ABSTRACT
Many pre-Colombian Andean peoples perceived topographical features as active agents in shaping the physical, social, and perceptual environments. Consequently, a double sense of topography-as topic (place not divested of narratIve properties) and as tropic (rhetorical figure)-resulted.

... the name of every topological area converts it into a sign that vibrates with the possibility of new meanings. In other words, topographical points create the possibility of a reserve of new signifying units: sometimes mountains, sometimes hills, ... crags, waterways, phenomenological, topographical accidents of whatever kind, from which it is possible to compose new meanings in a syntagmatic system ....
(Martínez, 1989,22-23)

Maps reveal significant differences in world view. This paper explores some of the telling differences between maps as customarily understood by peoples subject to mechanized technology and by the pre-Hispanic Andean peoples associated with the theriographic, meteorological, and geosocial-metaphor-maps of the plains of Tiwanaku and Nazca and the myth-rich mountains of the Andes.

Those of us trained in the West usually see a map from a vantage point outside of and in ostensible command of the field. Modern cartography draws on perspectives that divide and fix space looked on from the outside. These perspectives accentuate abstraction and distance the subject matter. ¹ Context is identified by isolated function--the Star Chart, the Divers' Handbook to the Coast of Maine, the Linguistic Atlas of Peru. ² Specialization generates maps such as these, their metonymic forms of representation populating even socio-cultural situations with noun-objects, simulacra that obscure terrain and contribute, if Baudrillard (1983) is correct, to the loss of a sense of the real and to the detriment of the social.

The metaphor-maps of the Andean world convey an animate world.³ The native Andean perspective inheres within the environment, within a terrain inhabited by verb-objects-dynamism linguistically supported. Embedded in the inherently metaphorical terrain are on-going reciprocal relations between changing world and changing social experience. These polydimensional metaphor-maps are "fat" with meaning and expressiveness.

The contrasts between the maps of our world and the map-and-metaphor of the Andean world are contrasts between vision "from within" and vision from a distance. If we can see from within an animated world, we may be helped to see things not from the alienated perspective of the outsider, but from the incorporating perspective of a participant.

Bateson's ground-breaking chapter (1972), "Form, Substance, and Difference," based on Korzybski's adage, "the map is not the territory," emphasizes the point that "the unit of survival is a flexible organism-in-its-environment." The Nazca figures emphasize precisely what most Western maps exclude, the flexible organism-in-its-environment. Unfortunately, toponyms for the Nazca figures have not been preserved, although many of the figures suggest proper and place names, (the hummingbird [end p. 9]suggests Huascar; the spider Urubamba, etc.) probably with cosmological connections. Nearby Paracas means "Rain of Sand," ⁴ a toponym evocative of specific geographic conditions within which one is located. The word "Paracas" is related to once volcanic Pariaqaqa, the tutelary mountain of Huarochirí, thrower of sand and rocks.⁵

Indigenous peoples of the Andes viewed representation less as figure (declarative outline) than as margin-in-process (margin ever nascent, ever shaping shape). The Nazca lines (numbering over a hundred known designs on the plains, although such lines extended well beyond the area) ⁶ were made by lines being traced, by boundaries being created/ explored, by directions and energies discovered. Were those energies to have been presumed fixed as most maps are generally presumed to refer to relatively fixed markers (or at least until the 1990s), the remains of such a multitude of figures would not have been left. ⁷ The multitude of lines indicates process-orientation.

On the Nazca plains, and reflected in the folk tales, rites, and myths of huarochirí, ⁸ an understanding of the kinetics of geography shows terrain as narrating-graphing, as if troping itself and its creatures, including human beings. Animal, vegetable, mineral forms of life interact to form mutually reciprocal, context-texts and "performmances," as the dances of the mountain, deity, and shaman, Huatyacuri of huarochirí, helped by animals and his animate mountain father, demonstrate (Chapter V). These locales reveal (Howard-Malverde 1989, 52) "the dynamic relationship between actions and cognitive structures."

Although Howard-Malverde (1990, 60) does not go so far as to accept topography as a metaphor-rich text, she does read the episodic structure of a twentieth century Quechua informant's narrative as emerging directly from

... its nature as a tracing of routes over a landscape. The mythic ancestors enter into contact with each other at specified points on the territory. Their movements between places serve to symbolise the network of political and sacred power relations which define the internal identity of the community and its links to the outside, both at regional and national levels. The configurations of the landscape can thus be seen to be in iconic relation to the narrative structure: the one is a direct reflection of the other. As

the narrator follows in his mind's eye the paths taken by the ancestors, so he gives form to his discourse.

