Nose Down, Eyes Up by Merrill Markoe

Amazon.com

Powell's Books

1.    I am apparently stuck wearing a piece of smelly filthy string around my wrist for the rest of my life.
The way it happened is that I arranged to have myself  blessed-and- healed by Buddhist Monks in 1996.  I did it for a couple of reasons, some of them ironic.  For instance , the fact that the healing was to take place in the upstairs loft of  a trendy  Malibu clothing boutique was a detail that was not lost on me. Especially because at the time I had a magazine column.
But I would be remiss if I didn’t also own up to the fascination I had for new age frippery back then.  I was never sure how much of what I attended I also kinda sorta believed . All I knew was that I liked to hear about  a  variety of strange and metaphysical type things.  As far as that went, the fact that this had a Buddhist affiliation put it squarely on the sensible side.  So that  Saturday morning, about a week after I signed up and paid a fee,  I climbed a staircase just behind a table that was piled high with animal print Capri pants on sale  and was directed to a room where I met with my own personal healer monk.  He was dressed in a traditional saffron colored robe, although I remember being kind of amused by the fact that he was wearing ordinary western footwear and some rather stylish wireframe glasses.     For about half an hour he chanted, or we chanted together. Sometimes he described vivid  tableaus upon which I was supposed to meditate. I seem to remember one that involved a thousand flying swordsmen because I also remember fretting that perhaps I wasn’t visualizing them well enough, and would inadvertently compromise my results.
I do remember how the whole thing ended.  I was splashed with some very special water and then my monk (if I might be so bold as to call him that) tied a red string around my left wrist.

“When the string falls off, you will be healed.” He said.
On my way out of the store, I felt so good I bought some Capri pants and a purse.

Cut to: Now. The string is moldly, and kind of stinky. Not only has the red color been replaced by gray but, it has acquired a patina of yellow paint from the last time I redid my bedroom. It is one very  disgusting looking piece of string, but after a lifetime of watching horror movies and episodes of Twilight Zone , I don't feel  I can just cut it off and throw it away. How do I dare? I mean, I am feeling pretty good. (I would say ‘very good’ but I don’t want to test my luck.). Obviously I don’t think the afore mentioned has anything to do with a disgusting piece of string. But then again, apparently I am not yet healed. How I wish it would just fall off.  But that’s not going to happen.  It is wrapped around my wrist in three unbroken strands that do not seem to be showing any signs of fraying.
I guess I am stuck with it . So that is one thing about me that is definitely crazy.

2.The second one is that I think I am becoming  codependent with Barack Obama.  I will write that up as a separate entry. At least  it isn’t ruining my opportunity to wear bracelets.