“Do you ever feel weird?” Jocelyn leans over the counter. Her shiny black hair falls bluntly to her jaw line. Her eyes are lively behind her thin black-rimmed glasses. Her black eyebrows arch up like two emphasizing pen strokes. Ambient music drifts ethereally from well-disguised speakers. The fountain trickles. I shake droplets of Aquarius blend essential oil into the vaporizer.
“Weird how?”
“I went to a dinner party last night with some people who don’t – you know – practice at the studio.”
“Non-yogis?”
“Gym yogis. They were drinking wine and talking about Sex in the City. Have you seen that?”
“No.”
Jocelyn nods. “Neither have I. And I couldn’t drink the wine and I ate some of the food, but it was so . . . unhealthy. I thought I might get sick.”
“So you didn’t have a good time?”
She shakes her head. “How do those people live like that? I felt like an alien.”
a•li•en: [‘alyen] adj. belonging to a foreign country or nation.
• unfamiliar and disturbing or distasteful: having no wine with dinner was alien to him | they found the world of yogic tradition completely alien.
• [ attrib.] relating to or denoting beings supposedly from other worlds; extraterrestrial: an alien spacecraft.
n. a foreigner, esp. one who is not a naturalized citizen of the country where they are living: an illegal alien. • a hypothetical or fictional being from another world: the aliens have landed and they like marbled flesh for dinner.
I sit in a green plastic lawn chair at my uncle’s Fourth of July barbecue. On my knee is a paper plate – a whole wheat hot dog bun with American cheese and relish in the middle, a mound of potato salad.
My cousin-in-law pulls up a chair next to mine. She appears to have been sleeping in a tanning bed for most of her adult life. Her dyed red-brown hair is pulled back with two red white and blue bows, like a fifty-year-old Shirley Temple. She wears a large sequined American flag pin on her red white and blue shirt, white shorts, white tennis shoes. Her eyebrows have been plucked completely and drawn back on with eye liner. “Aren’t you going to have a hotdog?”
“No,” I say.
“Then get yourself a burger. There’s plenty.”
I shake my head. “No red meat.”
“Girl, you’re liable to starve to death. You’re as bad as I am – I have Diet Coke for lunch when I’m working – but today’s a holiday so I’m gonna eat.”
I smile.
“What about the baked beans?” she asks.
“There’s bacon in them.”
Her painted eyebrows draw together. “That isn’t really meat. I’m gonna get you some beans as soon as I’m finished with this burger. We’re supposed to be celebrating today. You want a Zima? I’ve got a whole six pack.”
“No, thanks.”
“Jeff told me you used to be a big party girl but then you quit.”
I poke a fork into my potato salad. The faster I eat, the faster I can leave. “Yeah.”
“So you don’t even drink on holidays?”
My mouth is full of Aunt Jean’s potato salad – special recipe with sweet pickles instead of dill. “No.”
“So you never get to have a good time? That must be hard – I could never do that..”
“It wasn’t hard. I didn’t try to quit. Alcohol makes me feel ill. I don’t like it.”
“Well, I do.” She tips her Zima bottle back, takes a gulp. “Hey, Jeff said you were living in New Mexico now.”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve always wanted to go there so I could see one of those UFOs. You seen any?”
“Um, no.”
***
Humans have a limited spectrum. There is light. There is the absence of light. Every color that appears to the human eye is a variation of red, yellow, and blue.
White is the presence of all colors. It splits into a rainbow – a circular progression. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet, red.
Black is the absence of all light and therefore all color. Without black, white would not be visible. Or, without white, black would not be visible.
Press Release
WASHINGTON, D.C. – The Committee for the True Shape of Reality today issued a statement debunking the continued claims of UFO sightings across the country.
Committee spokesperson Joe Smith said, “There is absolutely no scientific evidence for the existence of extraterrestrial beings flying around in spaceships. Every sighting may be explained as a weather balloon, the Northern Lights, out and out hoaxery (sic), or just plain insanity. We do not feel the American public should tolerate chicanery, and in the event of mental illness, we urge people to seek treatment from certified members of the mental health community.”
Smith went on to say that the rumors of a government conspiracy to cover up evidence of UFOs were patently untrue. “Do you really think that many people could keep a secret of that magnitude? My Uncle Elmo used to work for the government and every Saturday he’d be at the barber shop telling what those senators really liked to do with their cigars. If the government knew anything about UFOs, Uncle Elmo would have told the entire population of Ridgemont, Virginia, except for my Aunt Flo – he never told her anything.”
Smith said mentally ill people and their families had his deepest sympathy and many of the certifiably insane could still be patriots and productive members of society if given the proper medication.
James has muted the television.