Since the people perceive the topography as itself a maker of graphs, since they perceive the topography both as a shaper of environments and as an actor in them, since for them the topography contributes to the creation of multi-dimensional graphs or holographs, since the topography organizes genealogies, small wonder that the environment is perceived as having the ability to construct tales and to sing songs. The point bears repeating. Ancient Andean peoples credited rocks and rivers with narrative and lyrical and metaphoric and generative powers. These powers mark space. The earth more generally speaking generates.⁹ It generates words, and sign systems such as irrigation ditches, and rhetorical tropes. ¹⁰ Topography is topic and tropic; topos is thought of as place and figure of speech; as place at a given spot and synecdochal image of that place elsewhere. ¹¹

In this non-anthropocentric vision of a theatrical geography, the earth is perceived as a composite of intelligent, transformative forces. This active earth establishes different perceptual fields for its inhabitants than those of the technological West. Human beings see themselves not as controlling geography, but as interacting with the earth to form ever new, reciprocally generated, heterotaxic, many-dimensioned "charts," always with qualitative, sacred, ritual, metaphoric, rhythmic implications. Dancing and singing enact and reconfigure the circum-ambient topocosm.

Any one sacred Andean place lies in a stream of connections.¹² Moreover, the one is always also plural. And even more, not only is the map as metaphor seen (and heard) from within a space, mapping in this context is a tracing, a marginalizing, a transient perspective on a changing world. Geography remains emergent or processual, speculative and invitational, unfinished, as in process and ever-changing as the manifestations of the Andean deity, Wiracocha. Mapping is not declarative and dominant. Together, the people and the terrain, and the creatures of the terrain, help fragments of the whole emerge into visibility.

A map produced in a mechanico-technological, urban, and "profane" context usually has an indexical function. Its usefulness usually inheres in its directive and explanatory qualities. ¹³ In contrast, the significance of such a drawing on the Nazca plain[end p. 10] as the needle and thread, in that it is multidimensional and indeterminate, lacks explanatory compulsiveness.¹⁴ The present is not being explained, although it seems probable that the people helping the shape emerge were weighing or inveighing the future in a field of perception too mobile to be expressed by a single point, set, or plane. Perception, performance, understanding cannot be defined by the figure in itself, nor by constructing a linear argument about the figure, nor by stabilizing the context, nor by delimiting the semantic field, or these lines would have been "explained" long ago. Andean perception is not tantamount to charting, as the Nazca plains make evident. Andeans did not confuse map (repeatable and framed perception) with territory where approximation rather than definition reigns.

For when space is perceived as able to move from one place to another as living creatures do, as Wiracocha does, narrative elements and cartographic elements become congruent. Features in the terrain are perceived as telling tales, offering cures, generating rhythms, and providing directions. The West culturally empowers the story teller to suggest the parameters of a "told" world. But Andean earth on due occasion "reveals" texts in an ever changing syntax.

The teller of a tale in Huarochirí is not its author; the tale is not a personal creation. Once told, the tale will change, for it is topocosmic, troping to forces beyond itself, composing composite texts with the deities of nature and with social changes. In Tiwanaku, in Huarochirf, on the Nazca plains, in thousands of other earth texts, a geomantic polymorphism performs itself with and through and for the people. >sup>15 Even if it is true that some of the designs indicate territorial possessiveness, the dynamic nevertheless accentuates process.

Holographic geoglyphs and myths suggest ways in which aboriginals entered into relationships with the earth. The Andean accentuates the rhythmic perspective of a component part, of "a flexible organism-in-its-environment." The name of a place as actor, the loci of the mountain Pariaqaqa choreograph the terrain and his myth in huarochirí. Place as actor moves through space, even as a human actor does, possibly because mountains were used as sight lines and were associated with the "travel" of perception (Columbus, 1992). Significant places "move" in site and in language. Wiracocha, Pariaqaqa, Huatyacuri all are sites and "producers"; they trope life and ritual. In two senses, they are topoi, geographs and myths hinging on performative terrain.

The semantic possibilities for Wiracocha connect this geokinetic deity both to lakes and to mountains; this brief sketch is of one lake connection. An ancient toponym for Lake (cocha) Titicaca was Wira Cocha; another was Wiñaymarka, for "place of growth). ¹⁶ Wiracocha's flow from the Altiplano to the ocean (Mama Cocha), barring flood, brought growth. As Wiracocha descends to the sea in chapters one and two ofhuarochirí, the tale "sinks" into fragments and becomes absorbed with him. As Pariaqaqa grows, he crosses hundreds of kilometers of terrain and tropes a narrative. Tale and terrain together bring to life Saussure's observation (1959, 31) that "tournure 'figure' was formed from tourner 'turn' ... " In huarochirí, earth events become textual events; earth's turns trope into figures and narrative. Indeed, the earth is already perceived as narratizing.

Wiracocha's potency as a troper, as a metaphor-maker expressively weaving the material world is not an uncommon concept in the Andean world, as Tello, Carrión, Martínez among others argue. In different Andean cultures, Carrión (1959, 32) finds that spiral or snail figures house the god of thunder and lightning or the meaningful one, the inseminator and disseminator that pulses in and out. The spirals on the Nazca plains could house Wiracocha manifestations as trope and as terrain, as topic and as tropic.

Usually, or at least pretty much so to date, a map produced by a machine technology is silent. But Wiracocha can be seen as the refrain in the terrain, the trope or turn that links the figurative to the geographic, and to the weather, and to the manifold meanings in the name Wiracocha. Wiracocha sounds whenever and wherever the ritual conch shell is blown and perhaps wherever water talks.

