#dog i am hoping and praying they get back to the phoenix force

[x-mensirens]

[aceprosecuties]

After losing to Phoenix Wright in court, Nahyuta is brought to the Queen’s audience chamber for punishment.  Trigger warnings for blood, flogging/whipping, and violence.  Nsfw for violence.  Approx. 2000 words.  Unedited.

“Prosecutor Sadhmadhi.  Her Eminence has ordered us to bring you to the audience chamber.”

Nahyuta was not surprised when two guards came to retrieve him in the middle of the night; even though it was well past midnight, he was wide awake and dressed.  He figured it was only a matter of time; his defeat at the hands of Phoenix Wright in court had made his aunt quite furious.  Foolishly, he had faintly hoped that she would have given him 24 hours to at least process what had gone on in those chambers, but that would be showing a level of graciousness that deep down he knew she did not possess.

So he just nodded to the guards, knowing there was no way out of this situation, and followed them through the palace.  He walked with his hands behind his back and his head held high, as he always did.  It didn’t matter how much shame and guilt and fear he held in his heart.  As long as his outward appearance showed a stoic and loyal follower of the Queen then he could keep those he loved safe.

It was no surprise that only the royal guards were present in the audience chamber when they walked through the large doors. After all, Ga’ran had set this up at this particular hour so that no public would be able to witness what was going to occur.  His aunt was a smart woman, unfortunately.  She knew that punishing Nahyuta – a beloved figure among the common citizenry – in front of a large audience might cause some to lose faith in her and give more credibility to the rebellion.  

So the only witnesses were those loyal to her. Those with such unwavering faith and piety that they would not question her choices or her orders.

After all, she was the mouthpiece of the Holy Mother.  She was of the divine.

Nahyuta was brought in front of the throne, and he bowed his head in front of the Queen before slowly falling to his knees to show her the deference she was owed.  She was dressed in her normal attire, which made her look more like a merciful goddess and less like the devil he knew she truly was.

Silence passed, and no one moved or said anything. It was as though everyone was afraid to even breathe.

“…We are very disappointed in you, Prosecutor Sahdmadhi.”  When Ga’ran finally spoke, Nahyuta still did not lift his head; he was being admonished, and it would be incredibly rude of him to look at her without first being given permission.

He had learned these things over the years.

“I deeply apologize, Your Eminence,” he said, his voice monotone but not insincere.

She laughed a little as she stood from her throne, and the sound of it almost hurt his ears.  It was a grating, terrible noise, her laugh.  Most people would find it angelic, but he knew better.  

“You apologize?  My dear…”  She descended the steps and stopped in front of him.  Nahyuta felt her long nail graze the bottom of his chin as she silently gave him permission (or perhaps commanded him) to finally look at her. There was a small smile on her face; her façade was truly as good as his own.  To everyone else, she appeared patient and wise and merciful.  They couldn’t – or maybe they did not wish to – see what was behind her regal mask.

“Your sins are far too grave for us to forgive with just a simple apology.”  She sighed, pretending to be upset with this whole predicament.  “It was one thing to lose your case when you were in a putrid foreign court.  After all, they refuse to acknowledge how filthy these criminals and their attorneys truly are.  Barbaric, really.”

She held his chin as she began stroking his cheek with her thumb, and Nahyuta sometimes wondered if a day would come where she would pluck his eye from its socket with one of her nails, which had begun to resemble claws over the years.  No…no, he didn’t have to worry about that. It would be a visible injury, and she needed to keep her prized prosecutor looking pristine to the world.

“But to lose here, in our most sacred halls of justice…you have allowed that sinful defense attorney to sully the minds of our subjects.”  She shook her head, looking more like a disappointed parent than anything.  Unfortunately Nahyuta could see the hatred and anger behind her eyes.  “You have soiled your own soul in a most heinous fashion, Prosecutor Sahdmadhi, and you must be punished in a way that will allow your soul to once again be cleansed.”

“Of course, Your Eminence.  If it is your will, then it is our Holy Mother’s will…and I am nothing but your humble servant.”  It was a stock phrase he had used over the years, and it seemed to please her.  Perhaps by acknowledging fully her power over him, she would go easy on him and would leave the ones he was protecting alone.  

