Two Visions, One Presence
January 5, 2009
Sedona, Arizona –
It is late afternoon and I sit in wonder on the ledge of a red sandstone cliff, taking in the immense view of the Verde Valley and Sedona. Looking out across a juniper and pinyon forest I see ships of stone sailing across the valley floor. Through my eyes beneath my eyes there is not a house in sight, no roads, no sightseers in helicopters, no shopping centers. I followed the footprints of a doe in damp red soil between clumps of live oaks, thin pinyon pines and solitary twisted junipers, among manzanita bushes, prickly pears and hardy desert grasses thriving in the wetness of last night’s winter rain. The tracks disappeared as her muddy prints eroded upon the hard red stone shelf. This shelf where I now sit silently, still, humbled by nature’s miracle.
Breathing as quietly as I can, my mind still, listening to the call of a jay, I squat, barefoot in the frigid air, feeling the pleasure of the cold stone against my soles rising to the warmth of my heart as I connect deeply to Mother Earth. I allow my eyes to rise beyond the sailing ships, up higher to the Mogollon Rim, where snow-frosted ponderosas march along the plateau to the valley’s crisp and precipitous edge. Just touching the tops of the trees, dark grey clouds move swiftly in wisps gathering themselves in preparation for another active night above this sacred Arizona land. I drink in the vision of the fiery red earth and the green and grey chapparal below me, while through the tops of bare grey sycamores and cottonwoods Oak Creek is revealed briefly, glinting with a metallic shimmer in the filtered winter sunlight. Earth, air, fire, water. I am home. I am one.
In this moment I am simply, uniquely present. Here. Now. Now. Now. Now.
The sun moves, the sky darkens.
I am startled by the sound of an airplane approaching quickly overhead. Twisting my head around I watch as the plane arcs very close above me to the south of my perch. I can see the pilot through the window of his door focusing on his flight path. He is wearing a baseball cap and large headphones. Wow! That’s close! Immediately I notice a feeling of separateness. I am here. He is there. My body feels the shift right away. The air seems colder and so do my feet. I tuck them into the creases of my knees to warm them. I feel the wind pick up sharply. Is that a snowflake on my cheek? Houses appear below the cliffs, a noisy truck climbs the mountain road, hikers talk on a trail below me.
I take a deep breath. The scent of these high desert aromatics fill my lungs with astringent clarity. My mind clears as well, and again I am alone with nature. Yet something has changed. I feel my unique presence, but I also feel the unique presence of the pilot, the people in the houses, the driver of the truck, the hikers on the trail, the juniper growing near where I’m sitting, the jay, the deer. Through my rooted body, connected to this sandstone cliff that has been revered as sacred for untold generations, I feel connected to all around me. I breathe in. I feel my uniqueness. I breathe out and look around me at the landscape free from the work of human hands. I breathe in and feel my uniqueness. I breathe out and see again the evidence of centuries of human interaction with this place. I breathe in again and the two visions merge into one. One. One. One. Unity. Presence. God. Who I am.
Smiling, I rise to climb down to my waiting beloved, grateful for this birthday gift. Thank you Carolyn. Thank you Sedona.