Hadingham (1987, 256) speculates that the lines and triangles of the plains are meant "to draw down moisture," that is, to attract Wiracocha, water and sacred smoke, exerciser of infusion/ diffusion, of hydraulic centripetal and centrifugal forces.¹⁷ As Mauss (1979, 22) sees rhythm as the mental reverberations of social life and mythical image, respiratory, cardiac, and muscular movements, I too imagine on the Nazca plains a group moving with and resonating to the interactional rhythms of social[end p. 11] life, biosphere, and myth images. As in Laban's (1970) system of notation, each figure-script traces the many dimensions of movement in space.

Laban combines movement as functional and movement as expressive, and sees both function and expression as bearing on interaction with others and with the environment (Bartenieff, 1980). To achieve a full sense of corporeal metaphor, verbally as well as visually expressive, sound in Laban's movement theories must figure, for sound, music, rhythm are essential components of any corporeally realized metaphor.

On these plains, in these mountains, map and metaphor meet; body and concept meet by way of rhythm and sound. There point, set, perception, perspective, field, horizon, make sense through sensation, through synaesthetic amplification of space. The plains were a place for trial thoughts not separable from feeling. The designs are, in Munn's (1973,56) phrase, "emotionally charged forms" that emphasize the flow of relation.

The virtual identity of toponym and trope in Andean thought shows the interconnectedness of topos as place and topos as figure of speech enunciated by the environs. Onomatopoeic Andean languages and Andean music reflect the sounds of the environment. Rural Andeans do not think of themselves as conceiving animation in nature, but as receiving animation from nature. Such reception requires a non-anthropocentric vision of the cosmos.

Hayden White's (1987, 47) logic of figuration, the crossing-over of fact or event (in the discourse) into figure (rhetoric, metaphor, narrative) places the emphasis on representation more than on actual event. Martínez (1989, [the lead quotation here]) reverses this logic and argues that, in the Andean context, the level of fact and of event, the situation, the topology, each is a tropology, is representative in itself. In Andean thought, events, landscape incidents, create narratives and figures. Andeans perceive signifying topologies as inherently tropeful, time's signs of permutation. Moreover, Martinez argues that the message-creating topology is self-renewing. Landscape features exercise authorship of their own textual revisions. Landscape features trope and signal, tell stories and alter them, paint pictures, initiate rituals, help shape mental space.

Sullivan (1990) refers to loci as "achievements of mythic realities," but loci might as well be described as narratives of space, striding through and changing space. Loci such as converge on Lake Titicaca join streams of relations that cut through planes and simultaneously situate those planes in the macrospace where mythic realities generate themselves and signal their presence.

I elsewhere argue (1990, forthcoming) that the mythic --and actual-- mountain travels southeast through Huarochirí (Chapter 6). The trip of the mountain deity, Pariaqaqa, is told by natural configurations. It is told in part by narrative line and in part by the semantic saturation of the toponym (Pariaqaqa). The specificity of locale represents the earthtext as conjoining land and language so that physical and linguistic space are correlated, and space and history (a point made simultaneously and independently by Howard-Malverde, 1989).¹⁸

"Authentic speech is the presence of thought in the world --not its garment, but its body," (Langer 1989, 59). From the "presence of thought in the world" (giving speech and thought authenticity), Andeans who preserve the past derive their wisdom and their rhythms, their music, their myths.

Matching change in the environment and rhetorical trope is, interestingly enough, becoming a component of contemporary cultural studies. Haraway's intersection of topology and tropology hypothesizes ways in which nature may be troped into culture. Although she argues for "articulation" rather than "representation," and although she uses technology as a means toward "articulation," Haraway (1992, 296) presents nature as

a topos, a place, in the sense of a rhetorician's place or topic for consideration of common themes; ... We turn to this topic to order our discourse, to compose our memory. As a topic in this sense, nature also reminds us that in seventeenth-century English the "topick gods" were the local gods, the gods specific to places and peoples. We need these spirits, rhetorically if we can't have them any other way. We need them in order to reinhabit, precisely, common places--locations that are widely shared, inescapably local, worldly, enspirited; i.e. topical. In this sense, nature is the place to rebuild public culture. Nature is also a trópos, a trope. It is figure, construction, artifact, movement, displacement. Nature cannot pre-exist its construction. This construction is based on a particular kind of move--a trópos or "turn." Faithful to the Greek, as trópos it is about turning. Troping, we turn to nature as if to the earth, to the primal stuff--geotropic, physiotropic. . .. Nature is a topic of public discourse on which much turns, even the earth.

"We turn," Haraway says. "We need." We need a "biopolitics of artifactual reproduction." We turn "as if" to the earth.

Huarochirf's Pariaqaqa lusts after a beautiful mate who insists that he construct a ditch for her (Chapter 6). The text contains no mention of a call for human help. Animals assist Pariaqaqa. Curiously enough then, nature pre-exists construction, a sine qua non in a non-anthropocentric cosmos.

