Knights of Light: Knight Vision

by Mark Moreland

Fall term wears on and Halloween approaches. Schuyler’s preoccupied juggling his football schedule, school, and community service as mandated by Juvenile Traffic Court. Ayana is in a particularly ghoulish mood and has concocted a scheme for the three teens to return to the site in Sedona where Schuyler encountered the bright light after his bike accident. As it so happens, her mom has registered for a Saturday New Age spirituality seminar in Sedona and has now agreed to take them for the day, under the guise that they’re going to retrieve what’s left of Schuyler’s bike. Mrs. Brown thinks it odd that Ayana has taken such recent interest in such things, but otherwise pays it little mind.

  Mrs. Brown parks the minivan in an uptown lot behind the ice cream store. The teens promptly unload their bikes, Schuyler using his dads older model, and immediately set a course toward Airport Corner where Schuyler sailed above the wash on that fateful day. They set their bikes off to the side of the path, while they examine the tree that is now in the autumn shadow of Teapot Rock, a prominent red rock formation in this section of Sedona. They find no sign of Schuyler’s bike.

  Ayana switches on full reporter mode, and begins to pepper Schuyler with questions: “Where exactly were you kneeling? You said the light emerged from behind a cloud or within some kind of tunnel. From what direction? Was the light more golden or white?”

  “Relax, Ayana,” Schuyler replies. “I get the impression you’re looking around this place for the actual light. But it isn’t like that. Sure, I could see this window. It had a light tunnel in it. But it was more like it projected out from me, than some external thing. I can’t really explain it any better than that.”

  “It’s just that I’d feel better about what we’re doing if I could explain it scientifically, or somehow recreate it. Not that I doubt you experienced it. At least not so much, now. No, there’ve been way too many crazy coincidences…”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re coming clean with your doubts now,” Schuyler replies getting visibly angry. “It helps to know who your friends are…”

  “Schuy, you’re taking this all wrong,” she says.

  “Oh, am I?” he replies. “Maybe I’m just looking for some honesty.”

  “You want honesty?” she answers. “Look around you. Who’s here?! Mack? No! Your other jock wannabe friends? I think not. Just two misfits. The ‘unpopular kids’,” she says making quotation marks with her fingers. “You’ve got an annoying, part Asian, part African, self-professed alchemist, and a hyperactive Navajo kid who’s just trying to fit in. I mean buy a clue.”

  Tate shoots her a terse glance. She looks back and then stares off into the distance. Schuyler feels blood pulse in his ears. He looks down at the ground, temporarily unable to make eye contact. Nobody says a word for at least 30 seconds. He crouches down to pick up a rock. “What’s going on here? I mean what’s happening to me, to us? Why are we here? What are we doing together? Why are you guys with me?”

  “Ok, now you’re annoying, ME,” Tate interjects. “Cut it out-ok?”

  A little nervous laughter, then another pause. Then a long silence.

  Finally, Tate speaks. “I’m here because it rings true. Everything. Thunderbird. What I’ve learned. Billy at the Hospital. These are important pieces to the puzzle.”

  “Me too,” Ayana insists pointing to herself. “Don’t you get it? Deep down, we’re all looking for something deeper, something real. We come at it from different directions, but we’re all looking for it. I have to admit, at first I was skeptical, that’s my nature. And yes, I was treating this more as a scavenger hunt that would finally play out. But it’s been crazy. And now with the Dutchman’s diary.”

  “What about the diary?” asks Schuyler beginning to calm down.

  “I’m trying to formulate a plan to spend some more time with the diary,” she answers. “There’s got to be more clues in it.”

  “I wouldn’t have even thought…” Schuyler says.

  “Bingo, that’s why I’m here,” she answers before he can finish. “You guys wouldn’t survive a week on this quest without me. Besides, we get by with a little help from our friends.”

  “We’re all misfits,” Schuyler says dryly.

  “What?” she answers looking skeptical. “Don’t throw us in your category, Mr. All League.”

  “No, I don’t fit either,” he replies. “Look, I’m the son of a recovering alcoholic. I might have a teeny drinking problem myself. I’ve been following the crowd of shallow people who haven’t got a clue. Besides, I’m from Oregon, the land of fruits and nuts.”

  More silence. Notably, this was the first time Schuyler ever admitted anything about having a drinking problem. Ayana stares at Tate.

