This is my first trip to Sedona.  I figured I should take advantage of being in Arizona and just get myself there.  Who has anything BAD to say about Sedona?  Nobody.  Spiritual people make pilgrimages, congregating with souls past and present.  Inspiration, education, comtemplation; it’s all to be had in Sedona.  I wanted some of…that.  Whatever “that” was and is, I’d receive what I was offered.  It was with that intention that I set out.  It was that vein in which I was early to bed, hoping for an early rise and a full heart.

I did awaken early.  At 3:00 am the tapping outside my window got so loud and persistent that my dreams were flowing around it.  It was pouring rain, but that would have been a welcome sound.  I added a coat to my cold-weather-sleeping gear of pajamas and socks, and headed out the door.  Don’t forget key.  Don’t forget phone (in case something bad happened to me?).  Don’t forget motel emergency number.  I went to the outside wall of my room to find that the gutter above my window was broken, and that water was falling on my heating/AC unit.  It seemed as if there wasn’t a fix, so I went back inside.  When I spotted the ironing board, I set out again and fashioned a splash shield.  Necessity is the mother of invention. 

As I stepped back into my room I found I was up to my ears (well, ankles) in mud.  Red clay type, Sedona style.  I carefully removed my boots, simultaneously attempting to keep my pajamas mud free (heck, they were already soaked with rain) and keep the mud off the carpet.  And yeah, I did mutter a few swear words under my breath.

Maneuvering the mud upon (appropriate) wake up was just as interesting.  I worked my way out the door, lacing up my boots as the door closed behind me.  Carefully into car with newspaper at feet.  Carefully into lobby, wiping my feet on the mats.  Standing in a puddle upon approaching the coffee shop.  Who needs to clean up after another dirty hiking boot?

I was blotting my feet as I approached the door of the Shaman’s office.  We spied each other through the glass, he opened the door, and welcomed me in.  And in I went.

And that, my friends, was the pivotal moment in the day.  Seems I am the very first person to ever walk into this man’s office with mud on my shoes.  Ever.  In his 14 years in Sedona, I’m the first.  Why would I enter a room with mud on my feet?  Is this what I needed healing for…my utter disregard for sacred space?  Am I always that thoughtless?  I tried to explain that I just lost my thought on all the mud the minute we made eye contact and he said “come in”.  Do I always turn things around and make them other people’s fault.  He wasn’t sure this was going to work. 

Nor was I, so I suggested we stop.  He was fine with that, but I was being charged with a full day PLUS carpet cleaning.  I might as well just sit down and get on with it.

OK, the day got better than that.  I returned my rental; they said “mud happens” in Arizona.  I went back to my hotel and voiced my concern about tracking mud into Chateau Swishy; they actually said “Whatever”.  The mud sticks to my boots like dog poop and gum in the summer. 

And the damn mud sticks to the front of my brain with the same vengeance.  I know I got something more than that out of my day.   Right now, however, it’s all lost in the muck and mire.

A memory of Sedona stays with you forever!