“Excellent.  We are happy to hear that you will not beg us for mercy.”  She beckoned over a few guards, and two of them suddenly pulled Nahyuta to his feet and began roughly stripping him of his jacket and shirt.  While he was surprised, his face showed no emotion.  He wondered what her plan was, and hoped that it would at least be quick.

He saw another guard bring something over to Ga’ran.  When she took it from his hands, Nahyuta saw that it was a multi-tailed leather whip…nine was the tradition number of tails for these things, was it not?  Fear suddenly gripped him, and he was somewhat tempted to now beg her for mercy. But that would probably backfire on him, so her just stiffened slightly.  

“Your Eminence…please forgive me for speaking out of turn,” the guard said after Ga’ran took the tool from him.  “But would you like for me to administer the punishment? For you to dirty your hands-”

She put her hand up to silence him, and he shut his mouth immediately.  

“While we appreciate your concern for us, it is our duty to purify sinners ourselves.  The Holy Mother’s mercy and grace is most powerful in us, so we must do this in order to have the best chance at saving Prosecutor Sahdmadhi’s soul.”

What a load of crap.  Nahyuta knew she just wanted to do it herself because she would get a sick pleasure out of it.  

But of course, the guard immediately accepted her explanation, and backed away.

The two holding Nahyuta spun him around so that his bare back was to the Queen, and held tightly onto his arms.  They had no intention of letting him escape…not that he would be able to go very far if he tried.  One of them moved Nahyuta’s hair so that it rested in front of him; it would be a shame for his lovely lavender strands to become tangled in the mess, really.

Nahyuta felt Ga’ran’s hand on his back.  He held his breath as she moved her fingers up and down in a slow motion.  

“You have such lovely skin, Prosecutor Sahdmadhi. Flawless, really.  It is a shame we must mar it, but your body must break in order for your soul to be saved.”  She sighed, as if she truly was lamenting the fact that she had to do this to him.  “We order you not to scream.  If you do, we will be forced to add on more.”

It happened immediately after her sentence.

A harsh crack echoed through the chamber and Nahyuta felt nothing but pain.

He wanted to scream as soon as those tails made contact, splitting open his skin as easily as though he was made of butter. It was unlike any other physical pain he had experienced, and he didn’t even have time to process it fully before he felt the whips crack against his back a second time.  Since it was over the first wounds, the second time hurt worse, and he was unable to stop himself from making an anguished noise.  

A third guard approached him and stuffed something into his mouth.  A cloth of some kind.  

“We told you not to scream.”

Nahyuta didn’t know how many lashes would be added…since Ga’ran never gave him the courtesy of knowing how many he was to receive in the first place.

As she hit him a third, fourth, fifth, sixth time…he could feel tears falling from his eyes.  He did not want to cry in front of her or her dogs but it was involuntary at that point.  His entire body was shaking, and the only thing keeping him on his feet was the fact that the two guards were still holding him up.  He was practically limp in their arms and could feel blood trickling down his back.  He wondered how stained his white pants were.  How stained the Queen’s robes were with his own blood.  She would probably like it, in her own way.  She had absolute power over him, and those stains would just remind her of that.  

There was no way out for him.

He lost count after fifteen…or was it sixteen…?

It was a strange sensation; he was both in agony and numb, as if his body was trying to shut down his nerves in order to prevent him from going into shock from the pain.  

After some time, he began to silently pray.

He prayed that the Holy Mother would end this quickly.  He apologized to her for the sins he had committed.  Not the ones that Ga’ran had accused him of, but ones far more grievous. Sending people to death for crimes he knew they had not committed…pushing his father and Apollo away, condemning both of them.  Losing what remaining hope he had, and allowing himself to be Ga’ran’s puppet…he knew his soul was tainted, but he still apologized.  He did it all for those he loved…but it didn’t make it right.  

If he suffered…in this life or the next…it was fine, as long as Rayfa and his mother did not have to endure the same fate.

The room began to spin and Nahyuta could swear that he was about to black out, but he heard Ga’ran speak before that could happen. He didn’t hear exactly what she said; he had tuned out any outside noise some time ago.  But he could infer her words based on the fact that the two guards holding him suddenly let go, and Nahyuta ungracefully dropped to the floor.  He landed on his stomach, and he wished he had been able to pass out, but unfortunately he stayed conscious.  

