The Trickster Diaries/Chapter 87
Late January, 2015. Look, you can’t get to the Anahata Chakra. It isn’t possible. Not in these times. Juliette—not El or Jones or anyone else—was the only human I’d met who’d even made it to Manipura, the third of the seven stages.
Yet Manipura was a fragile place to be. Unless you were extremely disciplined and driven the lure of sex and intimacy still existed there. So dumping my Ello account suddenly and unexpectedly—known as “ghosting” in the social media world, as I would soon discover—was dirty pool. A flat out trick.
A trick that worked.
She sent me a private email the next morning. “Was it something I said?” wrote Juliette. A beautiful b&w GIF was attached. ’40’s noir. A woman in a slinky, stylish black dress with a silver necklace, silver earrings and bracelet walks into a darkened room, switches on a table lamp as if expecting to find someone on the loveseat. She turns, looks, nobody there.
Shit. My basketball days all over again. A monster slam followed by her cool, calm and collected three pointer with only seconds left on the game clock. True, it had definitely opened a door, but on the other side of that door—surprise!—a room of mirrors I’d no choice but to stand in, surrounded, a direct and unquestionably traumatic confrontation with a nonexistent self. Such irony.
The second irony was that perfect serenity, perfect honesty and intent would come—like in a Dracula movie—only when no reflection whatsoever was visible.
So in I went.
Then ran back out, terrified.