In Sedona, the boundary between sacred and ordinary slips away like dust in the wind. Cathedral Rock rises in crimson stillness, vast and unhurried, as if time itself bows before it. It does not ask for reverence—it simply is—and from somewhere deep within, an unbidden awe rises to meet it.
Across the valley stands the Church of the Holy Cross, graceful and reaching, a pilgrimage for many. Yet even in its beauty, it cannot summon the same breath from the depths—the quiet “ah” drawn out by stone and sky alone.
Church of the Holy Cross
At the town’s southeastern edge, Bell Rock lifts its great red form like a bell about to sound.
Bell Rock and Courthouse Rock to the left seen from our hotel.
Far to the west, the Amitabha Stupa and Peace Park offers gentle stillness. But beside the ancient mountains, it is a whisper within a hymn already singing.
For two days, I walked my favorite trails with my family. We skirted the crowds and circled behind Cathedral Rock to that sudden, breathtaking view.
My daughter Susanne and I
Rain had filled Oak Creek beyond its banks. We stopped for lunch along its fuller shore beneath a steadfast tree. Its roots provided a perfect resting place.
When my family returned to Phoenix, I wandered Long Canyon alone.
For hours, I moved through manzanita and ponderosa. I wandered through oak and open light. I listened to my steps and my breath. I heard the bright threading of birdsong and the tapping of a distant woodpecker. Gratitude rose without effort, as natural as breathing.
In a clearing, five deer grazed without fear. Two lifted onto their front legs and touched—a sudden embrace and expression of pure vitality.
Nothing replaces this quiet blessing.