The natural forces Pariaqaqa commands generate meanings in moments of real ization, no moment like another, and yet each axially related to the rest. For instance, the axis formed by the relationship between Pariaqaqa and Chuquisuso, tied to historical, political, religious, seasonal, social, commercial and land right patterns and associations, ultimately peacefully bifurcates, thereby obviating itself. ¹⁹ The "plot" line of the relationship between the "lovers" reaches neither climax nor closure, although it transforms the landscape for the human inhabitants. Rather, their affair brings two perceptual modes to overlie one another for a period of time. Both remain "fluid." After the consummation of their love at Yanaqaqa (black prominence, dark abyss: 6/134-135), each partner obviates. Chuquisuso adopts a sublime lithic form near the irrigation system Pariaqaqa had had constructed for her. That is, she embodies the sacred, less as territory (limit, boundary) than as monolith (concentrated verticality). Pariaqaqa "left her there and continued on upwards."

Ritual attunes to natural forces. Pariaqaqa builds a ditch for Chuquisuso as an inducement to intercourse. Subsequently, people ritually clean the ditch that seems to have been made for them by the intercourse of mountains and the assistance of creatures. Special ditch cleaning music--again, site specific--signals the return of ditch cleaners in so many sections of the Andes that I assume such music was played also in Chuquisuso's place.

When the aged, snow-peaked mountain, Pariaqaqa, decides to make war against the violent Huallallo Carhuincho, both mountains move (Chapter 8). Nature's scene of instruction is in this case a scene of destruction, mountain to mountain. Huallallo, the anthropophagous, was in another place and at a higher elevation before their awful battles on a scale in which human beings contribute nothing. The five mighty Pariaqaqa came down, flashing lightning in five directions and displacing Huallallo in a "recreation" of geography, a narrational regraphing of the earth.

A difference between the ancient Andean and one contemporary effort to reapproach nature as eventful and topic is instructive. Pariaqaqa at war or in love is not represented in the sense of a human scene. He is not anthropocentrically articulated; he is not, as Haraway phrases it: "We need." In contradistinction to Haraway's description, nature not only pre-exists construction; nature hypermediates. This scene is not one of "artifactual reproduction," but of a "biopolitics" that produces "societal politics," including genealogy. Indeed, it may be that, if nature were not capable of generating cognitive energy, Haraway's project is doomed; and human beings trapped in long reaches of similes of their own construction, trapped in simulacra. That "as if' in Haraway's project is telling: we are to articulate "as if to the earth." "As if to the earth" means that the human being makes the effort to participate in the geotropic, tries to participate in the geotropic. But a double specter usually intrudes when a person with a Western education seeks earth's rhythms and "consciousness." One specter is our awareness of the perceptual screens between nature and ourselves, our awareness of cultural conditioning (mental set). One wonders if it is possible to construct an intentional culture, much less if it possible to construct an intentional world. The second specter is a recognition that we are producing our myths. More frequently than not, we believe deities are figments of our imagination. Even in Haraway's conception, we believe we dominate nature, topos and trope, not the other way round.

Perhaps technology-dependent peoples have not had the occasions of the peasant to turn to the earth as a matter of course. Perhaps it is for that reason that a pure physicist, a pure mathematician, can "articulate" a non-anthropocentric universe better than a biologist, who like Darwin is drawn into metaphors that express nature by drawing on human expenence.

Since an anthropocentric perspective does not derive information "as if' from the earth to the earth --and incidentally thereby from the outside to the outside--, then human beings set themselves up as the hypermediators to save the earth. Confident we understand our cognitive powers, we remain [end p. 13] unaware that the earth may possess properties of cognition beyond our perceptual screens.

Does my argument hinge on native Andeans inhabiting an environment that exhibits consciousness? Is the thesis that the natural world engenders culture (songs, dances, visions)? Does the environment generate narrative? Does the landscape actually generate language?

My answer is, what save abstractions does language express, if it does not express the ambience, if it does not catch the rhythms already in the world, if it does not seek out relationships that are there to be found, as Bateson does in the aptly titled Mind and Nature: A necessary unity? He argues that relationships should be used as a basis for all definitions, although he grants more power to human thought than do most of the episodes in huarochirí. More recently, Babuts (1992,143) has faulted those who fail "to appreciate the bonding of language to the syntax of the real."

And what would consciousness be without the natural world? What is consciousness when human beings accentuate their own mental dominance at the expense of relationship? It is consciousness that takes credit for the creation of irrigation ditches and loses sight of the creative powers of thermo-dynamic forces and animals. At heart, metaphor is relationship. Without a sense of expansive metaphor (veneration for other forms of sentient and fertile life connecting us to the earth), we who inhabit artifactual space are not far, in Adorno's words (1976, 48), from accepting "inner emptiness as the complement of internalization."

