Sunset and Serenity
From timeless Sedona
Our guide carefully uncovered an ancient Hopi flute from his patterned cloth bag. Mellifluous strains broke the quiet hush of the rocky landscape. Is that what he had meant by ‘conversing’ with Nature? “You can also absorb Earth’s energy through a medicine-wheel ritual,” he intoned.
Having driven 300 miles from glitzy Las Vegas with the aid of a GPS handheld, all this seemed surreally New Age to me.
The evening sun slanted upon the massive canyon walls, setting the red rocks afire. Stony ramparts enveloped the lush forest of ponderosa pines and juniper trees mottled by bristly agaves and cacti that that endured the elements for centuries. A scrambling climb ahead lay a knoll and Larry Sprague armed just with a pair of dousing rods, led us to just where that alluring power of Nature had become stronger.
I was in Red Rock country, atop a hillock facing Boynton Canyon in mystical Sedona, 110 miles north of Phoenix. By the mouth of the ancient 16-mile gorge of the Oak Creek Canyon, this place reveled in beauty and mystique. Endless red rocks, more ancient than the Grand Canyon stared down at us in the evening sun. Here in exotic Sedona, mystics armed with crystals and esoteric paraphernalia call upon those energies that emanate from within the earth.
A tour-guide had jokingly bantered how the residents preoccupied a good part of their lives naming rocks. Some of these names had stuck; some went by sobriquets peculiar to the tour company. There was Snoopy Rock – a beagle-shaped stone massif lying on its back, with little Woodstock perched on his face. Chimney Rock was actually a clump of three separate rock-faces jutting against the blue sky. Coffeepot Rock was of course shaped like a huge percolator. Capitol Butte, part of the Thunder Mountain range is shaped like its Washington counterpart.
Geological activity including volcanic eruptions and constant erosion activity of water and winds had carved ancient dunes and swamps into these wonderful shapes. Rich iron oxide had baked these massifs into their reddish hues. Oak Creek is probably one of the oldest creations that also sculpted the buttes and canyons of today.
It was dusk and the relentless winds howled past my Airport Mesa perch. The somber red rocks wrapped in silence loomed above the mottle of human civilization that had sprawled below over the recent years.
“Did you feel that energy?” Larry asked me as the strains of the flute lilted in the winds.
As far as the eye could see, tawny cliffs sprang from the buff desert floor. The wind sang through those fathomless canyons – I found it really hard to now resist that call.
In my new book Rambles into Sacred Realms: Exploring Divinity through Pen and Paint, I invite readers to experience such adventure illustrating my travels.