By Kathleen King,
I’ve lived in Sedona for six years, and one of my favorite things about living here is the conversations.
Some of the richest conversations I’ve ever had have happened in the grocery store produce section, sidewalks, or sitting next to someone at the bar at Picazzo’s. That’s Sedona. Complete strangers have a way of becoming old friends before you’ve finished your pizza.
People come here looking for all kinds of things. Healing. Meaning. God. Films. And some genuinely hope for an encounter with extraterrestrials. Others come for the red rocks, a beautiful hike, and meals with a view. We have vortexes, crystal shops, mystics, ascended masters, and seekers. This little town attracts people who aren’t afraid to ask life’s bigger questions while they are here. We could all use a little more wonder in our lives.
But after six years, I’ve noticed something I just can’t stop thinking about.
By my count, I’ve met at least eight people who believe they’ve been entrusted with information that could fundamentally change humanity.
Not similar information. “The” information.
The first was an older gentleman driving a luxury car. We exchanged pleasantries walking into Bashas. A few aisles later, he caught up with me.
“I have something very important you need to know.”
I listened.
He explained that he was an evolved version of Jesus.
“Oh,” I said. “I see.”
He graciously offered to take all of my burdens. Being a good sport, I pantomimed gathering them into my hands and handing them over.
He accepted them without hesitation. My burdens weren’t enough. He also wanted my phone number. I politely declined. I wasn’t looking for a guru.
A few weeks later I wandered into one of Sedona’s many crystal and talisman shops. The owner proudly told me his wife was the true ascended master of Jesus, but more evolved. Wow, two in one month?
Naturally, the curious side of me asked, “Wonderful, May I meet her?”
Oh, no.
She remains secluded in bed because she carried the suffering of humanity for so long.
“Does she work with people?” No.
“Teach?” No.
“Heal?” No.
I wondered if she’d ever met the gentleman of the same job and title from Bashas.
Then there was the man in the park who told me he was in regular communication with extraterrestrials. He knew where they came from, the names of their planets, the portals they used, why they’d selected him, and what humanity needed to know. He seemed well briefed.
Now we were getting somewhere.
“So…what’s the message?”
“The shit is going to hit the fan.”
“Okay. What should I do?”
“Get yourself into alignment.”
“Great. How?”
“I can teach you, but I need gas money and cash for a hotel room.”
I wished him well. As I walked away I realized I wasn’t nearly as interested in how he’d been contacted as I was in what humanity was supposed to do with the information. Darn.
Then there were others, a woman convinced she is being followed by the government because of what she knows, a gentleman convinced they told him the root of all cancer. Another who told me that after years of extraordinary “contact” experiences, the only message he felt certain about was this: God is love. Of everything I’d heard over the years, that one seemed the least in need of a marketing campaign.
Most seemed to know of one another, but not actually know one another. That surprised me. If the message is truly meant for humanity, maybe the first step isn’t deciding who’s more right maybe take time comparing notes before deciding someone else is wrong. It really got me thinking.
Maybe we’re assuming advanced civilizations are here on official business. What if they’re simply passing through like a cosmic tourist? The universe is a very big place, and Sedona is just one spectacular stop along the way. A few deep conversations, some dark sky stargazing, a vortex or two, maybe a photo in front of the turquoise arches at McD’s, and then it’s off to the next beautiful corner of creation.
But if they are here on official business…Okay…you’ve been contacted. You’ve spoken with extraterrestrials. You’ve confirmed we’re not alone. So what’s the message? What did they ask you to tell the rest of us? Did they give you super powers? What I keep coming back to, though, isn’t extraterrestrials. It’s us.
Humans have always tried to make sense of experiences that feel larger than life. We give them names, symbols, and philosophies. Whether we call it God, Spirit, the Great Mystery, angels, quantum consciousness, or visitors from another star system, every generation rebrands the mystery. The symbols, vocabulary, and stories evolve. Some fantastical and some very ordinary. But underneath it all, human beings seem to be asking many of the same questions we’ve always asked.
I think most of theses folks deeply believe what they’re sharing. I’ve lived long enough to know that our mortal trappings can be more magical than we imagine, and I always leave plenty of room for mystery. I do not question sincerity. It’s about stewardship.
I have no problem with people being paid for their time, their experience, or years of dedicated study. If you believe you’ve been entrusted with something that could genuinely help humanity, how do you share it in a way that belongs to everyone? How do you protect the message without turning it into another movement, another hierarchy, or another product to sell? As history suggests, it’s easy for the messenger to become more important than the message.
Why do these end up looking like every belief system we’ve ever created? There’s the leader or master, the assistants, the advanced students, cash involved and different levels of understanding. Beneath every story I’ve heard, whether it’s about Jesus, Lemuria, the Pleiades, ascended masters, or securing your seat on the next starship, I keep hearing the same longing. We want to know that we matter and connected to something larger than ourselves. Maybe that’s the one message everyone has received.
I’m not sure any of us gets to decide what makes one version of ascension more real than another. Is it measured by extraordinary experiences? Micro-dosing on the full moon and returning to the stars, selling out stadiums, or the number of people who follow the belief that you’ve uncovered the next great truth? I honestly don’t know.
What I do know is there may be a simpler version to live the messages that have endured for generations.
Let the people you love know they’re loved. Help your neighbor. Most of all, find the joy in your days. Those ideas have survived every generation, no matter who delivered them. Whether they came from God, John Lennon, an extraterrestrial, your grandmother, or the Taylor Swift friendship bracelet clan, they seem to point us in the same direction.
Maybe that’s the real compass. Not who has the most convincing story, but whether the story helps us love better, find the humor in the absurd, and leave people a little better than we found them.
A universal truth has a way of finding its own path. I’ve never questioned whether people have profound experiences. I’ve only wondered why those experiences so often become just another circle of insiders and outsiders separating each other, instead of reminding us that we’re all part of the same human adventure.
Editor’s Note: Kathleen King is a Sedona resident who’s endlessly fascinated by conversations between friends and strangers, and by the beauty and mystery of being human. Her essays explore everyday life with humor, curiosity, and a sense of wonder.