Tree of Life

About This Experience

Seeing the Tree of Life panel in person was quite different from what its name had led us to imagine. We had expected something that would immediately resemble a tree, perhaps with a recognizable trunk and branches, but the actual carving was far stranger and much more intriguing. The central element rose vertically through the middle of the dark sandstone like a long, wavering column, its lines twisting and bending as they climbed upward. Near its upper end the form seemed to divide and spread, giving it just enough resemblance to something growing that the modern nickname “Tree of Life” began to make sense. Yet the more we looked at it, the less certain we became that we were looking at a tree at all. It could just as easily have been a symbolic path, flowing water, a serpent-like form, a ceremonial object or something whose meaning has disappeared completely with the people who carved it. What made the panel especially fascinating was that this central figure did not stand alone. The entire sandstone surface was populated with an extraordinary collection of smaller petroglyphs, almost like fragments of an ancient story scattered around it. To the upper left was one of the strangest figures on the wall, a compact creature with circular elements and a long undulating extension stretching away from its body. It looked almost alive, as though it were crawling or swimming across the rock. Nearby were small geometric signs, including a rectangular form divided down the middle and another shape resembling a figure eight. Higher on the wall, faint human-like forms appeared almost lost in the desert varnish. On the right side of the central “tree,” other figures emerged from the sandstone: small animals, abstract shapes and what appeared to be another anthropomorphic form. One of the most striking elements was a long diagonal line running upward across the right side of the panel. Small regularly spaced marks crossed it from one end to the other, making it look almost like a ladder, a counting device, a trail or some kind of ceremonial staff. It stretched dramatically across the composition and seemed to connect the lower part of the panel with the imagery above, although whether that relationship was intentional was impossible to know. Below it stood a beautifully simple human-like figure with a round head and arms curving upward on both sides, almost as though the person were raising them toward the sky. Nearby another small anthropomorph seemed to stand alone against the dark sandstone. Toward the lower centre was yet another unusual figure, its curved extensions giving it an almost horned or animal-like appearance. Everywhere we looked, another small detail seemed to appear. At first the wall had seemed to contain only a handful of carvings, but after several minutes our eyes adjusted to the contrast between the pale pecked lines and the dark desert varnish. Suddenly the surface became crowded. A line we had dismissed as a natural crack became part of a figure. A faint curve revealed itself as an animal. Small marks appeared beside larger forms, and the panel began to feel less like a single image and more like an entire collection accumulated on one special piece of sandstone. The Tree of Life remained the visual centre of everything. Its long irregular outline seemed almost to pulse upward through the panel, very different from the rigid geometric forms surrounding it. Seen from a distance, it had something organic about it. The wavering lines suggested movement, perhaps growth, perhaps water, perhaps a living thing. In the desert environment of the San Rafael Swell, it was tempting to think about the importance of trees and water. Here, life concentrates wherever moisture can be found. Cottonwoods mark hidden streams from great distances, and even a small patch of vegetation can reveal the presence of water in an otherwise dry landscape. Perhaps the ancient carvers had been expressing some similar connection between water, growth and life. But that was only our modern imagination trying to give meaning to an image whose original explanation has been lost. The surrounding carvings made any simple interpretation even more difficult. If the central form truly represented a tree, why were these particular animals and human-like figures placed around it? Was the long diagonal “ladder” connected with it? Did the strange creature on the left belong to the same composition? Were all these images carved at the same time, or had people returned to this sheltered wall over generations, gradually adding new figures beside older ones? The panel gave us no way to know. It was entirely possible that what we were seeing as one great composition had never been intended as a single scene at all. Different symbols could have been separated by decades or even centuries, their meanings understood by people who knew exactly what each form represented. Time had simply brought them together for us on the same surface. That possibility made the wall even more fascinating. Rather than trying to decode it as though it were a picture book, we began looking at every element individually. The little anthropomorph with raised arms, the ladder-like diagonal line, the strange crawling creature, the geometric forms, the faint animals and the enormous wavering “tree” might each have carried a completely different message. Perhaps some marked events, others represented stories or spiritual ideas, and still others recorded identities, journeys or places. We could describe their shapes, but almost everything beyond that remained speculation. The sandstone itself was beautiful. The petroglyphs had been pecked through a dark reddish-brown surface, exposing lighter stone beneath and creating pale lines that stood out sharply in some places while fading almost completely in others. Natural fractures crossed the panel and divided parts of the imagery, while erosion had softened some of the older marks. The wall looked ancient even without the carvings, its layers and colours shaped by an immense amount of time. The petroglyphs seemed almost woven into that natural history. We tried to imagine the person who had created the central figure. Someone had once stood exactly where we were standing, probably holding a hammerstone or another tool, and repeatedly struck the sandstone to produce those long wavering lines. Creating such an image required intention and patience. The carver already knew what the finished form was supposed to represent. Every bend and curve probably made sense to them. That was perhaps the strangest thought of all: what appeared profoundly mysterious to us may once have been completely obvious. Perhaps someone could have looked at this wall centuries ago and immediately understood the tree-like form, the strange creature, the diagonal ladder and the figures around them. Nothing needed explanation because the symbols belonged to their world. We were the outsiders, arriving centuries later and trying to reconstruct meaning from shapes alone. The longer we stayed, the more the nickname Tree of Life seemed both appropriate and misleading. It was appropriate because the central image undeniably had an organic quality, something that seemed to rise, divide and grow through the middle of the panel. But it was misleading because calling it a tree immediately imposed a familiar interpretation on something that might have represented an entirely different concept. Perhaps it was not a tree but a river with tributaries. Perhaps it represented a path through the landscape. Perhaps the wavering lines had a ceremonial meaning. Or perhaps its resemblance to anything recognizable in our world was completely accidental. Eventually we stepped farther away to see the entire panel at once. From that distance the smaller petroglyphs became less dominant and the long central form again drew our attention. Surrounded by animals, human-like figures, geometric symbols and that extraordinary diagonal line, it seemed almost to organize the wall around itself. The composition had a strange balance to it despite the apparent randomness of its elements. It was easy to understand why someone had given the panel such an evocative name. Standing there in the quiet desert, the idea of a Tree of Life felt strangely appropriate: a mysterious form rising from stone, surrounded by people, animals and symbols, perhaps suggesting some forgotten connection between them all. Yet when we finally walked away, we were no closer to knowing what it truly meant. Perhaps that was precisely what made the panel so memorable. We could see every line the ancient carvers had left behind, but the story connecting those lines had vanished. The figures remained, perfectly visible on the sandstone, while their meaning had become invisible. And in the centre of them all, the strange wavering form continued to rise across the rock—perhaps a tree, perhaps something entirely different, and perhaps a mystery that was never meant for us to solve.