Standing on a Corner in Sedona, Arizona

On a 95-degree evening about eight years ago, I sat with my future ex-wife in the Coffeepot Restaurant in Sedona, Arizona. During the previous two days we had trekked through three of the four most well-known vortex sites in the area: Cathedral Rock, Bell Rock, and Airport Mesa.

Thus far, the most spiritually uplifting moment I had experienced occurred when the Coffeepot waitress delivered my chicken chimichanga.

The vortex experience is big business in Sedona. Shops abound featuring Native American and New Age paraphernalia. Tours visit the main and lesser vortexes (the locals never say vortices) and offer shamanic rituals, geomancy, totemism, and psychic revelation. What impressed me about these places was the total commitment of the people working there—they were all true believers. If they displayed any negative attitude at all, it may have been the frustration of dealing with tourists who regarded their spiritual places as must-sees in the tour book.

I had tried to approach the vortex visits with an open mind. I’d found all three--especially Cathedral Rock--to be aesthetically rewarding, but devoid of any revivifying energy. Two long hikes we had taken, through Oak Creek Canyon and Red Rocks (I had to throw away the socks) State Park had been the highlights of the visit. I do remember, however, the surprising ease with which we hiked for ten miles at 8600 feet in 100-degree weather. We barely perspired.

One vortex remained…Boynton Canyon. It is a bit more remote than the others, and draws fewer accidental tourists. The energy center is said to dwell near a rock formation called "The Lovers." I was by now totally skeptical, wondering how I’d let myself half-believe what I had read.

Two women were also hovering near the formation. As we spoke quietly to one, the other walked down a barely perceptible path through some scrub. She called to us, "It feels different over here." We walked over to join her.

No one spoke. Gradually, a breeze began to flow down the hillside. As it increased in intensity, its sound grew more pronounced: loud, but yet gentle. It washed over us like a waterfall. I have no idea how long it lasted—it could have been thirty seconds, it could have been five minutes. I do know that no one moved or spoke until it whispered to a stop. "What was that?" someone (it might have been me) asked.

That was it. No discovery of a power animal, no spiritual healing, no psychic revelation. But something happened on that ledge, something positive. I still am able to summon the experience after eight years, and it never fails to lift me up.