Sedona and Bell Rock
Phoenix, Arizona is a sprawled and flat city across a flat and sparse land. Downtown feels like Las Vegas without all the gambling and neon gimmickry.
My hotel was within walking distance to the conference center- but I opted to drive, based on the bars on the windows of the gentrified outskirts off the main business hubs and unsure of what time I would be leaving the conference- wondering if it was wise to walk alone as a woman down unknown streets after dark.
The second morning of my stay, which was also the last day of the conference, I lounged in the hotel lobby waiting for valet, when an idea flew through my mind like a bird across the sky; a vision of me sitting at Bell Rock in Sedona, Arizona; playing my thousand year old Ancient Singing bowl. It dawned on me that I had free time to make it there and back before my flight the next afternoon.
At risk of being late to the business training with Keira Brinton of JOA Publishing, my past publisher, I cancelled my last night at the hotel while I wadded up my clothes like newspaper and jammed them into my suitcase. Already dressed for the day- who cared if everything was wrinkled from here on out.
Later that night, as the sun dipped below a black horizon, I was driving along the highway, noticing that Arizona skies truly are turquoise at twilight- a sensation we miss in mountain flanked valleys like Utah. Our twilight is purple.
Checking in to the resort, I asked the concierge if she had any suggestions.
"I want to connect with the land. I do shaman work." It was in that moment, I realized how freeing it was to be in a place known as a spiritual mecca. I could say things plainly with out judgement or a blank stare in response.
"Oh!" The blond middle aged woman perked up. "Of course!" She provided a paper map and shared a list of vortexes in the area as well as directions to the Tibetan Temple nearby. "It will be 24 degrees in the morning by the way- so dress warm. Once the sun comes up, everything is great though." It was then that I noticed I had forgotten to toss my dress shoes into the rapidly packed bag with the morning urgency.
The sun was cresting behind a red rock tower as I woke, and within minutes I was driving along the road with my paper map to the Bell Rock Trailhead-the cast of sunlight painting the rocks with splashes of orange brought tears to my eyes.
I had the wrong shoes. Sparkly, dress sandals offered little grace from the gravel trail as my bare toes froze. Wind was ribbons of ice across my checks and its slivers pierced my naked feet.
My nose dripped from the cold and the chirping welcome of an unknown bird welcomed me as I walked up the ten minute path. Early Thursday morning, very few others were on the trail and I was grateful the chilled breeze kept many fragile tourists in bed. Looking forward to the solitude of the vortex.
I noticed that the few other people I passed by were bundled in hiking boots, scarves, and Pendleton puffy jackets; a stark contrast to a woman who had packed light clothing for a business retreat.
There's nothing quite like the gentle heat that soaks across the cold as the violet shadows recede like a window shade being lifted. I took my sandals off and let my icy feet feel the icy rock, with sunlight across my cheeks and face, I faced the sun the way I used to face my grandmothers fire place in childhood.
My red bear skin rattle shook and shivered with my hand held high as I opened sacred directions. East, South, West, North, East; the circle.
I called to the ancient spirits who had nurtured and protected the land, I called to the Light expression of Kokopeli. I called to those unknown who still serve and have served the land. I spoke to my ancestors, my highest self, Great Creator. I asked for clarity and guidance, to receive the miracles I claimed in the conference.
I asked for support and resources to walk the path I know I'm called to pursue. I asked that any fear in me be released and let go, that I am open to receive what I felt inspired to dream of. I offered my love and respect. I told the dimensional ones that there are still like me who know they exist. I shared with them that there are still those of us here- doing the shamanic work.
I sat cross legged upon the iron rich rock and played the antique bowl. I sang the shaman song. Harmonizing with the bowl, throat singing like Tibetan monks do. My eyes closed, noticing that from time to time I could hear other hikers passing yards away. I felt free. Free to be weird- because I would never see any of these people again. Free to be me- in my "weirdness" with no repercussions of being outcast- the way I have often been misunderstood in the conservative community I was raised in.
I completed the sacred process and reversed the ceremony. I made my way down the decline. A steep section was before me and I felt wary with my slippery sandals. Some people were ahead of me, and paused. The man in an avocado green coat and wool sherpa beanie asked; "Excuse me, would you be willing to share about your ceremony we witnessed?" His female friend stood trembling with cold next to him- similarly bundled in warm clothing.
"I'm happy to. Would you please give me a hand climbing down here? I wore the wrong shoes for this."
He was happy to help.
I shared about the history of the ancient bowls. The miracle of how a cache of them was found at the back of a Nepali cave after an earthquake that had been hidden since the 1950's, and how the bowl I was holding was made of seven metals including gold, silver, and copper.
The strangers let me play the bowl for them and place it upon their backs- behind their heart chakras. I was touched when the man began to hum and chant "Om" as the bowl sang.
It was sacred. It was serendipitous. We are strangers on the trail. He is from Baltimore, she is from Colorado. For five minutes of our lives, we crossed paths literally and offered and received a moment of spiritual connection. Again, freedom. Freedom to share truth and be who we are openly. With gratitude and honor we said goodbye. "I wish you a blessed life." He spoke with a nod as we parted.
I went one way, the couple went another. As they did, I overheard the woman's voice trickling through the trees "Did you feel the vibrations? That was crazy..." drifting away.
The peculiar birdsong accompanied me again as I meandered to my rental car in the parking lot. I carried the bowl cradled in my arms and a deep sense of reverence and gratitude in my soul.
Feeling began searing back into my feet as warming air poured over them in the cab of my rented SUV, and I googled where to find good hot coffee. Oak Creek Espresso popped into my Maps and I remembered the concierge at the resort mentioning it- so off I went in that direction. Oblivious that I was making my way into another destiny meeting with more strangers who I was meant to meet.
See that story here: Oak Creek Espresso
Find me in Utah at my Wellness Studio Sage Canvas Sage Canvas
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