  “Ok, so we’re all misfits,” Tate replies finally. “That means we belong together.”

  “Sounds like an oxymoron Askin, but I hear ya,” she replies. “Look, I didn’t mean to doubt you, but we’re going to have to accept the fact that some of this will be difficult for people to process. I only wish we could pinpoint some sort of geological phenomenon for what happened to you. Maybe it was vortex activity?”

  “I’m pretty sure the rock formations had nothing to do with Schuy’s vision,” Tate interjects. “I was here, it didn’t seem like that.”

  “What’s a vortex?” Schuyler asks.

  “Sedona is known for energy vortexes,” Ayana explains. “I was hoping to climb Bell Rock. People claim to have energy experiences up there.”

  “Well, there isn’t much to see here at this wash,” Schuyler says. “It’s just a tree.”

  After nearly a 20 minute ride to the other side of town, they arrive at the base of Bell Rock, one of the most prominent red rock landmarks in town. The well-traveled summit trail is a moderate climb that takes a couple of hours. As Ayana, Tate and Schuyler make their way past the trail head, they are surprised to see the extensive foot traffic descending past them. “Have you guys noticed that no one else seems to be headed up?” Schuyler asks.

  “Yeah, I was wondering if they know something we don’t,” Tate replies. “I don’t see any monsoon clouds coming in from the south. It’s probably just lunch time,” he says glancing at his watch. “It’s mostly an early morning trek. We can eat ours on the trail to save time.”

  “Ok, but let’s take a water appreciation moment first,” Ayana urges.

  “Experienced desert rats,” Schuyler observes. “I’d probably die of dehydration up there without you guys.”

  Nearly 90 minutes later, after carefully helping each other navigate the trickier parts of the climb; they arrive at a flat near the summit of Bell Rock. From here they can see all the majestic rocks, hills and vistas of Sedona, which remind Schuyler of the planet Mars. To the southeast, the desert floor stretches all the way down into the Verde Valley.

  They are notably alone. Ayana sips some water, and pulls out a pocket guide to Sedona Vortexes. “It says here that vortexes are geological formations that release energy from the earth. Bell Rock is one of the strongest formations.”

  “Ok, what do we do now?” Schuyler asks.

  “I don’t know about you guys, but I need a short rest,” she answers. “I’m feeling a little woozy.” All three sit down in the center of the plateau, facing out toward different directions. They refresh themselves with water and snacks.

  Tate closes his eyes and begins to meditate. Schuyler lets out a laugh. “What?” Tate reacts. How’s this any different than kneeling in front of a statue of Mary?”

  “You got me,” Schuyler replies shaking his head. He then assumes a similar position. Ayana’s already sprawled out on the ground, attempting to rest up a bit, hoping for the dizziness to subside. After 5 minutes of this, Schuyler lays back propping his head up on his day pack. Instinctively, Tate does the same. All three of their heads are almost touching, and they look like spokes on a wheel from an aerial position. Not long after, they begin noticing peaceful, rhythmic sounds in the sky above, and earth below. Insects flutter b
y, then move on. A small ground squirrel lands on Ayana’s leg. She quietly freaks out, moving enough to shock the squirrel, who then dashes off.

  Schuyler begins envisioning an eagle flying over head, hearing its distinctive cry. It circles over head, then dives off in a new direction. It is very familiar. Tate is captivated by the sense of a mustang, strong and able-bodied, yet wild and untamed. He senses this strong-willed animal with a large heart for others. He feels the stamina, strength and speed as it gallops away.

  Ayana seems to hear all of the wildlife in the surrounding area. It’s like she’s tracking them, noticing their interconnectivity. While they are all different, they seem to be working in unison, doing their small part.

  After nearly ten minutes of this, Schuyler murmurs in a low voice, “Is it just me, or does anyone else hear that eagle crying overhead?”

  “No, I can’t hear anything with that Mustang galloping around,” Tate whispers back.

  “Okay, guys, something weird is going on,” Ayana replies. “I don’t hear what you’re hearing, but basically everything else. I’m tracking a bull snake patiently waiting for a rodent in that tall grass over there,” she says pointing beyond her feet.

  “This has to be the energy of the vortex,” Tate notices.

  “Maybe,” Ayana replies. “Still, I’d feel a lot better if it could be explained scientifically.” She pauses. “Wow. Now it’s gone. The second I said that, I lost it.”