Ga’ran walked over to him, and he felt her heel under his chin, lifting his head up to look at her.

“Now, you will be brought back to your chambers. We will send in medics to treat your wounds, but you will fast for the next twenty-four hours and you will not leave the palace.  After that, your soul will have been cleansed of your sins.”

Nahyuta just wanted to sleep.  He tasted blood in his mouth and smelled it in the air, and it made him feel nauseous.  He could feel each place on his back where his skin had been split open…it was so much that he vaguely wondered if she just had skinned him from his neck to his tailbone.  That was how it felt, anyway. 

“Thank us for what we have granted you, Prosecutor Sahdmadhi.”

“Thank you, Your Eminence,” Nahyuta replied, feeling sicker the moment the words left his mouth.

She smiled and then nodded to the two guards. Nahyuta felt them lift him up to his feet, but he had no energy to stand on them, so they just dragged on the floor as he was brought back to his bedchamber.  

He blacked out before they reached the door.

[high5nerd]

Into the Open Air - ROTG

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9041929/1/Into-the-Open-Air

Date: Feb. 23, 2013

Fandom: Rise of the Guardians

Ship: General/None

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Into the Open Air

Out of all the other things I've heard happen to people, I always thought, "It'd never happen to me." And for a long time, I believed it. I was healthy, I was athletic, I ate good meals, and I hung out with my friends. I was loved by my parents, I was cared for. I helped accomplish something no other children would experience besides my close buddies, because they were there with me. We witnessed the dark sand, the towering Boogeyman. We saw the beautiful golden sand rain down on the opposing, turning the most frightening nightmares to blissful images. I believed in all of them, even Jack Frost.

But…I'd never thought I'd end up here.

My life was planned out, of course. Mom and Dad were thrilled at my excellent grades; how I yearned to go to college, raise a family just like them. I'd enter college with a soccer scholarship, and make new friends down the road. I'd end up becoming a gym teacher at the same school I went to, keeping those past memories with me when I would walk down the hall to the gym. If I couldn't be that, I would want my face to be on television, the whole world watching me kick a goal at the Fifa World Cup Championship, in the name for America. Crowds would chant my name and people would wave flags. I'd tease the opposing team with my expert moves. Once I'd reach my old age, I'd hand down my soccer gear to the oldest grandkid, and just spend my days relishing the things I did in the past on the back porch of a ranch house. I'd be faithfully married to a man I loved with all my heart, and he'd love me equally back. He'd always be by my side, even during the deliverance of our kids. Maybe two or three, but no more than four. We'd live in a big house with large land, big enough for a dog to run laps in. I knew what my future life would be like. I wanted to have it.

But apparently God didn't want me to.

The doctors said I've been diagnosed with cancer for a while, and it hasn't been detected early like it should've. Mom was crying most of the night, afraid of me. Well, maybe not afraid OF me, maybe just for me. The kids at school didn't notice a thing when I wore that annoying hospital band around my wrist, and I tried keeping my cool. I wanted to seem like nothing was wrong, like I was the normal Pippa everyone knew. But Jamie was the first one to see. I guess he does in fact pay attention to things more than I realized, because he pulled me aside from a soccer game after school.

"Pippa, are you okay?" he asked me seriously.

"Yeah! Never been better, why?" I forced a smile. My chest was starting to hurt again.

"You're not a very good liar, Pips." He frowned, "and look, I'm not the only one noticing you're getting thin. I mean, look at you! You look like a walking stick!" he poked my side.

I just laughed it off like it was nothing. To me, it was nothing. To my friends, it was worrying and curious. To my parents, it was scary and worth crying about.

One night, I sat in my room on the floor, playing a one-on-one game of checkers with myself. The doctor said I had to stay home for a while. He said it was getting worse. Dad knew I was worried about my own leukemia, so he said as he was bringing in my dinner, "Hey, baby cakes; let's look up what leukemia is. Maybe we can learn something, kind of like school." He tried putting on one of his small smiles.

