Going Deep


Going Deep

I watched as the girl sitting next to me toyed with her champagne glass. She ran her index finger up and down the edges. She made circles and eights, all the while pretending to be listening to a professor drone on about bio economy. I could tell, by the manner she caressed the champagne glass that her mind was on sex. She licked her lips every so often, and dropped her eyes. I imagined that those were the moments her thoughts were especially racy. My mind wandered to sex and I saw her hand running up and down my chest, her black hair resting on my shoulder, tickling me as she moved.

“What do you think Juny? I’d love to hear what you think.” Professor Litmus was an American determined not to appear self-centered or egotistical. Usually, I would take great pleasure in playing with people like him. However, I was feeling light at the moment. The weather was lovely with the wind blowing a soft breeze and the sun.

“What do you mean, Professor? I’m not well versed in…bio economy.” I claimed in my most innocent voice. It was quite an effort to keep the sarcasm out of my tone.

“Coming from a country like yours, I would believe you’d have some input to give.” He replied, taking a sip of his mimosa. The afternoon sun shone bright on our brunch. My mood was light, especially as the cool breeze blew through my hair.

“Just because I’m Korean, it doesn’t mean I have an opinion regarding every subject matter. I’m a photographer and I enjoy taking pictures of my country. I have other hobbies but bio economy is not one of them. I’m not going to pretend to know just to look distinguished around a group of people I barely know.” It was becoming quite a challenge to keep my tone neutral. People like professor Litmus were gifts from the Universe. Meeting people who pushed my buttons kept me vigilant about getting carried away by my emotions. However, some days, it was harder to accept the gift.

“Personally, I find Professor Litmus absolutely captivating.” The woman with black hair, whose name may have been Carry of Sherry, claimed. She leaned forward, exposing her cleavage for the whole table to admire. I let my eyes drink in the beautiful view then said:

“Oh please darling, all you’re interested in is to sleep with the man.” My comment brought a moment of awkward silence where everyone concentrated on their meal.

This brunch was suppose to be a meeting of minds. Professor Litmus had a PHD in bio economics and the sexy Carry/Sherry was an author. There was also a famous psychoanalyst by the name of Dr Saltillo. He was a caricature of Doctor Sigmund Freud himself. His frame carried the years of debauchery with a loose jowl and a stomach wide enough to rest his coffee on. Dr. Saltillo even had a cigar he smoked while enjoying his pancakes and omelette. Madame Sevigny graced out presence, coming all the way from France. She came from an artistocratic family which meant she had the money to support her passions. Her main love was supporting the arts. She contributed by giving big donations to private companies. She also kept a young ballet dancer in New York and a painter in Berlin funded, with all living expenses paid for. I suspected she had many more lovers across the globe. Then, there was my friend, Austin, a budding filmmaker who constantly organized such events as a source of inspiration. He firmly believed that if more people shared ideas, there would be more healing in the world.

As for my presence at this particular meeting, I knew it wasn’t for my experience as a photographer. In the last year, I had gained a reputation as an alternative healer. The man with the magic hands, they called me. That is why I was flown from my home in South Korea, to New York, so that I can share my gift with the world. At least, that is what Austin proposed when he flew me over.

“Why are you here anyways? Is it simply to antagonize people?” Dr. Saltillo asked. I looked over to his large figure, refusing to judge this man from my perspective. It was one thing my teacher kept repeating in her communications. I needed to stop judging what I perceived to keep my vision open to all the possibilities.

“Juny is a gifted healer,” Austin cut in. I was greeted with the usual condescending smiles, especially by Dr. Saltillo. The majority of the people I meet were firm in their belief that unless one was certified and had spent a lot of money in scholastic institutions, one wasn’t a real healer.

“I don’t know about how gifted I am. I’m an alternative healer. I place my hands on certain points of people’s head and release blocked energy.” As I explained, in layman’s terms, what I did, Madame Sevigny and Carry/Sherry turned a very inquisitive look in my direction. The men, on the other hand, put on their most skeptical airs.

“That sounds a bit like new age hoodoo voodoo to me,” dismissed Professor Litmus. His comment washed over me like water. I was so accustomed to such resistance. The people who showed the most skepticism were usually those who eventually became the most fervent believers.

