One of the things I enjoy most about Sedona is the quietness I feel here. The beautiful scenery seems to be constantly whispering to me, inviting me to forget my important thoughts and worries and simply enjoy the beauty of a sunrise, the trickle of a stream, or the vastness of the night sky. When I accept this invitation, letting go of my thoughts for even a moment, the gentle happiness of nature begins to seep into my body and mind. I smile as my thoughts fade away, and I laugh quietly at how easily my important tasks and deadlines lose their ability to command my attention.

As the noise of my mind fades, an interesting shift occurs. I stop trying to solve the problems of my day. I stop trying to find answers to the questions I'm being asked. I stop trying to determine the best choices to make. And as the effort of trying and problems and questions and choices fade from my attention, I begin to notice simple things. The sunlight's shadow on the red rock cliffs reminds me of some time long past. A bird glides by on the wind and says hello. The water in the creek invites me to jump in. It's as if nature is seducing me with an orchestra of tiny instruments, a flood of subtle gestures which combine to overwhelm the loud thoughts and demands of my mind.

On the occasions that I let myself be seduced - when I relax on the couch in the middle of a work day, when I jump into the river for no apparent reason, when I sit quietly in the sun beside a trail - I become filled with questions of a different kind. I notice that the world is responding to me, communicating with me, inspiring me. As I sense this, I naturally begin asking questions instead of trying to answer them. Each question I ask is greeted by an answer, and each answer inspires another question. Time passes without notice, my dialog with nature continuing for as long as I forget the important questions of my mind.

Eventually, inspiration is replaced with reason. My mind wins, and I remember the things I need to do, the places I must go, and the questions I am supposed to answer. The important distractions of my life overtake my peaceful awareness. I look at the clock and realize I need to get moving. As I return to the 'world of doing', however, I stop for a moment and remember the 'world of being' I just experienced. I smile at how easily I gave it up to the task at hand. I thank nature for her orchestra of sights and sounds, of questions and answers, and I quietly promise myself to be seduced by her again.