"Like health class?" I look up, knowing my dark circles from painful sleep were visible even in the dim light.

He bit his lip as he sat down next to me with his laptop open. I couldn't tell if he was thinking or trying to hold back tears. All I knew is that he was struggling.

"You got it, Pips. Just like health class."

I learned about different childhood cancers, and a little bit more on leukemia. It's a cancer in the blood cells, mostly the white ones. It starts off in my bones, and then spreads on from there. Dad says it's because the marrow-I don't know what that is-in my bones makes the blood cells, and the disease is in there. Also, I have a type of leukemia called AML. I don't know what that stands for. The worst thing I read even made me close to crying. Dad had to leave the room, knowing something I didn't. Usually, there's a five-year survival rate for children; for me. If I live beyond those five years, then it only means I'm cured.

For the first time in ages, I prayed that night. I prayed that I would live, that my marrow would become healthy again. When I got into bed and turned off the light, I couldn't fall asleep. I knew even as I lay there, I wasn't safe. I was wallowing in fear. What if the Boogeyman came out and gave me a nightmare? So I said out loud, strongly and bravely:

"Now is not the good time, Pitch. You crawl back to whatever hovel you call home and leave me alone. Do not come near me."

I fell asleep listening to my mother's crying and the wind howling outside, not knowing what was in store for me.

That was three years ago. Now, I'm permanently stuck in the hospital. The leukemia was fighting back against the medications and the chemotherapy, and I was losing the war. I stayed in bed mostly, watching the other hospitalized kids play on the play mats, draw in the coloring books, or talk to one another about their reason being here. I called in a nurse and asked her if I could play with them once, and she gave me a sad look and then said, "No. You need to stay in bed."

I can't even move. I ache all over. I feel pain. I'm a weightless freak. Mom tried taking my white cap off, but I choked out a yell when she almost tugged it off my head. I may have lost my hair, but there's no way I'm losing my favorite hat. She would sit next to me after work hours to read me the paper, or one of my favorite books. She even brought in the DVD player so we could watch Finding Nemo together. Something tells me she's never watching it again.

More days passed, and the doctors finally had the guts to tell me my cancer was terminal. I didn't know what that meant, and I guess that's why they told me. They knew I didn't know the term, so they told the innocent truth. So, being the sneaky girl I always am, I clicked the red button near my bed that called in a nurse. She came in hurriedly, quickly asking what was wrong.

"Can I have a dictionary, please?" I did my always-victorious puppy eyes.

"Of course, sweetheart." She smiled warmly.

I cried for a long time that night once I read the definition. Afterwards, I hated Webster dictionary. I blamed it like it was its fault for me having leukemia, that it was terminal. Terminal means the end.

Terminal cancer means there's no cure.

I'm dying. There's no hope. I have no life. I can't live the life I dreamed of having. I can't see any of my friends anymore, or even my family. I can't listen to music or kick a ball around. I'll be dead in the ground, all cold and dark. I can't imagine myself going to Heaven. I feel like I haven't been good enough. I wasn't given enough time.

The last night of my life came. I lay awake, listening to the other's heart monitors, especially mine. By and by each hour, it was slowing down. I closed my eyes, not in sleep, but in hope,

"Sandman…please…I need you. Sandman, I need you now." I opened my eyes.

Nothing.

I closed my eyes again, tighter, "I need a dream, Sandman. I need a dream to escape this nightmare. Please…I'm begging you."

I opened my eyes again.

Nothing.

Tears stung my eyes as my head sunk back into the pillow, ultimately defeated. I couldn't help it, I was breaking. I've been strong and brave throughout the entire operations and doctor visits. It's about time I let loose those tears I've held back for a long time.

"Help me." I cried, feeling my cheeks wetting.

Images of birthday candles, snow falling, soccer trophies and smiling friends flitted across my mind. Mom and Dad's happy laughter rang in my ears, along with the drone of the school teacher's. Memories of rainfall, of hiking with my parents, of sleeping over at Jamie's house, of playing with dogs all tortured me. I can never count to ten to play hide-and-seek. I will never finish a good novel I started long ago. I can't wrap any Christmas presents in silvery paper and green bows for my loved ones, and I can't help Jamie's sister Sophie find Easter eggs. I can't sleep in my room, and I can't eat enormous amounts of popcorn on Friday nights. Never again.