Adorno argues that emptiness is the price exacted for sustaining illusory individualism in "bad faith." Relying on "user friendly" computerized machines, our music, our language, our metaphors, our art reflect the brilliance of machine-dependent sights and sounds that protect illusory individualism and disguise its emptiness. Not only, then, may it be said that pre-Colombian Andeans have left little evidence of a sense of an interior life resembling our own; ²⁰ it may be said that our own sense of interiority is a construct under siege. For if truth rests on relationship, then different relationships will result in different truths and so-called "objective" criteria of validation will differ from ancient Andean ones.

In the Andean context, the force of reciprocity between the natural and the cultural is tipped in favor of nature as containing shaping forces. Possibly cultures that mythologize and "socialize" nature acquire so-called cultural resonance as well as a "multi-layered system with clearly defined features of topological organization." Close environmental contact and participation in nature amplify metaphoric, relational consciousness. Ritual that expresses the rhythms in nature bears profound psychological, social, linguistic, and habitat consequences.

The physical world is shaped by our perception of it. If we seek reciprocity of consciousness between cultivating nature and human culture, we will probably experience nature as conscious (an experience not easy to defend in the academy). But this world view is not foreign to students of various Romantic movements nor to such philosophers as Collingwood (1945, 4) who believes there to be a physical and intellectual kinship among vegetables, animals, and people. In like vein, Peirce (1962, 551) argues that thought exists "in the work of bees, of crystals, and throughout the purely physical world; and one can no more deny that it is really there, than that the colors, the shapes, etc., of objects are really there." Schelling (1988) believes mythology links processes in nature to processes in human consciousness. He claims that myths reveal the dual connections between nature and culture in the process of worid formation.

Arguments in other fields also bear on the argument that language is not a phenomenon apart from the natural world. Mauss (1979, 22) sees rhythmic reverberations between social life and mythical image:

Let us leave aside for a moment the social nature of rhythm. But is it not obvious, for example, if one studies dance, even superficially, but from a socio-Iogical point of view, that on the one hand it cor-responds to respiratory, cardiac and muscular movements which are identical in all the individuals and often shared even by the audience, and that simultaneously it presupposes and foHows a sequence of images; this series being itself the one that the symbol of the dance arouses both in the performers and in the audience? Here, too, it is the direct union of the sociological and the physiological that we are handling and not just that of the social and the psychological.

Dumont (1979) argues in "Not in Ourselves, But in Our Stars" that the task of culture is to "im-mediate" [end p. 14] nature and "supernature." I take "im-mediate" to mean: to connect physical manifestations in nature to nature's figural ones.

Shaping powers from whatever source have a certain cognitive force of their own. Thus radiant places on earth with genii loci are connected to semantic forces, to topoi other than our own. The energies of Illimani, Pariaqaqa, Lake Titiqaqa are not invented by human beings. Mountain worshippers understand the status of mountains as large tropes or holo/grammars. And Andeans still exclaim, "Thunder beats the drums" with no sense of authorizing a persona.

"I want to live in an articulate world," Haraway says (324). But then that world must be thought of as languaged, as the ancient world of Tiwanaku and Huarochirí were, so that people do not "ventriloquize" for nature. Listening for the rhythms of that world is needed. Missing from Haraway's essay are precisely the spirits of sacred place, specific locations for the constant re-negotiation of boundaries. Missing also from Haraway's vision is the group, the people to participate in a tradition of collective ritual and collective work. Perhaps the rhythmic is also missing. Hers is largely an analytic approach. The Andean approach coordinates (strings, loops, vibrates). Merleau-Ponty (1963,130) writes that

... Situation and reaction ... cannot be placed one after the other as cause and effect: they are two moments of a circular process .... The original character of a physiological field beyond the physical field-a system of directed forces- ... [and] of a second "system of stresses and strains" ... will have to be acknowledged.

If the physiological field "beyond the physical," and the complex, vital rhythms of the organization of the physical world, and mental alignments are to participate in an integrated field, that will happen when the "globally responsive" organism responds to occasions of stresses and strains ritually addressed. If the organism reacts primarily to causes, we remain on the flat planes of analysis.

Merleau-Ponty (1963) sees response as "geographical behavior"--the sum of the movements actually executed by the animals in their objective relation with their physical world. He sees behavior properly so called as these same "movements considered in their internal articulation" (130).

Organic individuals establish "dialectical rather than mechanical relations with" the physical world. The hypermediation that connects nature and culture does not require "returning to any form whatsoever of vitalism or animism." It requires a simple recognition that "the object of biology cannot be grasped without the unities of signification which a consciousness finds and sees unfolding in it" (161).

