Twas hot again, sweat and minute
drippings catching at the creases, the morning barely at 9am.
“Do you know where you are going?”
“Sure.”
“Is it somewhere to the north?”
“Most assuredly.” There was hardly any space in the parking lot
when he arrived, a thin coat of dust already settling across the front of the
Land Rover as much as the scrub-brush and cactus around him, the very words
Karen had left him with seeming to carry as his only guide.
Vortexes, life, Arizona – what did
the world know of the make believe??
So here he was, hot boots, short
pants. He wondered at what the Edo
Japanese would have made of this same trek, equal mountain loving folks that
they were. Sedona, the land of the Red
Rocks - There was something particularly alluring about the thought
of finding a place where a break in the earth was said to split open and carve
up the very air around it.
“Are
you sure you don’t want anyone to go with?”
“Or
at least a guidebook?” Andy, always the
prankster, butting in when it wasn’t needed.
Vortexes,
sun life; what else then could he find? Yes, it had been one of those years for
all of him.
“No,
no, I should be ok, just don’t ruin for me what I can find up there.” He took another swig from his canteen, glancing
further around.
The
entire way up he had seen the trail crowded thick with people, every seventh or
eight with a yellow guide book clutched deep under one armpit. Yet as he walked through the red rocks of the
canyon, he couldn't help shake the feeling that something was off – perhaps he
would see a man with a knife? They had
warned him back at camp to keep his head.
“The
very air gets to you, man!,” one of the taller old-timers had said. There had
been mustard on his mustaches.
Still,
he had to admit that maybe the fellow was on to something. The landscape seemed to shift and swirl
around him, and he found himself focusing in on details that he normally would
have overlooked - a single bush, a rock, a local bird flying overhead.
Light,
shade, shadow, the rocks – the utter red of the iron stuck for a hundred
thousand million whatever.
Was
that a saguaro on the distance, waving (or just wavering?) in the morning fug?
Despite
his mounting nervosa, Ezekiel remained determined to continue forward - he had
come too far to turn back now, and he knew that he had to see this through to
the end.
“Pardon
me sir!” A tall debutant had said,
pushing close.
“Outta
my way!” a sharply dressed boyscout, forging ahead.
“Excusse!”
came the hashish of a sure footed Italian.
Up
and up he wound, wondering again and again if Karen had been right.
Was
he on the right track?
He
had never been the type to examine a guidebook, wasn’t yet sure if the nearest
twists and bends really were taking him deeper into the canyon, or out of it; another
tip of the hipping flaska, another hard trudge forward, up.
“Half
an hour more!” said a couple on his
right, give a thumbs up.
“Fifteen
more my kind sir!” an Australian, he
could have sworn it.
Nothing
was off, the heat was just getting to him a tad was all, the fact it had been
forty minuets longer already than he had hoped or suspected, up, another few
steps, further up.
Boyston
Canoyn. Back at camp they had told him this
was the real center of it, the real place where the nights would linger,
and sometimes clocks would run..
(What
was off, nothing is off, all is fine, something is off what was off, what was..)
So
out he had came, on he had trudged, the weight of the year starting to slide
off, no, nothing was off up here, his sister had been wrong, he continued on until
he saw…no cyotes at least, nothing much to worry off, no ginkos, no sloths, no
worries other than the…other than the…
The
lines.
The
lines?
It
was then that he spotted what his deeper animal cortex had been warning him for
the last half hour, maybe more, the sheer audacity and size of it.
There
were regular lines
“Huh,”
was the best he could manage. The rocks
and trees seemed to be arranged in strange, straight lines radiating out from somewhere,
he was sure, and he couldn't help but feel that there was something deeper and darker
at play.
No,
not malevolent; just a trick of the light, just another few steps, just
another..
When
he reached the top of the summit, Ezekiel saw a massive stone outcropping that
looked like it was about to give way on one side, and a sheer cliff on the
other that resembled the prow of a boat pointed towards the sky to the
other. Groups of people were huddled nearer
the tall rock to the right, where one gnarled old tree that seemed to stick out
of the ground like some ancient being.
Many
people waved at it, but nobody went near it or touched it.
Nothing
sinister after all.