Suddenly, I felt a warm hand touch my bare arm. My eyes jolted open at the sudden feeling. I can't help but feel startled. But soon, the fright was replaced with overflowing joy. A smile spread across my face.

Sandman put a finger to his mouth, and then waved. He wanted me to be quiet. He was just the same as before, during that Guardian fight. He literally glowed with bright sand, and he was floating on a sand cloud to be level with my bed. He held out his hand, offering comfort. I squeezed his hand, but not too hard. He looked worried.

"I'm dying." I choked out between tears.

He nodded sadly, patting my hand with his other one.

"Will it hurt?" I whispered, hearing one of the kids stir in their sleep.

Sandman shook his head, looking at me straight in the eye. He was serious.

"Will I ever see you again?" I lay down, watching his sand dance around him and my bed.

He frowned, thinking deeply. He then looked back up at me and shrugged. A sand image of a phoenix rising from ashes formed above his head, along with a question mark.

"Reincarnation?" I guessed, smiling at the small games of charades.

He beamed at my accurate guess, and then patted my head approvingly. I could almost know what he's saying, Good job! I didn't think you would guess that

He stopped smiling when I hoarsely cried in pain. My whole body was starting to really hurt, especially my heart. I let go of his hand to hold my chest, hoping maybe that would help. I took deep breaths, and then soon, the pain passed again. It's been doing that for a while, soon to be never again.

"Sandman, can I ask for something?" I whispered.

I couldn't help it. My eyes were fluttering shut and my breathing slowed down. The heart beeping was becoming less frequent.

Sandman nodded, watching me with sad eyes.

"Can I have a dream? One more dream?" I looked at him, trying to keep my eyes open.

He floated up and sat next to me on my bed, Indian style. He touched my cheek and nodded, knowing my time was drawing to a close. He pointed to me, and then shut his eyes.

He wanted me to close my eyes. Does he know they'll never open again?

I did so. Soon, I felt a small tickle on my shoulders and on the tip of my nose. It was sand. I calmed down, taking a deep, shaking breath. Maybe even my last one.

Images of stars floated in front of my eyes. The dream he gave me was like nothing I've ever had. For the first time, I had all my senses in the dream. I touched clouds of nebula, I raced shooting stars, I spun around asteroids with a smile on my face; freedom. I was free. No pain. I felt like I was being tickled, hearing the best jokes from the funniest people. I was having a ball. I danced between comets, twirling among the shining stars.

I never woke up.

[davidaolson]

I pray to the birds. I pray to the birds because I believe they will carry the messages of my heart upward. I pray to them because I believe in their existence, the way their songs begin and end each day—the invocations and benedictions of Earth. I pray to the birds because they remind me of what I love rather than what I fear. And at the end of my prayers, they teach me how to listen. ~Terry Tempest Williams

The Last Hikes: Cathedral and Bell Rocks

Vox Nihili / Vox Deus / Vox Avium

We are laying in a crotch at the top of Cathedral Rock hidden away from the trail’s terminus and buzzing people seeking, in their own way, communion with nature. How they can find it in a hive of humanity is beyond my ability to comprehend. To feel Earth’s heartbeat I need solitude.

The final ascent bringing us to the official end of the trail was the steepest section of the hike/climb. We scrambled on hands and feet the final stretch moving out of the sun and into the shade, a shade that felt cold with the constant breeze. I felt frigid when I took off my day pack exposing my sweat-soaked back. This cleft in the rocks opened with magnificent views of the valley far below. It was heavenly…but for the noisy crowd. People whisper in church, why don’t they exhibit the same reverence in the sacristy of wilderness?

Their noise was a chain saw slicing into the soft parts of my brain. Painful. I, we were unable to abide in Earth’s majesty despite being nestled high in her red bones. We escaped via a side trail leading to another climb followed by two short descents coming to rest in a crotch formed of two massive walls with a narrow spire in the center pointing heavenward. Obviously a male crotch. I chose left, she chose right. We both laid on narrow ledges facing the sun basking in vox nihili, the voice of nothing, silence, soul-soothing silence.

