Boynton Canyon, where we spent most of our time, was considered a holy place by Native Americans who lived in the area, and has become a destination of choice for people around the world seeking spiritual enlightenment. A particular spot in the canyon was identified by noted psychic Page Bryant as a "vortex" in the '80s, where magnetic energy is supposed to be particularly strong, having certain spiritual benefits. Much of Sedona tourism is now related to this quest for spiritual awakening. The town is full of people and establishments offering help to tourists looking for heightened spiritual awareness.
My friend Curtis and his son Kyle had a funny encounter while hiking in the vortex area one day. They came upon a man who had attempted to meditate in the vortex and inadvertently sat on a cactus. His metaphysical experience, at least for that day, consisted in having his wife remove cactus thorns from his nether regions!
While I did lose cell phone reception there, I remain skeptical about the whole vortex thing. But I will say that there are certain places in the world where I've felt it was easier to connect with God. Places of natural beauty like Sedona have always been inspirational to me. I felt the same way on Trout Lake in northern Ontario, Canada, miles from the nearest road or fence. All of those types of experiences have not been in nature, though. Communion in St. Paul's Cathedral in London was another one, as was viewing the Sistine Chapel.
While I was taking in all the great scenery in Sedona, I read this excerpt from Anne Lamott's book, Grace (Eventually): "I knew that no one comes holier than anyone else, that nowhere is better than anywhere else....Nature, family, children, cadavers, birth, rivers in which we pee and bathe, splash and flirt and float memorial candles--in these you would find holiness." The statement gave me pause. I've spent many hours and many dollars travelling to places I thought would inspire me. Now Ms. Lamott is boldly proclaiming that nowhere is better than anywhere else. Should I have just stayed home?
I wouldn't trade many of my travel experiences for anything. Even small changes of scenery are often good for the soul. But I do think it is a step toward maturity to understand that the inspirational grass isn't always greener on the other side of the fence (or the globe). Ms. Lamott is right: holiness is found at home as much as abroad, in the mundane as much as the exotic. But under the thick canopy of our usual routines and obligations, inspiration struggles to find light and grow. I have a sinking feeling that we've created lives for ourselves that squeeze all the inspiration out, and have to run away from them periodically to breathe again.
Ken Gire, in his book The Reflective Life, says, "It is a great loss that we awake to so many gifts on a given day, not only without opening them, but without knowing they are even there for us to open." Inspiration is all around us. It is not reserved for those who can afford exotic destinations, and is not limited to one or two exceptional experiences per year. The trick is not missing the gifts that are laid out for us with every new day. Natural beauty can still be found almost anywhere. Even New York City still has Central Park. In my neighborhood along the Texas Coast, Pelicans and wild parrots often nest on electrical service towers. It's a poetic move on their part, I believe, to claim these eyesores as natural habitat. I also love to fish; when I'm wading in Galveston Bay, I'm surrounded by refineries and shipping industry, and the water is usually the color and consistency of diluted chocolate milk. But sunrise or sunset over the water still moves me, and a speckled trout on the line is food for my soul as well as my table.
God is revealed perhaps most powerfully in relationships, which are almost always more substantive where we live than when we roam. Nothing is more refreshing than dinner with good friends, and nothing more inspiring than helping a person in need. Ironically, when we travel for fun or inspiration we almost always take our people with us--my trip to Sedona included both friends and family. Although it's below the radar of our consciousness, we understand that even the most dramatic experiences lack meaning unless we have people with which to share them. Solitude has its place, but even the monastics treasured their relationships.
It's unlikely that I'll ever lose my desire to travel. I love to see new places and meet new people, and those experiences broaden my understanding and vision of the world. But if I pay attention, the benefits of travel can be experienced year-round without leaving my home or community, and home can become a holy place. Perhaps the greatest awakening isn't found "over there." Maybe heightened awareness really means becoming aware of the gifts of everyday, the beauty of simple living, and the treasure of the people with whom we share it.
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