I’m in a room, the shadows are red, and my pulse in my ears multiplies into drums—congas and bongos and a deep bass that sounds like a whale gulping air. Someone else chimes in with a rattle that snakes its own way through the beat. It’s smoky and the room is crowded. I’m sitting across from a thin Hispanic man at the center of the crowd. He’s wearing a wrinkled black suit, a narrow tie, and a kufi cap with a mandala pattern. He raises his hand and the drumming stops. The room goes silent.
“We are gathered here tonight to bring our friend Charlie out of the darkness.” His voice is a memory, I know it intimately, its deep and precise tone filling the room. A brazier with a small flame sits between us, casting jumpy shadows on the walls; a stream of fragrant but acrid smoke curls to the ceiling.
“We imagine we are human beings, searching for a spiritual experience, but in fact we are spiritual beings having a human experience.”
The drumming resumes, quietly, but with a rock-steady pulse. A wiry, dreadlocked man with skin as black as Mindy’s fingernail polish steps into the inner circle with us and hands the man a cup. He sips from it and hands it to me. The drums tease their way forward, floating over the beat of the gulping whale, weaving a net that pulls me into the flame, up with the smoke, and through the roof. I hear the man say, “The spirit knows how to leave the body, heal the body . . .”
And I’m out, floating free, roaming under the dawn sky, unburdened by care or desire. There is a house far below me, the size of a postage stamp, in the middle of a field, cars and trucks parked haphazardly by the entrance.The field is divided neatly into squares, with rows of green divided by shining lines of water. An armadillo scurries out from under a bush; like a hawk, I swoop down to investigate. Its startled face turns up, then left and right. It can’t see me, but it curls up into a ball. It knows something is there.
There’s a clown standing in the field. I move toward it and see that it’s a scarecrow with a red rubber ball for a nose. Its face is covered with bees. Their buzzing gets louder until it becomes a maddening roar and they fly away, leaving, instead of a scarecrow, my face. My body is on a cross, I’m wearing a crown of thorns, and it suddenly sprouts roses in an explosion of red.
Now I’m back in the room, looking down on my body lying flat on the floor. Without a thought, I enter it. My body starts to shake. It has its very own earthquake, and panic overwhelms me. The man with the narrow tie leans over me, mouthing words I can’t make out. The pattern on his kufi moves from the center outward like a mad kaleidoscope. His hand shoots out and grabs my wrist. I try to pull away, but I’m paralyzed with dread. I close my eyes.
Help me. Dear God, please help me
.
My arm is being shaken now.
I open my eyes and see Daniel, his hand around my wrist. He grins, big white teeth and clear eyes under the wild dreadlocks. He lets go of my wrist and suddenly grows serious, sniffing the air as if trying to place an odor.
“You,” he says, pointing his finger at me, “been back to de room.”
“What room?”
“De room in Mexico, mon.” Daniel’s eyes narrow as he peers up at me.
“What room in Mexico? And how would you know about that?” The guy has to be crazy.
He shakes his head. “You really need to wake up. I bet you never looked at de card I gave you, right?”
He’s right. The card is still in my pocket, or in the packet the cops put my stuff in.
He winks and then says, “When you get out of here, you check out what’s on dat card, den come find me at Venice Beach, on de boardwalk, and I tell you much more. Right now, I got to go do business.” He starts to leave, then turns around.
“Good ting you come back from dat dream.” He looks back at me, serious for a moment, then throws back his head and laughs. “You a very lucky mon,” he says, and then walks
“We are gathered here tonight to bring our friend Charlie out of the darkness.” His voice is a memory, I know it intimately, its deep and precise tone filling the room. A brazier with a small flame sits between us, casting jumpy shadows on the walls; a stream of fragrant but acrid smoke curls to the ceiling.
“We imagine we are human beings, searching for a spiritual experience, but in fact we are spiritual beings having a human experience.”
The drumming resumes, quietly, but with a rock-steady pulse. A wiry, dreadlocked man with skin as black as Mindy’s fingernail polish steps into the inner circle with us and hands the man a cup. He sips from it and hands it to me. The drums tease their way forward, floating over the beat of the gulping whale, weaving a net that pulls me into the flame, up with the smoke, and through the roof. I hear the man say, “The spirit knows how to leave the body, heal the body . . .”
And I’m out, floating free, roaming under the dawn sky, unburdened by care or desire. There is a house far below me, the size of a postage stamp, in the middle of a field, cars and trucks parked haphazardly by the entrance.The field is divided neatly into squares, with rows of green divided by shining lines of water. An armadillo scurries out from under a bush; like a hawk, I swoop down to investigate. Its startled face turns up, then left and right. It can’t see me, but it curls up into a ball. It knows something is there.
There’s a clown standing in the field. I move toward it and see that it’s a scarecrow with a red rubber ball for a nose. Its face is covered with bees. Their buzzing gets louder until it becomes a maddening roar and they fly away, leaving, instead of a scarecrow, my face. My body is on a cross, I’m wearing a crown of thorns, and it suddenly sprouts roses in an explosion of red.
Now I’m back in the room, looking down on my body lying flat on the floor. Without a thought, I enter it. My body starts to shake. It has its very own earthquake, and panic overwhelms me. The man with the narrow tie leans over me, mouthing words I can’t make out. The pattern on his kufi moves from the center outward like a mad kaleidoscope. His hand shoots out and grabs my wrist. I try to pull away, but I’m paralyzed with dread. I close my eyes.
Help me. Dear God, please help me
.
My arm is being shaken now.
I open my eyes and see Daniel, his hand around my wrist. He grins, big white teeth and clear eyes under the wild dreadlocks. He lets go of my wrist and suddenly grows serious, sniffing the air as if trying to place an odor.
“You,” he says, pointing his finger at me, “been back to de room.”
“What room?”
“De room in Mexico, mon.” Daniel’s eyes narrow as he peers up at me.
“What room in Mexico? And how would you know about that?” The guy has to be crazy.
He shakes his head. “You really need to wake up. I bet you never looked at de card I gave you, right?”
He’s right. The card is still in my pocket, or in the packet the cops put my stuff in.
He winks and then says, “When you get out of here, you check out what’s on dat card, den come find me at Venice Beach, on de boardwalk, and I tell you much more. Right now, I got to go do business.” He starts to leave, then turns around.
“Good ting you come back from dat dream.” He looks back at me, serious for a moment, then throws back his head and laughs. “You a very lucky mon,” he says, and then walks
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