In the square world of the screen, a scraggly-looking actor is breaking eggs in a filth-ridden kitchen. He keeps missing the bowl and dribbling egg goo everywhere. Large black letters come onto the screen, “Breakfast, it’s harder than you think.” A fast-food burger looms large and plastically juicy. “Without us some guys would starve,” the screen proclaims.
“Television is so weird,” I say. “How can the image of someone being too stupid to break an egg be a good sales tactic? Who falls for this shit? People like that should starve – it would improve the gene pool.”
James nods. “Think of those people as veal for aliens. Aliens like a good marbled flesh. They’re using television and fast food to fatten the masses. Instead of confining them to pens where they can’t move, the aliens give them a cubicle for the daytime and a couch for the night time, plenty of pure fat food, and the humans become complicit with their own confinement – they willingly aid in their own destruction.”
“You’re a real ray of sunshine.”
“Welcome to Kali Yuga.”
According to some recorders of Hindu mythology, those of us who inhabit the earth today are living in the dark, tumultuous Kali Yuga, the last and most decadent of the ‘ages of man’ in the present Kalpa, or cycle of creation. Some Indian astronomical and calendrical calculations say that the Kali Yuga began in 3100 BC, a date that coincides almost to the year with the ancient Mayan computation of the beginning of the Fifth Sun. Just like Kali Yuga, the Fifth Sun is our present epoch. The Mayan calendar predicts the end of the Fifth Sun to be December 23, 2012.
In Hindu tradition, Kali Yuga is an age where the virtues of the human race are largely nonexistent. The earth is ruled by violence and strife. Though the Bhagavata Purana does not tell when Kali Yuga will end, it does tell how: “In the twilight of this age, when all kings will be thieves, the Lord of the Universe will be born as Kalki. He will appear riding on a white horse and holding a sword blazing like a comet. He will punish evil-doers and comfort the virtuous. Then he will destroy the world. Later, from the ruins of the earth, a new mankind will arise.”
Aunt Jean is scrubbing a pan with Comet so its exterior will gleam. The meager flesh on her bony arms is shaking with her exertion. “I really wish you’d come to church with me tomorrow,” she says.
“I don’t think I can get up that early.”
She sets the pan down, rinses her sponge, wipes a wrist across her forehead. “You know, the Rapture isn’t far away. It’s going to happen in our lifetime – any day now. It’s all been foretold in the book of Revelation.”
“I just needed to get a glass of iced tea for Uncle Ray. He’s thirsty.”
“I’m worried about your soul. If you haven’t accepted Our Lord Jesus Christ as your savior, you’ll end up in eternal hell.”
“Well, thanks. I’ll certainly consider what you’ve said.”
“Revelation warns that there will be lots of false prophets calling themselves God in the end times. If those New Mexican yoga people are telling you to worship somebody other than Jesus, don’t do it.”
“They don’t really talk about that kind of stuff.”
Her tired blue eyes search mine as if she doesn’t quite believe what I’m saying. “I just hope that when all the righteous people float up to heaven, you’ll be with us.”
My sister, Erica, is on the other end of the telephone. “I’m glad I caught you.”
“How’s it going?”
“Great. I just met this woman – Destiny – and she’s my best friend ever. She’s a yoga teacher, like you.”
“Cool.”
“You’ve got to hear this because it explains everything. She told me President Bush is a reptilian alien – he’s a tool of the dark forces.”
I can't help smiling. “Like Darth Vader?”
“Seriously! They’re trying to take over the world so they can steal all the resources. They make him up to look human, but he isn’t. He’s part of a universal struggle between good and evil.”
“Aha.”
“So these reptilians are taking over the earth.”
“I guess that could be one explanation.”
“Yeah, I know, but there is hope. I mean, it seems hopeless, right? I always think it’s hopeless. But the Arcturans are on our side.”
“Arcturans.”
“Yeah, they’re the aliens who are working for the good of the universe. They have a satellite orbiting earth and they’re beaming positive energy at us all the time. We just have to soak it up and we’ll be able to vanquish the reptilians.”
“That’s good to know.”
“I knew you’d be happy to finally find out what it’s all about.”
“So are you hanging out with this Destiny woman a lot?”
“No. She gave up teaching yoga and moved to Mount Shasta so she could be in closer contact with the Arcturans.”
“For real, Erica, who is this woman?”
“Destiny.”
“So you believe everything she says just because her name is Destiny?”
“Nobody ever understands what I’m talking about!”
“Okay, Bush being a reptile from outer space would explain a lot of things, but you have to be careful. I mean, at least see if there’s proof. Don’t just believe whatever anybody tells you – even if their name is Destiny and they teach yoga.”
The world is comprised of polarities beginning with the four physical elements. As God divided dark from light in the Old Testament, so divided are fire and water, earth and air.
Humans are more complex. Each individual embodies any number of polarities; male and female, sadness and laughter, contentment and rage, mind and heart, body and soul.