Wiracocha's movement as Milky Way, Wiracocha's movement as stellar sperm, his infusion as lake (cocha), Wiracocha as traveler of straight lines, as traveler downwards, as wanderer of the water ways, as fertilizing fat, as camelid, as smoke, as measure, as ceremonial pot, as nascent Being, enact multiple topologies, each an articulatable site of perception and narration, and each "hypermediating" biological behavior. As locus-loci, Wiracocha accomplishes achievements in perception of "mythic" reality, rhythms in the physical world that sometimes participatory human beings following ritual pathways help express. The figures on the plain are expressions of momentary, but nonetheless potentially momentous, thought that tropes figure and environment. The semantically saturated Wiracocha includes epithets that may translate as Lightning-Magic Hot-Flash, Thunder Clap, Fire-and-Smoke, Cat-Bird-Llama-Stone-Bisexual, Fat-Water of Life, Death Dealer, Shaper Teacher. Associated with the condor, with the serpent, with the jaguar or puma, with thermal rocks, the lake (cocha) of fat (wira, llama fat) is Cuni (can: "Hot") Raya ("flash"). Or, since can also means water, ²¹ the associations are performed among rocks that retain heat in a terrain so volcanic that, in many places, water is as hot as animal blood. The tempest deity, Wiracocha, unites world heat and blood. ²² A language knit into nature, dependent on changes in context, unites hot springs and warm blood and heat-retaining rocks, even if the uniting is done by freeplay bricoleur association on the part of human beings.

The poverty of the wandering gods of the Andes is thematic, as with Wiracocha of huarochirí. Cognate impoverished divinities appear in both Quechua and Aymara contexts. The word "Aymara" may contain a stem, "aym" that means poor. ²³Martínez (103) associates ragged people with the demonic activity of Andean rivers in the rainy season. The poverty indicates a way of being among people,[end p. 15] both for deities and for people. Poverty suggests a receptive rather than a projective habit of mind for people vis-a-vis cosmic energies.

To apply bone-poor, ragged, and wandering to the lines of Nazca and the cultures that drew, first the figures, then the lines across the desert can only be done by inference, by seeing them as acts of affiliation. But it is not difficult to point out how non-anthropocentric those lines are, how geotropic; how they pull "primal stuff' into presence.

Was it Tello (1921, 1923) who was first "guilty" of diffusionist thinking in South America? Is it an oddity to agree with Tello in thinking there to be the same, pan-Andean, or perhaps even pan-American set of associations appearing in different styles in diverse cultures, areas, and time periods, in Tiwanaku as well as Chavín? Certainly Carrión Cachot (1955) in her exhaustive study found close links among Chavín, Chimú, Moche, Paracas, Nasca [sic], Pachacamac, Rucana, Pukina, Chincha, and Inka civilizations. Szeminski traces "pan-andean words" to common phenomena and categories originating in the Tiwanaku- Wan empire and affecting the whole Andean area. ²⁴ The frog headdress of the Titicaca monolith, probably of Tiwanaku culture (500 B.c.-1500 A.D.), is totally congruent to a jaguar headpiece, since both frog and jaguar trope fertility and the presence of water. According to Tello, the Raimondi stela with its enormous headdress in the form of a jaguar (resonating to titi, cat) represents Wiracocha (Chavín, Northern Peru, circa 500 B.C.) ²⁵ In other words, the same symbols and the name of Wiracocha, rich in figure and narrative, appear through the centuries in many contexts.

A frog headpiece may not, of course, appear as an integrative symbol to peoples acclimated to lexical codes. The virtual identity of feline and frog would not be self-evident. Yet the croak of the cat, the roar of the frog, the crack of the fox, the growl of thunder, probably "troped" instantaneously in the world I am recreating, insofar as I can, "from within."

The two-facedness of many Andean monoliths could represent a counterpart of the lake with its markedly different countenances by sunlight and by moonlight. On occasion, the face of a monolith is divided into a white and a red half, or one face facing one way, the other face facing the other. One of Wiracocha's monoliths is represented as facing two ways. It "tropes" two pathways, two forms of illumination. One of the monoliths at Tiwanaku in the temple of the sarcophagus is colored half and half, the south half white, the north half red. In that the hands are held, one palm out, one palm in, the monument resonates with the famous hands in the ruins of Kotosh (circa 800 B.C.). The double cycle suggested by the color-divided visage, the two-way globalizing of a monolith looking fore and aft, the hands that signal both outwards and inwards all indicate tropes, the crossing of pathways, social pathways and geographical pathways.

Among Wiracocha's calendric functions (competently studied by others), two or divided facedness calibrates lunar and solar, nocturnal and diurnal, female and male, creation and destruction, hot and cold. The two facedness may represent two paths or ways as well. Wiracocha tropes savage (wild) and civilized (social and domesticated), readjusting the social to the natural. There is no one-to-one binary equivalence, I hope it is needless to say, since a binary equivalence would align lunar to female to wild.

Bouysse Cassagne (1987, 236) reads in the divided face (as in the two colored, red and white Tiwanaku monolith) a transition from savage to social. Striking in her argument is her reference to the nose as the axis of the face, the nose as mediating center (taypi). The nose is to the face as the Milky Way is to the sky (no humor intended; this is a topological trope in action). The body of the universe pumps through and paints on our (shared) bodies and tropes our (shared) stories. The interpretation of colors on earth is a reading of the macrocosm.

