Page 17
“You deny happiness.”
Who doesn’t?
“You stop yourself from joining the next plane of enlightenment, even though it’s been offered.”
I did not get that invitation.
“My lamb, you’re in disharmony with what you want, what you know, and what the universe has for you.” Noted.
Abruptly he grabs a pen and scribbles in a journal. Then hands me a journal. I list things I’d rather be doing and it morphs into a list of things I don’t have:
Eating brunch
Squeezing lemons
Dusting
Listening to Stevie Wonder
Nice underwear
A couch
Clean underwear
Seeing the world
Viable income doing something I love
A place to go during the day...or night for that matter
An understanding of how the fuck any of this happened
Something or someone to believe in
A recipe for something homey and comforting like chicken soup or some sort of stew or like a biscuit
Love
Hope
I have my health, great shoes, and a half-eaten bag of Nestle semi-sweet chocolate chips hidden in my toiletries bag. I tear up. Fuck. Shaman Greg gets to see me cry. Yup. I’m having a terrible moment.
“Your soul is letting go of your old self.” I guess I should commit to a new one, because when I choose for myself, it’s a fucking disaster. As I wipe my nose, the laugh reverberates outside the yurt. My spirit guide can’t fucking mock me. That’s not how this works. I yell, “Not helping.”
I run out of there while he says, “Trust the signposts along the way. Trust the path.” I rush to midday energizing.
I choke down some sliced fennel and what I think are peppercorns. How the hell is that going to sustain me for this fucking silent hike? I throw on my favorite threadbare Philadelphia Independence hockey t-shirt. I rarely wear it outside of play-off season these days but I love it. My whole family has the same one and my father has many, many jerseys.
I fill my water bottle with Ginny’s pale yellow water instead of my cloudy beige water with a branch in it. Approaching the launch site, I lose feeling in my fingers for a moment. Standing with his arms crossed, wearing a Boston Breakers hat, shoes with a hole in the toe is my smirking ghost and the biggest asshole I’ve ever known.
He sees me and looks to the sky then purses his lips. I pick up the pace with an angry boot stomping walk and all this shit means nothing because how on earth can this man be on my new path. He’s definitely old path material, not the new and improved Kat path.
I get close enough to ask what he thinks he’s doing, and good ole Serge interrupts. “You’re now silent. To feel the power of the rocks, you must surrender to the experience.”
I flip off Zane Jackson. He returns the gesture. I push past him but he stays right at my heels. Now I want to be hallucinating. I loathe his arrogant, privileged, selfish, ridiculous ‘I’m god’s gift to television and women’, ass. He galavants all over the globe doing as he pleases only loyal in life to Colin. He puts no good into the universe and then asks for applause while he does it. He’s seen the world while I’m stuck with… I guess I’m just stuck. Fucker.
I pinch his arm to make sure I’m not imaging he’s here. He jumps and looks at me, puzzled. He reaches out to pinch me back like we’re six years old on the playground and I jump out of the way.
