Sedona’s vortexes blend desert beauty with a sense of mysterious energy. Photo / Unsplash
Part spiritual waypoint, part natural wonder; Arizona’s vortexes are a sight to behold, writes Ivy Carruth.
There’s wind, and then there’s Arizona vortex wind.
It’s not gale-force or gusty. It doesn’t rouge your cheeks or send your hat skittering down the rocks. It’s soft and strangely directional; a whisper with intent.
Arizona’s vortexes – or vortices – for the pedantic, are renowned around the world, even among those who’ve never set foot in America’s 48th state. For decades, the town of Sedona, in particular, has been a magnet for energy seekers, spiritualists, those who worship the woo, and the quietly curious. The town’s peculiar beauty is enough to pull you in with its sunburnt spires and high desert hush. The quality of light here makes a mockery of the comparatively analogue filter Instagram might use to compete with it.
I’m on a plateau above Sedona; near the airport, actually. Barefoot on rock, I’m new to this seeking, and I only know to take my shoes off because everyone else has. I’m here for curiosity’s sake; when something’s this talked about, you have to see for yourself. It’s the summer solstice, a fortuitous accident in my planning, and around me, strangers sit quietly with legs crossed and heads either bowed or facing toward the setting sun. This isn’t something to book tickets for. It’s simply where people gather to connect to themselves. Everyone is tuning into… something, if not divine, then certainly not ordinary. My hair whips lightly around my face, and I start to wonder if, maybe, there’s something to this.
But it’s the energy, invisible and, to some, entirely imaginary, that people come for.
Vortexes refer to sites where the Earth’s energy is said to spiral more intensely. You’ll hear words like “electromagnetic resonance fields” and “geologic uplifts” tossed around and wonder why you didn’t pay more attention in your geology class. There’s no peer-reviewed science to back it, but that matters not one iota to those who feel it. Each vortex is believed to radiate a distinct energy and by simply being there, you can absorb it. Forget ritual; all you need is an open mind instead. Science can’t explain everything, and here, what moves the seekers can’t be measured.
“I always tell people not to come looking for proof,” says Pete Sanders, Jr., a vortex expert, Sedona resident, and honours graduate of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), one of the most respected science and innovation universities in the world. Instead, he encourages folks to “come looking for perception. These places help you get quiet enough to hear yourself.” Sanders has spent decades studying and writing about Sedona’s energy sites, teaching people how to connect with them intuitively rather than mystically. “You don’t have to believe in crystals or chakras,” he adds. “You just have to be willing to stop and listen.”
Sedona is home to four major vortex sites: Bell Rock, Cathedral Rock, Boynton Canyon, and Airport Mesa. Each, according to vortex guides and seasoned regulars, has its essence. Bell Rock is said to emit upward, masculine energy, which is restorative and clarifying. Cathedral Rock, in contrast, offers a more grounding feminine energy that’s labelled nurturing and introspective. Boynton Canyon is considered balanced, and Airport Mesa (where I am) offers panoramic views and what’s called a “charged” environment. Plug me in, I say.
Places beyond Sedona also draw vortex seekers, including Machu Picchu, Glastonbury, Uluru, and the Great Pyramids of Giza, locations where natural power and ancient human reverence meet. Sedona’s vortexes, though, are unique in their accessibility. You don’t need a helicopter or a three-day trek. You just need a car, a bottle of water and an hour or two of unobstructed time.
I’m not here for a spiritual awakening, and I’m not here to scoff. I’m leaning into the mystical, and I’m here because peculiar things fascinate me. Sedona, particularly on this lucky-accident solstice day, feels like a rare overlap, a place where the deeply earnest and the energy-curious sceptics can sit cross-legged on the same patch of rock in harmony.
The people? They’re kind of wonderful. There’s a proliferation of sundresses and mineral pendants resting against collarbones, but also plenty of Lululemon for balance. A woman near me braids a long rope by hand for her pregnant friend, and says she’ll finish it after sunset so it will hold the day’s energy. “All the sacred flow,” she breathes, tucking a strand into place, “gets sealed inside”.
Phones are present, of course, ubiquitous as they are for selfies, but they’re not the main event. One fellow, model handsome and barefoot like the rest of us, muses as though in benediction, “I’ve never seen this many people up here, it’s good man. It’s good.”
There are no robed facilitators, and no one is hawking crystals from the back of a van. It’s a simple gathering of people just sitting. Standing. Watching. Being. There’s nothing performative about it, no curation. It’s not “a show”.
I can’t describe how the energy feels exactly, but I know how I feel – grounded and steadied. I don’t perceive healing or change, but I experience this humanity, quiet and fully present, in this unique space.
That’s the thing about vortexes, they resist definition. We can fall down rabbit holes of geomagnetic theory, debate sedimentary layering and fault lines or simply chalk it all up to the placebo effect of wishful thinking and beautiful places. All of that might be true, or none of it. We can carry our doubts and still find ourselves moved. No one’s trying to convince anyone of anything.
Approaching these weird and wonderful places with a sliver of openness and taken on the faith of our feelings may allow something within us to shift. Maybe not our spirit. Perhaps not our chakras. But our pace and posture? Our willingness to be still? A sense of knowing and trust doesn’t shrink us; it expands the space around us. A feeling that the Earth still has secrets she’s not ready to share.
Maybe we need to be quiet and ready to hear them? Sometimes, the wind carries more truth than words.
The writer travelled as a guest of Visit Arizona.