Sedona, Arizona

[Jill Paris was recently published in the Travelers' Tales anthology, The Best Travel Writing 2009. Currently a graduate student at USC in the Master of Professional Writing program, she's working on a collection of short travel stories for her thesis, including this story which explores the alleged spiritual properties of Sedona's famous vortexes.]   { Go to Part 1 now }

Saturday, September 27, 2008 - 10:00 a.m. in search of Bell Rock Vortex

"It doesn't look like a bell to me," my mom said when we approached the backside. "It looks like a crown. They should name it Crown Rock."

On that early September morning we found the trail's entrance and I definitely felt something pulling at my insides, but kept silent for fear of cynical backlash. We began the 2.1 mile hike with Mom kicking and screaming.

"I can't walk that far!"

"Sure you can. We'll go slowly."

"Honey, are you tryin' to deny me gettin' old?"

I diverted her attention along the journey pointing to distant rock formations, large birds circling overhead, anything to keep her moving toward Bell Rock.

We mostly had the path to ourselves. Occasionally a hiker would pass, usually accompanied by a tail-wagging dog. The strangers all spoke first with a hearty "Good morning!" I looked down and noticed huge red ants building a tunnel and felt badly I may have stepped on a few.

[Photo, left: Nearing the foot of Bell Rock.]

As we neared Bell Rock's base, I suddenly broke free like a thoroughbred thundering down the homestretch. I was honest to God running and I am not an athlete. My endurance soon gave out which turned to fast walking and heavy panting. I was still racing in my mind though. Being in the presence of Bell Rock felt like overdosing on cherry Kool-Aid.

I'd wait for my mom to catch up around each turn. On the last bend I heard her chatting with someone the way she always does. You can detect her southern drawl from quite a distance. She'd struck up conversation with a woman who'd just moved to Sedona from somewhere cold. The lady said heading down a fork in the road, "You've got a great mom."

I smiled and said, "Thanks."

What? No vortex bashing?

At the base point where the flat rock turns to mountain, I told my mom I'd be right back. I'm sure her last words were, "Be careful." I bounded up the slope stepping into crevices, which looked too small for my sneakers, but never faltered. I made excellent time and stayed moving in a rhythmic, constant motion. I was like a mountain goat bouncing up Bell Rock's face. When I got to the half-way point I noticed little piles of rock sculptures left by previous climbers scattered around the clearing.

I looked down and could see my mom at the bottom and waved. She didn't wave back though. She had her hand up shading her eyes like a visor. I knew she was straining to catch a glimpse of me. I'd told her she'd need her sunglasses. Oh, I wish she'd seen me. I wish she'd seen how high I'd climbed.

After a short time on the descent, without warning, I plopped down like a two-year-old in a sandbox. The need to connect with the soil, to feel my skin against the rosy dirt, overcame me. I sat very still for a few moments. The breeze was my only companion. I swear it felt like the Earth stopped rotating for a minute.

Deny my mother getting old? Maybe I had ignored the reality that she's shrunk in the last couple of years; or that her muscle tone has vanished and she now wears size 2 jeans; or when she forgets that she's just told me something or repeats the same sentence three times. Her mother suffered from dementia. Witnessing a loved one forget everything is unfathomable. I remember Mom visited my grandmother every day for the last three years of her life before she passed.

"She's never even said my name," my mom would lament. "It's like she doesn't even know me."

Determined to combat any hereditary memory loss she read that if an elderly person keeps their mind active daily the cognitive action can decrease the onset of dementia. I wish I had a dollar for every 1,000 piece jigsaw puzzle she's completed in the last eight years.

Looking out across the desert floor below, it hit me. I don't want to watch her mind slip sideways. I'll offer this plea to the mighty forces of Bell Rock with all of my being and maybe she'll stay just as she is now, forever. I can't imagine her ever not knowing my name.

I reached for little stones and built a commemorative monument. Each rock I selected formed a perfect pyramid. I never once had to question the size or discard any that didn't fit. I felt a sudden abandonment of doubt and a mental clarity I'd never felt before. The wind blew steadily at that altitude, but not invasively. Tears welled up in my eyes as I dusted the powdery red dust from my skirt and headed back down, keen to be near her.

As I got closer to where she was standing she ran over to me, frightened.

"Honey, I cried," she said wide-eyed.

"Were you scared I'd never come down? I'm so sorry!"

Now I felt bad for building that little rock pile.

"No, it was nothin' like that. Come `ere!! Look!!"

She grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward an isolated, twisted Juniper tree.

"I was standin' right here and then all of a sudden, my eyes started burnin' and the next thing I knew, I was cryin'. I started thinkin' about Uncle Tommy and Sherry and Papa, and how much I miss `em. I talked to `em...out loud!"

[Photo, right: Twisted juniper where mom talked to her dead relatives.]

"They didn't answer, did they?"

"No, but I sure felt `em here with me. It was like they were sayin' 'hello.'"

I swear my mom's pace was quicker than I'd seen her walk in years. She carried a large stick like John Muir trekking the Sierras. I followed behind her, smiling idiotically. She was the energetic mom from my youth. The mom I'd pleaded to watch me dive off the high-board countless times during summers at the club or view my amateur stylings at the ice rink. How many of those lay-back spins did she suffer through? She said that was my favorite trick and often bragged to the other mothers that my back leg's position was "prettier than Peggy Fleming's."

