Red rocks, energy vortices and aliens

T's dad and son are tiny specks on the red rocks of Sedona

"This is the most beautiful place on earth. There are many such places. Every man, every woman, carries in heart and mind the image of the ideal place, the right place, the one true home, known or unknown, actual or visionary.... [T]here's no limit to the human capacity for homing sentiment."

--Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire.

I'm willing to travel almost anywhere, but not every place is recognizable as home. England felt that way, but not Spain. Montana is my natural habitat, but not northern California. I burrowed into the Adirondacks like a second skin, but south China felt like sandpaper underwear.

I loved Sedona.

Once I'd spent enough time in Montana, I revised my definition of potential homes somewhat radically. I could not, I insisted, ever be happy living long-term in a place lacking grizzly bears. Black bears were insufficient; one required grizzly bears to truly feel raw, exposed, and alive in a place. That was before The Great Unraveling and the associated relocations, of course. But I still held that any place I'd live after Indiana had to have the grizz. That was the litmus test.

There are no grizzly bears in northern Arizona anymore, but no matter. The past lingers so strongly in the red rocks that you can almost feel the grizzly wandering about as it did long ago. And given the intensely colorful, elegant landscape, I probably would have let my bear requirements slide anyway.

But I have to think that what really drew me to the place was, as in Montana, the unapologetic weirdness of its residents. For example, Sedona is home to a strain of New Age thinking holding that the area boasts the largest number of energy vortices in the world.

What the hell is that, you no doubt want to know. I'm pleased you asked. I like this explanation:

What exactly is an energy vortex? There is no convincing answer to that question, the only common thread being that they are spots of increased energy. Some people use terms such as “magnetic,” “electrical,” or “electromagnetic” to refer to this energy, but I have heard of no scientific measurements that indicate any unusual electromagnetic activity in the area. Even if there were, it’s not clear how human beings would be able to sense it directly. Others say it’s nothing of the sort, that it’s psychic energy of some kind, which explains why it can’t be measured. But the energy is nearly always described using the term “subtle,” with the promise that you will feel it “if you are a sensitive person.” In my less charitable moments, I suspect “sensitive” is meant as a euphemism for “credulous,” but you can make up your own mind.

But there's more. Once you've processed the energy vortices, then you must move on to the aliens. And that's not just Sedona -- all of northern Arizona appears to be positively lousy with extraterrestrials. I took this photo in Flagstaff:



I know those are the two most important things I look for in potential lodging.

I do have one lingering concern about living year-round in the red rock desert: the desert fauna I refer to as The Crunchies. Actual conversation:

Me: There's only one problem living here full-time, particularly in the summer.
T: What's that?
Me: The Crunchies.
T: The what?
Me: The Crunchies. You know, the scorpions. The tarantulas. The giant centipedes. I can't deal with those.
T: What about the snakes?
Me: Those are easy. If I find a snake in the shower, I just call you.*
T: Why can't you just call me if you find a scorpion in the shower?
Me [yelping and shuddering]: Oh, God, don't even talk about it.
T: [grinning] I could just step on it! [makes crunching noise as he mimics stepping on something large]
Me: LalalalalalalalaIcan'thearyouLalalalalalala!

Ewww. If I could figure out the Crunchies, I'd be off to Sedona in a flash. Till then, I'll spend winters there when the Crunchies are hiding, perhaps in an energy vortex.

Pics are available here, even if you're not on facebook.



*T is a self-taught herpetologist with extensive knowledge and experience in snake handling. No, really. I'm serious.