SEDONA

Adrian Korpel 

So we’re sitting on Cathedral Rock, waiting for the Andromedans to take us to their galaxy, and it’s cold and sleeting, totally not the red-rock Sedona of the travel brochures, and I say to Feather Angelheart, where are those people? 

She just looks at me through that misty angel cloud of her hair and smiles.

Look, I say, I’m not complaining, really, you’re an attractive, spiritual woman, and I can sometimes see your aura shining through the chakras of your body where the Ch’i flows in and out, but nobody has shown up yet, and I’m wet and hungry. 

Trust the Vortex, she says, and hands me an oatmeal power bar with pine nuts. 

Don’t misunderstand me, I say, I’m grateful you fixed my inner child, and Eagle Feather Clearing with you was a lot of fun, and I loved the Iconic Footbaths and the Full Moon Ritual we did together, but I really came here to be taken to Andromeda. 

They’ll come, she says, just wait until the Medicine Wheel has made a full turn. 

You know, I say, I’m beginning to feel guilty. I told my wife I’d be here to study the Supai formation and the Coconino layer, and I haven’t touched a rock yet other than this cold slab of wet sand stone we’re sitting on. 

Your secret is safe with me, she says. 

I respect your psychic regression, she says.

And we did have fun, didn’t we, she says, touching my face. 

Yes, we did, I say, holding her hand and thinking it over –- 

Let’s go down and do Animal Whisperings again, I say.