The conjunction of lake and water, silver and gold, white and red, surely has much to do with the famous rite of passage for EI Dorado or the Golden One among the Chibcha of Colombia. Richly and brightly dressed, bedecked with feathers and gold ornaments, the ruler and his people visited Lake Guatavita, surrounded by a ring of sacrificial fires that sparkled in the waves. The naked ruler, dipped in gold, set out with four companions on a raft. It the middle of the lake, the new ruler dove into the waters to wash off the powdered gold from his body.

The scene enacts the power of the ruler to return gold to the lake as a symbol of his maturity as a disseminator. He acts as a fertility god not only in the animal and vegetable worlds, and in the world [end p. 16] of the state, but in the mineral, in the meteorological, in the chromatic realms. Possibly the small blue stones of Tiwanaku that can be seen to make the slopes look watery are also a part of this one, widely dispersed, conjunctive ritual.

The assumption of social power requires that an Andean ruler trope history into geography, geography into history. He draws on, tropes from, the world of nature, enacts an emergence ceremony that is also a return: topos from, and topos to, topos, as it were, like the return of Wiracocha to Lake Titicaca, like the association of Wiracocha and weaving with babyishness, of Pacha and frogs with "babyish" renewal. Ceremonies of chicha (Randall, 1993) through wordplay trope together earth and camelid and corn beer cycle. The lake, the earth, the red, the white, the gold, all are eventful, troping figures, all the fat of the land and of the lake, seminal blood, yellow and red; the fertility of the natural world, the fertility of the social world. ²⁶

NOTES
1. A limpid explication of this phenomenon may be found in Berger (1972). De Certeau (1984) notes changes in cartograaphy from "tour" to the type of map most familiar to us today, with erased itineraries and "colonized" space.

2. Bourdieu (1977, 2) writes that "'Culture' is sometimes described as a map; it is the analogy which occurs to an outsider who has to find his way around in a foreign landscape and who compensates for his lack of practical mastery, the prerogative of the native, by the use of a model of all possible routes."

3.Working at first independently of one another, Denise Amold, Juan de Dios Yapita, Robert Randall, and myself have been exploring metaphorical and linguistic dimensions of Andean thought. Since I read Randall and the rest, the more I look for metaphorical relationships, the more I find, and the more I am obliged to others, such as Gabriel Martinez, all of whom cannot be mentioned. A perhaps not too compromised solution is to cite one work from each of the above that seems highly pertiinent and is not identified elsewhere in this paper: Arnold and Juan de Dios Yapita (1992); Columbus (1993); Bastien (1987); Randall (1987).

4. Paray is a tremendous tempest, according to González Holguín (1608), 279.

5. Paria means igneous rock, according to Bastien (1986); according to Father Pablo Joseph de Arriaga [1616], paria means mercury sulphide, vermilion powder rock. The red powders taken from the Huancavelica mercury mines are used extennsively in rituals. Like a shaman casting colored powders in four directions, so Pariaqaqa paints the sky with red and yellow plumes.

6. See Silverman and Browne (1991).

7. Eduardo Herran's infrared photographs reveal over a hundred more figures than those visible to the naked eye. Other Andean nations also have extensive geoglyphs; the locations are innumerable.

8. I have drawn primarily on the Gerald Taylor translation into Spanish (1987), referred to in this paper as huarochirí, because the Spanish translation appears opposite the Quechua text. The quotations are by chapter, page and line number. I have also drawn on Frank Salomon and George Urioste's translation into English (1991).

9. Kusch (1976, 33) draws on Ibarra Grasso to show that cause and effect does not direct pre-conquest Andean thought, but rather the notion of growth, huiñay, and a pervasive sense of insemination: " ... huiñay "significa crecimiento y también eternidad. Es más, me parecía que todo el pensar indígena se da en términos no causales sino seminales. Piensan haciendo crecer."

10. Anders (1986) notes the powers of grouped mountains to organize social space. She also singles out (1990, 19) the Huarochirí area as one of those locales macro-ethnically organized and remarks also that other types of macro-organizing mechanisms must have existed. Saignes (1990, 642) suggests that dances may also serve to reorganize space and peoples (specifically mentioning huarochirí: 635-657). Although I do not know the original name of the Cerro Blanco of the Nazca plains, that mountain too must have been embedded in a network of affiliations, since the pattern of mountain families in the Andes is so widely disseminated across civilizations. Consider, for example, Martínez (1989, 102) writing about contemporary northern Chile: "En las invocaciones se decía, por ejemplo: 'Machu Pumasani! Wayna Pumasani!' Esto, por lo que respecta a todos los cerros en general." La Paz, Bolivia, has the elder and the younger mountains Potosí; the famous Picchu pair --Machu and Waynu-- is another instance from Peru; uncle and nephew mountains are found in Cuenca, Ecuador. Although these toponyms probably date back to Inka times --these mountains are found along the route of the great, Inka high road, the Capac Ñan-- the phenomenon of a mountain family in huarochirf inndicates a far older concept.