There are few opportunities in hectic life where one can vacate et scire, be still and know. Know what? Everything and nothing. Mostly nothing. Knowing that one knows nothing is liberating. It is freedom to see, to hear the soft praying voice of birds, vox avium, flying overhead, delicate blue-black angels slicing on curved wings against the rufus tinged walls and the rich, near cloudless, cobalt sky.

Their song reminded me of Canyon Wren’s descending liquid trill which cascades like a gentle waterfall ending in a splish. It is a song with the power to transport me from anywhere in the world to the quiet, gnarled canyons of the Colorado Plateau.I’ve listened to the sounds in the heart of Chicago and watched the buildings morph into canyon walls, the streets become vacant canyons.

But these are another species of bird. What is their name? I don’t know. And that’s ok because names are irrelevant, a mere hint masking the essence of the thing named. I sigh my own prayers hoping the birds will snatch them up and deposit them into the ears of whichever deity oversees Cathedral Rock.

Their wing shape arcs backward like swallows, giving them to agility to twitch in the air snatching insects on the wing. Canyon Wren tends to be solitary, is rusty, picks insects from cracks and crevices, is a secretive creature more often heard than seen. I can’t recall if I have ever seen Canyon Wren in the wild though I have delighted to their loveliest of songs many times. They are a kindred spirit for I too am ruddy with a penchant for solitude, especially in wild places.

The trail up Cathedral Rock is short, 1.2 miles in length rising 646 feet. It is the most popular hike in Sedona. We arrived fairly early, for us, yet the parking was already overflowing forcing us to park in the street. Even if we wanted to get lost on the trail, it would have been impossible with the human traffic jam and occasional dog snaking to the top, a trail twice as congested during our descent. I was more worried about people falling on me than I was nervous on any part of the trail even when I had to scoot down on my butt and drop my feet blindly. I hoped to linger on the descent but didn’t. Too many people making too much noise for me to feel anything other than agitated.

Blood Test

This was the first hike I didn’t feel a time guillotine hanging over my head making it the most satisfying spiritually helping me achieve a connectedness with Earth I haven’t experienced in a few years. It made me want to take up camping again and commune with all that is wild and holy. We lingered in the crotch for more than an hour barely moving, an hour feeling like seconds. It was also the first time in the trip I tested my blood. I didn’t use my special knife just one earmarked for every day carry. The blood was only blood.

Everyone we asked about hiking in Sedona told us we just had to visit Cathedral Rock. We had already completed the one hike I planned in advance, the Cibola Pass / Soldiers Pass / Brin’s Mesa loop so was open to any experience my wife chose. She does extensive research on places always finding us lovely hotels at a reasonable rate and knock ’em dead experiences. I put my destiny in her hands for the remaining hikes including our visit to the Chapel on the rock.

Chapel on the Rocks

Chapel of the Holy Cross

A short drive from Cathedral Rock brings one to the Chapel on the Rock, a Catholic Church nestled in the heart of million dollar homes. A guide told us it is the second most visited site in all of Arizona to the Grand Canyon. Cars and people were everywhere. We parked on a gravel patch next to the street and walked the very narrow two-lane road sharing it with some large pickup trucks passing within inches of our shoulders.

Mother Mary Comes to Me

The church is built on and into the rocks. From the street, the exterior cross dominates the architecture. The centerpiece inside the narrow building is an ornate corpus with 14 benches for worshippers. I am unable to fathom why this site is so popular amongst tourists. We were not enamored so did not stay very long. We spent more time walking to and from our car than inside the chapel.

Our favorite item in the church was a painting of Mary with almond, Asian eyes. It felt mystical. It was a nice change form the typical whitewashed, pale-skinned woman in most depictions. The eyes were blue which I took as an homage to white supremacist notions as was what appeared to be a wisp of blonde hair.

There is one road back into town. It was bumper to bumper, a twenty-minute crawl from the intersection of the Chapel’s road, through numerous roundabouts, to the street light where we turned left finally freeing us from the congestion. Luckily, we did not pick a hotel to the right as that would have added to the frustrating traffic mess. This alone is reason enough for me to never live in Sedona. On top of the traffic, there was a lack of emotional connection to the soul of the place.