“I don’t know, Professor. I’ve heard of many cases of people affecting their environment with meditation, or any emotions for that matter. I mean, how many times has it happened that one person’s anger turned a whole room uncomfortable?” Asked Madame Sevigny.

Talk about energy and intention began with Madame Sevigny being a staunch believer and Professor Litmus dismissing it as flights of fancy. Though I was the most qualified to enrich the discussion, I chose to sit back. The energy these people were raising was so palpable and potent and it amused me! I wondered if it was the subject matter itself that provided such strength.

Austin also sat back, smiling. He could feel it as well. It hadn’t taken him long to learn how to perceive people’s energy. Three months ago, when we met in South Korea, Austin was a drug addict on the verge of ruin. He wanted to be a filmmaker, yet couldn’t focus his mind long enough to grasp the visions in his mind. Instead he would copy what he saw in mainstream media. However, the public was already weary of such movies or documentary that his creations wasted in the unknown. We met by chance, at a coffee shop. He asked me about interesting sights of my country. It didn’t take long for me to figure out his story. I offered to share my gift with him. He was eager for something new in his life and so everything came quickly, starting with the end of his drug addiction. He hasn’t been the same since. Austin then brought me to New York where I am now constantly solicited to help someone with their problems.

Most people come to me wanted more. They want more power, more money, more sex. I quickly found that warning them about such outlandish requests was a waste of breath. I would work their energy points, releasing the blocked areas, they would pay me and I would let them out in the world. Sometimes they thrived, sometimes they didn’t. However, without fail, everyone changed.

After Madame Sevigny called Dr. Saltillo a chauvenistic pig, I gracefully took my leave. I couldn’t see how this brunch was enriching my life and the conversation wasn’t going anywhere fun.

As I walked out of the restaurant, Carry/Sherry ran after me. She slipped a card in my hand and said:

“Sorry if I’m imposing. Austin tells me you’re very busy. I have a friend who would benefit from your gift.”

I looked at the card. It was green with whimsical designs on the borders. At the center was a name, Sandara Grimms, Landscape Artist. I smiled at the tag line: Making your world beautiful to look upon. It was more than beautiful to look upon before people came and built these concrete jungles and artificial gardens.

“Please, call her tonight. Let her tell you her story. If it’s not worth your time you can simply walk away.” Carry/Sherry offered as I studied the business card. I smiled, a bit skeptical and replied:

“Thank you Carry but like Austin said, I’m awfully busy. I don’t have time for anyone new at the moment.”

“My name is Amanda. Please, just hear her out. It won’t cost you anything.” She pleaded. Just then, my taxi arrived. I opened the door and looked back at her and her lovely chest one last time.

“For me, time is money. Good day Alana.” As the taxi driver sped away, I glanced once more at the business card, sighed and slipped it in the pocket of my pants.

After two months of constant healing, I was feeling tiered of being around people. I didn’t have time to fit in someone else with the usual material requests who didn’t understand the greater picture.

“Everyone is so tied to their bodies, they forget their infinite selves,” I mumbled, closing my eyes. I repeated some mantras my teacher had taught me when I first started learning to manipulate energy. What would it take for people to realize their infinite selves and enrich themselves through that source of energy?

As I walked in my hotel room, I sifted through my messages. I was grateful for the news that both my appointments for that day were canceled. The actress had a big audition she simply couldn’t pass on. The gynocologist’s mother was brought to the hospital for a fractured hip. Finally, I had a night to myself. The first thing I did was lay down on the bed and drift off to sleep.

I woke up to a starry night. I sat up in bed and looked out the window, watching the tall buildings, the traffic and people going by. I felt my dream wash over me, yet couldn’t grasp a linear story. I vaguely remembered someone from my past. I couldn’t recall if it was a man or a woman. However, suddenly I felt turned on. I couldn’t remember the last time I craved sex so strongly. In my youth, I would want sex often and with different people, as many as I could. Never before was it this strong.

Going to the bathroom, I found the card Allana gave me. It had fallen out of my pocket earlier. Picking it up, I figured I would try my luck. I could listen to this woman’s sob story and seduce her in my bed.

I picked up the telephone and dialed the number, all the while vibrating with the urge. After the fourth ring, a woman picked up. Her voice was soft. She also sounded tiered


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