11. Duviols (1978) finds celestial prototypes in Andean context that indicate shapes replicate across spheres.

12. Independently of one another, Herran, Beyersdorff, and myself concluded that mountain deities and loci are associated phenomena. At the "Andean Cosmologies" conference at Indiiana University (1988), I represented the mythic deity, Huatyacuri, as "performing" space: "Huatyacuri "interconnects biospheres. He joins geographies high and low; he traverses the terrain like loci from the heights where he overhears the conversation between foxes, through the domesticity of village[end p. 17] environs, until he returns to the wild. He performs climates (volcanic movement, tempest, lightning, and rainbow). He weds different agricultures (corn and potato)." Beyersdorff (forthhcoming) speaks of Andean visualization of space. Herran has been photographing the so-called "weary rocks" (piedras cansadas), in alignment with mountain peaks. In 1990 his photographs of Macchu Picchu hung in the New Museum in Lima.

13. See Braudel (1980) on Sorre. Haraway's (1992) work is also a noteworthy study of the limitations of the map.

14.Hawkins (1973), who worked out many interpretational options on the computer, argued the indeterminacy of the lines, although he later found some archaeoastronomical correlations. Morrison (1978, 171-178) considers the Andean lines or paths purposive individually, but random as a totality, insofar as we can know. Other excellent work on the lines are Aveni (1990); Silverman and Browne (1993); and Hadingham (1987).

15. Allen (1988, 106) indirectly links toposas site and topos as social concept, when she defines an ayllu not as a " ... group of coresidential people. An ayllu exists through the personal and intimate relationship that bonds the people and the place into a single unit. Only when Runakuna establish a relationship with a place by building houses out of its soil, by living there, and by giving it offerings of coca and alcohol is an ayllu established. The relationship is reciprocal."

16. González Holguín (1608), "Crecer animal o yerua, Viñani," 464; Lara (1968, 317) more generally, "Crecer v. Jatúnpay, winay."

17. Hadingham writes, "Water is a theme common to all these sacred forces: the mountains represent the origin of moisture .. .In fact, from the highest peaks down to the deepest underground streams, the Quechua view the entire landscape as if it were alive with supernatural forces, all fundamentally related to the flow of water," (258).

18. The phenomenon may not be strictly an Andean one. Derrida (1981, 69) points out linkage between location and locution in the Platonic dialogues, for example. "The topoi of the dialogue are never indifferent. The themes, the topics, the (common-) places, in a rhetorical sense, are strictly inscribed, comprehended each time within a significant site. They are dramatically staged, and in this theatrical geography, unity of place corresponds to an inf81lihle calculation or necessity."

19. Wagner (1986,80) defines obviation as "the evanescent condensation of a world of meanings into the moment of its realizaation. Obviation balances the world upon the moment."

20. Carpenter (1992, 121) gives a particularly telling example when he cites a "two heart" concept: "When the term for 'heart' was elicited while discussing body parts, the response was I may-jantakl 'which one?' ... One refers to the physical organ itself while the latter refers to the heart that 'ukupi tiyajunlsitsl exists on the inside.' The inside heart is most important to an individual's well-being."

21. Torero (1989, 226): "Por lo menos, tres componentes finales quedan facil y consistentemente explicados por esas fuentes: -con (-gon) 'agua' (Martínez Compañón, González: coñ, goñ), usada más ampliamente en el sentido de 'río.'''

22. The cognate deity, Pariaqaqa, is also associated with hot rocks: "Pariáqarqa" means roca calentador," according to Juan de Dios Yapita. Tedlock (1987) proffers a fascinating analysis of relationships among blood, dreams, shamanism, and lighttning. Moreover, Levi-Strauss (1966, 51) connects blood and communication over a distance described as great (or as small) as that between predator and prey.

23. Martínez (1983, 103) writes: "Pero ha de ser aquí donde creemos poder ubicar a los thanta jage (aymara: 'gente harapienta'), por ejemplo."

24. Szeminski (1986-93) argues that prayers and hymns recorded by the chroniclers open rare and accurate windows onto the pre-Hispanic Andean world. He writes: "Las palabras probablemente panandinas describen fenómenos comunes y categorías comunes para toda la civilización andina." And, on the song-cycles of Cajatambo and of Quzqu: "¿Ambas tuvieron su origen en el imperio Thiya Wanaku-Wari?" This question is surely rhetorical, given Szeminski's massive erudition and close attention to minutia.

25. Cited in Kauffmann Doig (1983, 246-247): "Tello veía en la Estela Raimondi una versión antigua del dios Wiracocha, en figura de jaguar, coronado por un enorme tocado." I believe, like Tello and Kauffmann Doig, that one very ancient principle --Wiracocha Pacha-- is embodied in many representations.

26. The analyses of Zuidema on color (1983), and on Andean spatial design (1973), are fundamental to this as to so many other of the topics dealt with in this essay.

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RESUMEN
El concepto topografía en varias culturas andinas preecolombinas significaba un sitio físico, expresivo y dinámico, y a la vez, una figura linguística y retórica. Los dos significados involucraban --y involucran aún-- una versión de "mapa" no usual en el mundo técnico-industrial moderno. [end p. 20]