Montezuma's Well
I was a few miles outside of Sedona, Arizona and headed south to Phoenix when my friend texted "Bring me back some dirt from Sedona!"
I googled the closest park and "Montezuma's Well" popped up on by navigation. I had intended to find a simple community park with a bench to sit for a moment and journal. The universe had different intentions.
I came across a footprint in the cement. I thought about the fact that whoever stepped there, wasn't "supposed" to. And yet, here it is. Preserved.
I wondered if across the world, wherever there are stone markings, were they vandalizing? Were they "stepping outside" of the lines?
Here we are, preserving the rebels footsteps. The rebels are the ones who step outside the lines, who leave a mark. The conservative point fingers and build fences and tell the rebels to conform- and the rebels don't. They push the edges of the leading edge. Then time goes by, generations pass, and the conservatives of the day and age build fences around the rebels marks- preserving them for the world to see. Preserving and protecting them with the message: "This is a representation of how it really was. The rebel who knew something more, created something bigger, changed something for the better." Conservatives and Rebels... we each have our part to play.
As is often the case, when I entered the sacred place, a hush of reverence fell over me. There's a tangible shift in the energy. A gentleness that flows in like tide water. Over the years I've learned to recognize the subtle difference that is a sign "others" are there. "I'm here." I whisper.
Is death really just a threshold that we step over as we shift into living the lives we choose to? Am I walking in the 21st century while they are still living in a dimension of their time like stacked pancakes and we are aware of one another- sensing something around us we can't quite find- trapped in our own time?
I see their homes- homes that are built at the sacred well- a miracle oasis in the desert of Arizona, and imagine them living in these rock structures; tending fires, cooking food, watching the sky through the doorway.
What would it be like to look at the stars reflecting off of the sacred well?
The indigenous tell of the water monster who lived here. What did they know that has been lost to modern day?
Is it human nature to want to leave a part of us behind on this planet- some homage to the fact that we lived? Is this why we write, create art, vandalize, have children?
Something somewhere that testifies to our existence- a mark in the universe saying "See me." Are we all afraid of being forgotten?
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