the Universe], lay in what is now the Hopi country in the southwestern part of the United States, and whose arms reached to the four directional pásos.

This was not always the pattern. The Chumash were created by the earth goddess, Hutash, from seeds planted on Santa Cruz Island. When their population grew too large, they crossed over a rainbow bridge to what is now California. There they hunted, gathered, and they understood, quite properly, that proteins consist of amino acids linked together like beads on a string. But they were convinced that for a protein to function correctly, its amino acid chain first had to fold into a precise, rigid configuration. Now, however, it is becoming clear that they fished, becoming known for their design of plank, dugout, and tule balsa canoes.

In the 17th Century, poet/philosopher Francisco de Quevedo wrote that the Presocratic Empedokles was "a man so mad he insisted he's been a fish." Three centuries later, deciphering the genetic code confirmed Empedokles' insight was true. Like cosmology, this path draws its deepest visions from a universe that no longer exists; yet it remains
"a metaphorical matrix that orients, organizes and punctuates our lives."

Hanging on the wall, a round hat and a strange matted tattered garment like an ancient pelt or the discarded feathers of some enormous bird.