While inching in traffic, between watching the guy we allowed to merge aggressively forcing out another person attempting to merge in, I had time to mull over our, so far, Sedona experience and compare to Moab. The Moab area feels much grander, less touristy. That may be because my visits have not coincided with a big event other than Jeep week. Even then, the traffic through the town wasn’t nearly as obnoxious as Sedona. Moab feels more earthy, more surrealistically earthy.

I’m a big fan of surrealism and the way it totally fucks with my myopic perceptions opening my consciousness to alternate views of realities. The Redrock formations in Sedona are beautiful, great mounds to explore and hike but they are not extraordinarily shaped. Bell Rock does, with some squinting and tilting my head at an obtuse angle, resemble a large bell. And with a large stretch, Snoopy Rock can be interpreted to be Snoopy laying on his back or, as I saw, two parapets of a castle wall. But, the shapes are not unexpected.

The bottom third of Utah boasts bizarre rock formations continually piquing my imagination. There are numerous arches, some massive and, at least one, delicate. The hoodoos impossibly balance large rocks on spindly spires. The synclines and anticlines breach Earth at unusual angles. There are more spires, pinnacles, and natural bridges, buttes, and gnarly canyons than can be explored in a lifetime. Plus there is Valley of the Gods in Northern Arizona which is spiritually the same land as Southern Utah. What it boils down to, Sedona is adequate for a one night stand, not much more, whereas the bottom third of Utah is long term relationship material, the one you bring home to momma with the hopes of her blessing in marriage.

Ring The Bell, Almost

The final hike before heading back to Phoenix and a visit with Saguaros is an ascent up Bell Rock. We need two long loops outside the trailhead before capturing the prize of a narrow parking slot. I purchase the $5 parking pass and take a trip to the pit toilet, a glorified outhouse.

Up to a point, the trail was well marked then we were greeted by a choice. Take the path well tread with people, their families, and pets or the path less chosen. We, without the need for a conversation, opted for the less chosen, changed direction and started tracking cairns. For a bit, they were plenty, guided us up the Bell Rock layers. Where cairns were missing, I tilted my head catching the slightly bending light reflecting off the rock worn smoother by repeated trail usings.

This tack took us up a few challenging ascents, tricky climbs over slickrock which would, on return, be a bit treacherous. I experienced moments of discomfort, an emotion never felt in my youthful goat days finding me bouncing over the loosest rocks on the edges of sheer drops without a twitch of fear. ‘Tis no longer the case. My mind has a bit more confidence than my body can execute. I slipped on a smattering of scree falling backward and slamming my hand into the unforgiving rock. Another time, I stumbled on a stone as big as my head breaking it loose. It tumbled away on the slope about 10 yards. It settled before the lip and a long fall that could have caused someone significant physical damage.

Trail Head

Trail Intersection

Walking to the Rock

Cairn

Resting in the Shade

Bell Rock Highest Attained

White Delicacy

We kept on despite the increasing trickiness of the terrain until we came to a dead end. Additional upage would require ropes to traverse unless you were the young dude who managed to goat it up and out of sight. I found myself tempted to attempt but rationalized getting my wife up then either of us down was a reward far outweighed by the significant injury risk. Besides, we were in a lovely place with vistas of the distant plateaus, the massive rock across from us, and a worn trail between us and it in use by several people in groups of ones and twos. No use succumbing to my ego and being carried out on a stretcher. I like to think I’ve become smart with age but it’s actually more an inability to arm wrestle my fear into submission.

We lingered in the delicious shade. Not as long as we did at Cathedral Rock, just enough time to marvel at the grandeur and catch our breath. Our souls were not as famished as when our vacation started. The hikes over the previous days provided much needed nourishment. And descending carried two truths we were reluctant to confront. The truth the path we ascended had disappeared with the vertical position of the sun and we would have to figure out how to climb down while avoiding injury. The second truth, Bell Rock was the final leg of the Sedona experience. Leaving here meant leaving red rock and heading down to busy, congested Phoenix. I was very excited to spend some time with the old men saguaros but that also meant our vacation was winding down.