Before long, Mom claimed that Joseph, the Father of Christ, could be seen in nearby cliffs and actually stopped passersby pointing where to look. Nobody else could see him. She was convinced he was etched into the Sedona rocks, right next to the Bell Rock vortex. There was something so heartfelt in her spiel, too. She could have seriously talked you into joining a cult.

Sunday, September 28, 2008 - 9:00 a.m.

Angel Lighfeather was already waiting for me in the motel's lobby. Her pleasant demeanor and long flowing hair looked exactly like her website photo. She wore a turquoise-blue straw cowboy hat and lots of silver jewelry. The uniform of Sedona psychics, I guess.

Suddenly, my mom appeared with hot rollers all over her head.

"So this is Angel!" Mom interrupted.

I'm sure she'd come out to jot down the license plate in case I'd turn up missing after my psychic reading.

"Would you like to come with us?" Angel Lighfeather asked.

"Oh, no. Y'all have fun."

After consulting with me in her Suburban truck, she "got a feeling" we should be near water and announced we'd be heading to Cathedral Rock. She spent fifteen minutes going over my astrological chart she'd printed prior to our meeting. Over the telephone I'd relayed the date, time and location of my birth so she could zero in on my spiritual path, no doubt.

We drove west on Highway 89A and soon turned down a winding road. As the car surged right a stunning panorama appeared like the unexpected drop of the Grand Canyon. I pictured my mom choking down mediocre waffles back at the motel alone.

"I want to bring my mom here," I said softly getting my camera out.

Angel knew when to slow the car down so I could take photos. She was sweet that way.

The sign read, "Crescent Moon Park." Tall arching trees provided ample shade around the teeming grassy area. Families and dogs were already a part of the glorious Sunday morning. She gathered up a satchel and directed me toward the creek's path. Not more than five minutes later she remarked, "I hope I can find the portal."

Intrigued, I wondered what this would look like. Maybe it was a tiny gateway leading to an invisible cave? She told me sometimes she couldn't find it with certain clients.

"Here it is!" Angel shouted.

[Photo, left: The twisted tree trunk forms the "portal" to Cathedral Rock Vortex.]

She had me stand beneath the curved trunk of what looked to be an ancient tree from Mordor. The vibration made me giddy and reminded me of the time I took magic mushrooms at a Styx concert in 1979.

"You're glowing," Angel said.

I didn't doubt her for a second. I was definitely feeling psychedelic. She grabbed my camera and snapped a photo before I had to ask. Strangely, I positioned myself in a cartwheel stance with my arms overhead and could not stop touching the aged bark. It felt like my limbs were its limbs.

Pressing onward, the trees had thickened along the trail and the temperature got very cool. Rounding a tree-lined bend, we came upon hundreds of piled rock creations similar to those at Bell Rock only these were made from rounder stones and piled much higher.

"This is Buddha Beach," she told me spreading a blanket next to a cove. The water rushed over the creek's boulders and a tiny sandy island was visible in the center. I heard a strange bird's cry. I bent down and picked up a tiny clam-shaped sea shell.

"You were a mermaid in a past life," she said nonchalantly.

That made sense. I often pretended to be a mermaid in our neighbor's pool as a kid.

She had me take off my shoes and stand on the islet surrounded by the creek's slow-moving waters. She banged a little Indian drum, chanting something in a language I'd never heard, while I stood palms up facing Cathedral Rock Vortex. It was hard to keep from laughing. At $180 an hour I suddenly felt a little foolish. I closed my eyes and calculated the psychic reading bill was somewhere around the price of those Manolo Blahnik Mary Jane pumps I'd seen at Neiman-Marcus.

Leaving the parking lot, Angel said, "Your mom should have come with us."

I agreed and then told her about her Joseph sighting.

"Oh, yes," Angel replied emphatically. "He's there all right."

[Photo, right: Nearing sunset at Cathedral Rock.]

Sunday, September 28, 2008 - minutes before sunset

I knew the sunset over Cathedral Rock would be illuminating, but never had natural beauty seemed to make me want to sell all my possessions and live in a tent right there alongside that creek. I wanted to show my mom the U-shaped tree and have her stand inside the portal. I wanted to tell her to meet me there someday, but couldn't get the words out.

"I don't feel anything," she said crouching below the grooved trunk.

The setting sun cast a twinkling orb of light between the boughs. Maybe I'd sucked all the power out earlier? I reached up and plucked a thin branch from the tree. I stood beside her, yet said nothing. Clutching the leaves like prayer beads I stroked the feather-shaped foliage in the hopes it had magical powers. I wondered if she'd ever tell me "hello" if I came back to this strange place without her.

As the sun went away we slowly walked back to the car. I don't think she sensed I was crying.

"Those damn bugs are back," Mom said looking up. "It's like they wait for an audience."

I was glad to hear them for once. I wiped my eyes and put my arm around her bony shoulders.

"I'm gonna miss `em," I said.

"I'm gonna miss these rocks," she said glancing back for one, last look.

{ Go to Part 1 }

Article and photos, © 2009, Jill Paris. Permission is required for reproduction.