Yet
what of the outcrop to the left? This
was clearly the ‘vortex’ his sister had been chatting of this morning, its
clear styrated shape to.
“Betcha
couldn’t run around it twice!” Yelled
the shorter.
“Bet
cha couldn’t keep up.” Ezekiel could
only stand there
It was huge!
Taller than a house, even if only an eight as wide. It was hard not to take ones eyes off of it
once it was spotted.
Could
it be done?
This
side of the wide stone seemed to sit as if on a table top, .
Eh,
why not? Something about the lines
continued as he stooped.
He
started round.
He
made his way towards the stone, his heart pounding in his chest. Likely it was from the altitude. Likely too, the booze was just beginning to
get a foothold. It looked the same
hundred shades of dark maroon that made up the rest of the canyon.
Heat,
a slab of stone similar to Heston’s Ten Commandments; oh, he was being ten
shades of fool on this; he continued forward.
As
he continued on, Ezekiel couldn't help but feel that he was being watched. He glanced over his shoulder repeatedly,
expecting to see one of the smaller kids ready to strike him with a stick, or
else some new fangled toy, or perhaps .
No, nothing but the middle aged couple bitching about the map in front
of them, two snotting little dogs nipping at each other.
One
step, two – a little further and he couldn’t see the big tree further back
behind him. A few paces further on.
Three
steps, ten – a few paces more and he was certain he had crossed the halfway
mark.
Almost,
almost, there we.., his mind kept telling him, edging
him forward, the thick molten bottom of the hip flask calling, he turned harder
again, he was just, he..he..he..
When
he finally made it to the other side, he let out a sigh of relief. Saftey!
Pauseure! Nothing else then to
worry!
No,
no! It was just a trick of the
light??
Yet
beside him, mere millimeters from his hand a thick insect lounged
happily. He had seen one before only in
books, pondered.
The land bent – the very rays of
the sun seemed to reach out and touch him.
“What the…?” Was all the best he could think to say. Nobody around him seemed to notice, too many
were busy taking pictures, the side of the scorpion continuing to mill and
twist and to…to turn back into the stick it had always been??
No, no, that couldn’t be, wasn’t right!
Quickly
he pulled his hand close, grabbed up what remained of the knapsack, and started
to hurry down. In his head he swore he
could almost just hear the faint tick of drumbeats, having to remind himself
again and again. Not a bug, not a trial,
not on time – down, leaving, time to go.
As
he descended the mountain, whistling a tune to steady his nerves, Ezekiel heard
a low whisper behind him (no, nothing but the wind, no faint tricks or turns of
the light). He turned around, but there
was nothing there.
Nothing
but the wind, nothing but the tall basketball fellow or the Lithuanian just
going for a morning stroll, nothing but, nothing but..
Sedona,
vortexes – a very split in the seam of the earth, where (what? What exactly other than himself?) something
could slither out if it wanted to.
He
quickened his pace, but the whispers only grew louder. Another few steps, and he could feel the dirt
begin to whine, the
very ground threatened to give way, the very air seemed to taste..
“Is everything ok?”
The lady seemed nice. She had bright purple boots on, and wildly
stringy hair that for some reason reminded him of his mother, standing short
before him, hair pulled back and up and smart and close and proper.
“Yes, assuredly,” he mentioned,
lifting himself again and again. He couldn’t
help but stare at the flower on her bonnet, glance from time to time at the smaller
buds seeming to peek and pry from each corner and crevasse of the land –
flowers, chimeras; the land suddenly seemed alive and thrilled!
“Yes, I was just up checking out your...oh
what do you call them, your fabled ‘vortexes’ or whatnot, and seemed to have forgotten
to bring enough water!”
“Oh that’s alright dearie – here,
have some of mine!”
As he descended the mountain, whistling a tune, Ezekiel
couldn't shake the feeling that something profound had happened to him back up
there. He felt a sense of clarity and purpose that he had never experienced
before, and he knew that he had been changed. Flowers seemed to sprout after each step he
took, seemed to stick to the sides of his shoes, seemed to swirl up and around
the very motes of dust and deep that circled the air.
…or perhaps it was the first of the tincture, taking hold.
Sedona,
vortexes; life.
Either way, he continued whistling as he carried on south, happy
at how the day was turning out.