As expected the descent was troublesome and invigorating and adrenaline pumping and scary. We quickly lost the original path and were forging new territory skirting around large boulders, slipping on scree, poked and scratched by snaggletooth plants bent on human destruction. Walking toward voices whom we assumed knew better than we then path down. Soon enough, we came to the confluence where those followed the established path and those forging new trails met. It was here met a fellow descender in hiking sandals and carrying walking sticks.

He pointed us toward people in a gap on the main path, the path ending at the top of Bell Rock. We saw a hiker couple way up high. We had only achieved half to two-thirds of the full monty. I felt embarrassed at my own ineptitude and needed to assuage my ego with a Bell Rock conquering final climb. I wanted to ring the bell. There was no way I would let a rock, no matter how big, get the better of me.

“Babe, let’s give it a go. I bet the view from up there is awesome.”

“Nah. I don’t feel like it. Besides, we need to eat some lunch and get to Phoenix for the electric desert.”

And there it was, the time guillotine, razor sharp, dropped with a swoosh and a clunk severing my fantasy of unlimited exploration leaving only the reality that time was ticking away and we had places to be. We walked back to the car, the long way back, I had misread the signs, intersecting with mountain bike trails where I grew increasingly envious of the bikers and missing my steed back in Chicago.

We exited the even more crowded parking lot and the many cars parked illegally, suffered through the traffic slog, purchased a few souvenirs then headed out of the high country down to Phoenix. We stopped along the way and rose early the next morning to photograph a number of ancient saguaros.

Afterword – Transitioning

It’s predawn, the day after worshipping in the Cathedral, the morning before we almost rang the Bell. The sun and my wife have yet to awaken. I jump in the rental car returning to the trailhead for my favorite section of hiking abondanza. I’m the only car in the parking lot for a change. I find the Cibola Pass trailhead marker and walk off into the moonlit night barefoot maintaining a chilly connection with Earth still very cold from the passing night. The nearly full moon casts sufficient pale illumination that I can navigate the well-marked trail with minimal difficulty. I don’t get lost. I don’t twist an ankle. No sharp rocks incise my feet, nor pointy branches perforate my hands, nor bayonet yuccas pierce my side. I don’t feel the ooze of guts from crushing an insect…or lizard…or snake.

I walk until I feel connected. I take up an almost lotus position, the knees only bend so far, facing the Eastern horizon waiting for the sunlight to peek between the red rock giants awakening Earth and inspiring the birds to sing praises supplanting vox nihili with a natural morning raga. I am ready.

Blood Test Proving Transition

I thoroughly clean my calf and hands with an antiseptic wipe removing germs and particulate before unpackaging my knife and flipping it open with a light touch on the ribbed flipper. I use another antiseptic wipe to disinfect the razor-sharp blade before running it horizontally over flesh already pinked three days into our southwest excursion. There is no pain. The blood seeps through the one-inch wide slice more quickly than expected, the side effect of daily blood thinners and aspirin. The russet capped Sandhill cranes flying against a milky sky, flowing down my leg in a lengthening crimson swath. Flies appear nearly instantly dipping six legs and dung poking proboscis in the luxuriant red marmalade.

The moment of truth. I dip my finger in the meandering red river and rub the slick substance gently in a counterclockwise, swirl between my index finger and the palm of my hand. It is slimy and slightly gritty. There are definitely sand particles mixed in with my blood. There’s not enough to choke a vampire but sufficient to know I am transitioning. I’ve consummated adultery with Sedona rock, not my beloved Southeastern Utah Redrock. How can I ever show my face in Moab again without this betrayal gnawing at my soul? It’s like impregnating a prostitute instead of a wife desirous of children but having none.

Will the change continue when I leave in two days? The real test of my kinship begins when I return home and perform the experiment one week, two weeks, months into the future. If the sand is still present, I will know I am truly a brother to the desert. If not, my life will feel like my dreams are perjured adding to the feelings of being a weasely double-crosser to my beloved. ​

Our kinship with Earth must be maintained; otherwise, we will find ourselves trapped in the center of our own paved-over souls with no way out. ~Terry Tempest Williams

Adultery in Sedona, Part Last I pray to the birds. I pray to the birds because I believe they will carry the messages of my heart upward.