January 2022
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I’m hiking in Boynton Canyon near Sedona, Arizona, and the woman behind me is berating her husband for not warning her to wear hiking boots, speaking to him in a voice which tells of ongoing bitterness, a voice which discourages calm discussion on the matter. It’s at this point I realize that the theory of Boynton Canyon being devoid of male-female tension because of its ‘vortex’ is in error. Either that or we haven’t reached the vortex yet, the place where soothing energy is supposedly oozing out of the earth. Yesterday, the owner of Sedona’s Center for the New Age—a shop full of crystals, tarot cards, flute music and dreamy-eyed patrons—enlightened me on the various energy vortexes around Sedona. The owner, a woman in her late-50s, a fellow Canadian, told me that the vortex energy of Boynton Canyon is special. “There are two types of energies coming from the rocks: magnetic (female) and electric (male). Boynton Canyon has both,” she said. “It's balanced, so you'll notice people there are calm. There's no male-female tension in Boynton Canyon.” Wow, I’d said. Couples on the brink of divorce should hang out there. It could save a lot on lawyer fees. “As for the other three vortex sites,” the woman continued, “Cathedral Rock is magnetic and therefore feminine. The energy at Bell Rock is so powerful, you’ll notice it before getting out of your car. The Airport Vortex is masculine,” she said, “so watch out. The strength of it might knock you over.” My first impression of Sedona was that this peculiar little Arizona town, halfway between Phoenix and the Grand Canyon, shouldn’t be a town at all. With its towering red rock formations, hoodoos, buttes and spires rising out of the crimson earth into brilliant blue skies and its canyons and mountain forests of pinon and juniper trees, Sedona is entirely too majestic for people actually to get to live there. It should have been staked out by Teddy Roosevelt to become one of the Western national parks.
SEDONA, AZ I’d first heard about Sedona at a remote campground south of Sedona called Verde Hot Springs where my husband and I had camped for six days. The campground local hippies made jokes about Sedona's tourists, but at the same time, each had a story to tell in support of Sedona's mystical reputation. Around a fire, a camper offered his vortex expertise, claiming that one vortex takes something away from you that you want but gives you back something you need. “Hey, kind of like the Rolling Stones song,” I’d offered. Another vortex overwhelms you with so much energy you might get sick; another puts you to sleep, another vortex strips you of your beliefs. I smiled and nodded politely, pretending I didn't think him a total flake. Sedona was entirely different from other Arizona towns we’d visited, places like Bisbee and Patagonia, old-fashioned towns with real people who have real jobs, but perhaps, I reflected, it’s only right that screwballs have their own town. All the talk of altered states and parallel universes was a turnoff, but I was curious about the vortexes. I suggested to my husband Rob that instead of ditching Sedona immediately, we go searching for energy sites. The vortex woman said that the best way to feel the vortex energy was to go on a guided trek. Since guides are on a “higher level of spiritual consciousness,” you have a more powerful experience. At $250, I figured Rob and I could find the vortexes on our own and maybe eavesdrop on a guided tour, let leftover sacred energy spill onto us. Surely the Earth wouldn't care who had forked out cash and who hadn't. As I left, the vortex .... |
