It's for, You Know-- When You Have that 'Not So Sane' Feeling.

Spent three hours at the equivalent of a new age revival last night, listening to the long version of Dr. Eric Pearl's lecture I had attended a couple of days earlier. An audience of about 150-200 came to listen and witness the healer demonstrate his technique.

I wanted a piece of the action. My hand went up every time he asked for a volunteer to lay on the massage table. Each time I wasn't chosen, my fantasy of what it would be like to be culled from the crowd of Rimpoche-this and Ananda-that intensified. Do I really want to subject myself to whatever he's doing in front of 200 people? Mmmaybe...

Here's how the scenario began to play out in my head.

"You-- with the mascara awnings--up here. Now."
I'd run up so as not to waste any of the Diva Doctor's precious time. Then I'd be sweaty and out of breath.

"Alright, Susie or Chrissy or whatever your name is, take your shoes off and hop up on the table."

My shoes? The shoes I've worn all day? My feet caskets? Are you asking me to exhume what's left of my feet in front of all these people? How about I leave them on.

"Ok Dr. Pearl. Anything you say."

So I get up on the table, sock-footed, sweaty, but just glad to be there. I adjust my body on the table to get comfortable, cracking my neck in the process. Dr. Pearl says something but I can't hear because of all the bones cracking. I think he's asked me something, but couldn't make out what he said. This is what the audience hears:

"What on earth was that crunching noise?"

---
---

"Oh, I've got a yeast infection."

And it just goes downhill from there.

He tells me to let his voice fall into the background. And it does. I drift off, oblivious to his hands fanning and waving over my head and shoulders. He invites the audience up to the stage to observe my twitching eyes and rapid breathing.

"Chrissy may not be aware of all the things her body is doing. But you can see them. We'll ask her what she feels in just a minute.

I can't understand everything he says, but his lisp gets my attention, and I start picturing David Sedaris up on the stage with me. Oh no, stop thinking about Sedaris--focusfocusfocusfocus--breeeathe.

And there's that damn lisp again! How am I supposed to lie still if you're David Sedaris, Dr. Pearl? Don't you know that if I hear his voice in my head, I hear him reading his essays, and the reason I cannot read any of his books in public, doctor, is that I tend to explode in mortifying hysterics. I can't help it. Focusfocusfocusfocus--exhale.

Oh dear--here come passages and phrases that no matter how many times I read them or discover them trapesing through my brain--make me laugh out loud and look like a crazy person.

Whateverishly darts across my mind.

"You'll notice her mouth quivering a bit now. I'm going to step back and see if the intensity is affected."

Oh no, supressupresssupresssupress--

"SNOW NEGROES! Bwahahahahah! Snooow Negroes--Ahhahahahaha!"

Oh gawd, I can't believe I said "snow negroes" in front of 200 people.

"I'm sorry. I just thought of something...funny. Sorry" I'd try to reposition & compose myself.
--
--
"OK. We're done Chrissy."

Wha-? But-- I'm still... itchy.

So I get all the way back to my seat, but have forgotten my shoes on the stage.

Oh whatever. ishly. Ha ha. Hahahahaha! HAHAHAHAHAHA! Whateverishly--WHATEVERISHLY! AhhhhHAHAHAHA!

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Mmmaybe not.