  “That latest scroll informed us some things are meant to remain a mystery,” Schuyler observes. “I wonder if that’s part of it.”

  “Hey, let’s try something,” Tate suggests. “Let’s join hands to see if we can equalize our energy levels. I’ve heard about these things.”

  They reach out to grasp hands, then remain absolutely quiet. After a while, a floating sensation overcomes them. They seem to drift, bathing themselves in the gentle, late October sunlight. They remain this buoyant posture for the next fifteen minutes, not wanting to break the feeling. The distinctive white, diamond light returns to Schuyler and the others begin to pick up on it as well. A warm, glowing sensation overcomes them. They feel peace.

  Suddenly, Tate grows cold as he senses a foreign presence. He lets go of their hands, and quickly opens his eyes. “Whoa!” he shouts. “Who are you?” Before him stands an elderly Native American woman. “How long have you been standing there staring at us?”

  The old lady speaks. “Don’t worry, Sonny, not long. Say, you are Dine - no?”

  “Yes, Grandmother,” he answers sitting up realizing that she is also Navajo. “Forgive me. I did not mean to be disrespectful when I first spoke to you. It’s just that you…”

  “I understand,” she replies, nodding to herself. “Easily startled. Well, I could see that your bubble was dwindling. Probably got too close. I approached from the southeast so as not to cast a shadow.”

  “But we didn’t even hear you walk up,” Ayana says, puzzled.

  “Years of practice, dear,” she answers. “Besides, your ears were shut off. That’s key.”

  They all gaze at her, dumbstruck. She cuts a small figure, with bright black eyes, and brown skin, soft like a doe from a lifetime of exposure to the desert sun. She is wearing a turquoise and orange robe, and carries a walking stick meant for a taller person.

  “I didn’t want to disturb you,” she says cryptically anticipating the next question. “When I first approached, I saw you locked in spirit triangle. Your shield was strong, interconnected. You must be on an important journey together. It’s rare to see these days, especially kids who aren’t – well you know – from native ways.” The three sit there open-mouthed. They say nothing.

  “You’re a little young to be trying these ‘new age’ techniques,” she chuckles. “Hah! I laugh at that term. There’s really nothing ‘new’ about any of ‘em. Thousands of years old, they are. Mayan, Egyptian, Chinese. Most people I see attempting this stuff are old enough to be your parents or grandparents, carrying on with some local – selling Sedona. What are you working on? Whose practice do you follow?”

  “Practice?” Tate asks.

  “What clan are you from?” she asks.

  “Grandmother, my mother is Dine, but I do not know my clan,” he answers. “We live at Cave Creek, near Phoenix where mother is a nurse,” Tate answers. “Her parents were moved to Phoenix Indian School from the Nation.”

  “I understand,” she says, nodding to herself. “Hmm, many of our people have been dispersed over the years. I think, though, that your mother is also a medicine woman as well as a nurse.”

  “Yes, Grandmother,” Tate slowly answers. “Mom wants us to try and live in both worlds at once. Somehow the work I am doing with my two friends here is part of this.”

  “Well, I am here on official business of my own,” the old woman replies. “This giant rock you are sitting on is an old ceremonial center we call a kiva. This is one of the few that is actually above the ground. You’ve just tasted some of its energy. I am here to chant some prayers regarding a golf course development they plan around the southern part of town. That particular area is sacred to many of our people. I am asking for a bit of, you know, intervention from the Great Spirit.”

  “Ma’am,” Schuyler begins, “may I ask you a question?” She nods. “You mentioned a journey. Can you help us?”

  “From the looks of your shield, you must be heading in the right direction,” she smiles. “Very few pay attention to small messages that are constantly brought to us each day. People ignore them. A random thought, a feeling, someone else’s words that strike a chord. Those things come from Spirit and light. Sometimes it takes a dramatic event for us to pay attention.”

  Schuyler nods.

  She continues, “Each person must find their own way. Their own rhythm. You know, stick with it. Practice.”

  “Thank you for the advice,” Schuyler says, and the other two join in with expressions of gratitude. They begin to collect their things for the trip down the trail, leaving the summit to the old woman. Schuyler turns to her, “Thank you again, and may you be successful in your work.”

  “I already am,” she answers with a smile.

  They begin the long trek down the rock to rendezvous with Ayana’s mother in Uptown. Schuyler looks back one last time, but the old woman has vanished.