wheel, the play of the muscles just beneath the skin of her forearms as she guided us along the gully, and wondered if she had a man in her life. And if not, why not? So much I didn't know about this woman.
“And can slate or granite rotate the plane of polarized light?” she said.
“Of course not.”
“Then you will grant that quartz is not just another rock? That it has properties other than being ‘prettier’ which set it apart from other rocks?”
“Granted, but not necessarily healing properties.”
She glanced at me, her expression serious. “Do you know that they do not?”
“No,” I admitted, “I don't know much at all about this stuff. But I haven't seen any concrete evidence to convince me of any healing properties in quartz, and until I do . . .”
“You will go on doubting.”
“Right. How can I do anything else? It's the way I've been trained. The scientific method. Double-blind randomized trials. I can't accept anecdotal evidence—you know, ‘Aunt Sophie tried it and after one sip she threw away her hearing aids.’ You've got to rule out placeboeffect, investigator error, and prejudice. And the results have to be reproducible. That's the key.”
“Then I suppose you must disbelieve much of what most people do believe.”
“You've got that right. I don't believe in psychic hotlines, flying saucers, visiting aliens, astral projection, channeling, tarot, telepathy, spoon bending, clairvoyance, seances, remote viewing, reincarnation, astrology, aromatherapy, psychic surgery, perpetual motion, Genesis, Revelation, Kaballah, palmistry, phrenology, levitation, the Bermuda Triangle, Edgar Cayce, Jean Dixon, Immanuel Velikovsky, L. Ron Hubbard, the Loch Ness monster, and lots of other stuff I can't think of at the moment.”
“I really do have my hands full with you, don't I, Wilbur Cecil Burleigh.”
“I warned you.”
“Surely you are the most skeptical man in the world.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” I said.
Maya hit the brakes, and as we skidded to a stop, she threw back her head and laughed loud and long. A wonderful sound, bursting from deep within her.
But what was so damn funny? And then I realized what I'd said and began to laugh along with her.
When was the last time I'd laughed like this, sharing it with another person? I couldn't recall. Not since the divorce, certainly, and probably not for a good long time before that. It felt so good to lean back and roar—at myself, of all things. What a wonderful release. I couldn't remember when I'd felt so alive.
For the first time in too, too long, I was having fun.
2
Eventually Maya climbed the Jeep out of the gully and headed uphill. The jungle didn't thin, it simply became slanted. The going got rougher as we bounced along a rudimentary trail. At one point we slowed to a crawl to negotiate our way past a pair of old huipil-clad women, each leading a burro-powered wagon.
We stopped where the ground leveled out in a narrow pass between a couple of the mountains. Maya had brought along some rice and beans wrapped in thick corn tortillas, and we ate them, washing them down with cool tea from a thermos.
After a bumpy ride through the pass, we made it to the other side of the mountains. It was drier here, and the trees seemed more coniferous, but it was just as green.
“Why travel all this distance for tines?” I said. “You seemed to have a nice collection back in Katonah.”
“Yes, but they are mine. I am taking you to places where you can find your own. They will help you harmonize with the Mother.”
“You're talking about a planet as if it's a person. The earth is a clump of stellar debris circling a ball of fusing hydrogen.”
Maya shook her head. “The earth is a living thing, the All-Mother. Some call her Gaea, some call her Tellus, but by whatever name, she is alive.”
“Sorry,” I said, always careful about treading on someone's holy ground, “but planets are not alive.”
“Maybe Mercury and Venus and
“And can slate or granite rotate the plane of polarized light?” she said.
“Of course not.”
“Then you will grant that quartz is not just another rock? That it has properties other than being ‘prettier’ which set it apart from other rocks?”
“Granted, but not necessarily healing properties.”
She glanced at me, her expression serious. “Do you know that they do not?”
“No,” I admitted, “I don't know much at all about this stuff. But I haven't seen any concrete evidence to convince me of any healing properties in quartz, and until I do . . .”
“You will go on doubting.”
“Right. How can I do anything else? It's the way I've been trained. The scientific method. Double-blind randomized trials. I can't accept anecdotal evidence—you know, ‘Aunt Sophie tried it and after one sip she threw away her hearing aids.’ You've got to rule out placeboeffect, investigator error, and prejudice. And the results have to be reproducible. That's the key.”
“Then I suppose you must disbelieve much of what most people do believe.”
“You've got that right. I don't believe in psychic hotlines, flying saucers, visiting aliens, astral projection, channeling, tarot, telepathy, spoon bending, clairvoyance, seances, remote viewing, reincarnation, astrology, aromatherapy, psychic surgery, perpetual motion, Genesis, Revelation, Kaballah, palmistry, phrenology, levitation, the Bermuda Triangle, Edgar Cayce, Jean Dixon, Immanuel Velikovsky, L. Ron Hubbard, the Loch Ness monster, and lots of other stuff I can't think of at the moment.”
“I really do have my hands full with you, don't I, Wilbur Cecil Burleigh.”
“I warned you.”
“Surely you are the most skeptical man in the world.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” I said.
Maya hit the brakes, and as we skidded to a stop, she threw back her head and laughed loud and long. A wonderful sound, bursting from deep within her.
But what was so damn funny? And then I realized what I'd said and began to laugh along with her.
When was the last time I'd laughed like this, sharing it with another person? I couldn't recall. Not since the divorce, certainly, and probably not for a good long time before that. It felt so good to lean back and roar—at myself, of all things. What a wonderful release. I couldn't remember when I'd felt so alive.
For the first time in too, too long, I was having fun.
2
Eventually Maya climbed the Jeep out of the gully and headed uphill. The jungle didn't thin, it simply became slanted. The going got rougher as we bounced along a rudimentary trail. At one point we slowed to a crawl to negotiate our way past a pair of old huipil-clad women, each leading a burro-powered wagon.
We stopped where the ground leveled out in a narrow pass between a couple of the mountains. Maya had brought along some rice and beans wrapped in thick corn tortillas, and we ate them, washing them down with cool tea from a thermos.
After a bumpy ride through the pass, we made it to the other side of the mountains. It was drier here, and the trees seemed more coniferous, but it was just as green.
“Why travel all this distance for tines?” I said. “You seemed to have a nice collection back in Katonah.”
“Yes, but they are mine. I am taking you to places where you can find your own. They will help you harmonize with the Mother.”
“You're talking about a planet as if it's a person. The earth is a clump of stellar debris circling a ball of fusing hydrogen.”
Maya shook her head. “The earth is a living thing, the All-Mother. Some call her Gaea, some call her Tellus, but by whatever name, she is alive.”
“Sorry,” I said, always careful about treading on someone's holy ground, “but planets are not alive.”
“Maybe Mercury and Venus and
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