Love is the divine principal. The opposite of love is fear. Hatred is engendered by fear. Violence. Oppression. Terrorism. War. All functions of fear. Whenever a decision is made in fear, it begets more fear.
The effect of fear on the human body is called “Red Light Reflex.” Every time something frightens a human, the shoulders draw forward, the chest becomes concave. It is instinctual to protect the heart center – it is the space where humans are most vulnerable – the part of the body associated with love. Conversely, the heart is the strongest muscle in the body. Over time, “Red Light Reflex” causes the heart space to close down. It becomes more and more difficult for the heart to function properly and it begins to effect the other organs, such as the lungs.
In yoga, we are taught to draw the shoulders back and down. By pressing the shoulder blades into the back, we create an undercarriage for the heart space and allow it to open again. In this way, we slowly release old fears and begin to lead with the love that resides in the heart instead of the fear that resides in the mind.
Different Types of Aliens Found on Planet Earth
(Courtesy of Freak Magazine: True Reports of the Unknown )
The Reptoids: According to experts, intelligent reptilian entities from outer space first make their appearance in the Testament of Amram (4QAmram), in the Dead Sea Scrolls. This text is full of gaps, and the role of the reptilians in the story is unclear. However, many scholars have theorized that the Egyptian crocodile god Sebek is actually a reptilian alien. Reptoids reportedly look like giant lizards who stand upright on their hind legs. They have long tails and are covered with scales ranging in color from green to silvery gray. The most recent sighting of Reptoids was at a subterranean military base in Dulce, New Mexico. The Reptoids, who were assisted by the Grays (see below), allegedly fired laser guns at Delta Force elements, who returned fire with conventional weapons. Reptoids are reportedly planning to take over the earth for their own exploitation.
The Grays: These are the most commonly known aliens. They are generally small with large round heads and black oblong eyes, hairless and genderless, with thin arms and large spindly hands. Most experts now agree that they are actually organic robots whose main job is to assist the Reptoids. The Grays are often associated with abduction stories.
The Arcturans: The Arcturans are tall – often over 7 feet, with elfin features. Their eyes slant upward and their ears are almost pointed. They are uncommonly beautiful, statuesque but gentle in demeanor, with high sweeping cheekbones. Their hair is generally dark, though some Arcturans have hair that is pure white. They are most often seen when people are in need of help, sometimes appearing out of nowhere at a crucial life or death moment.
I sit on my front porch in the gloaming. The sinking New Mexico sun paints the Sangre de Cristos pink red and tinges junipers and cottonwoods gold. The moon, large and full, peeks her curved head over the mountains. Thrashers, brown towhees, and chickadees, flit home to their nests in fragrant branches.
Beneath pitched metal roofs, behind faux adobe walls, people arrive home from work. They do not look at the sky – at the subtle gradations of blue violet orange that change from moment to moment without appearing to change. They scream at each other. Across the high desert, adults yell and children cry. The sound merges, blends into one despairing wail and rises into the watercolor atmosphere like the cry of a giant carnivorous beast.
I press the soles of my feet into the mat, bend my front knee, ground deeply into my back foot. My quadriceps send burning pain messages to my brain. My breath is short and quick. My arms, left forward, right back, ache with the need to fall to my sides. Still I hold myself in Virabudrasana II – the light warrior goes forth – fixing my gaze fiercely to the end of my left forefinger.
Someone in the back of the studio groans. Several people titter in sympathy.
My teacher, Kofi, is speaking. “Keep breathing,” he says. “Every person you meet, every situation you encounter, even your physical surroundings, are all reflecting back to you something about yourself. If you are in a situation that you want to end, the key is to understand what that situation is showing you. Keep breathing. If you are waiting for the next pose, you are missing the point. The only pose you need to concentrate on is the pose you are in right now. When you want to come out of the pose, that’s when it begins. That’s when you begin to face exactly what it is you don’t want to face.”
Simon is disquietingly tall. He wears dark glasses inside the restaurant with the all-you-can eat fish buffet, seated at a booth across from me. He has not removed his black tam. “I did your numerology.”
I fork a fish filet, slice it with my knife. “Thanks.”
“Don’t tell anyone I did it. It might get back to them.”
“To who?”
“The government. They’d love to know where I am. So far they haven’t found me, but I’ll have to be moving on soon.”
“So you’re leaving?”
Simon is part of my poetry group. He can compose gloriously dense impromptu poems – reciting them on the spot. All you have to do is give him a topic. Unfortunately, they don’t translate well to paper.
I hope he doesn’t ask me if I’ve read his manuscript. I hope he doesn’t think this is a date.
He shifts nervously in his seat, clears his throat. “I’m not leaving for a while. The results of your numerology chart are amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
I swallow a piece of fish. “Yeah?”
“You’re a light messenger. Do you know what that means?”
“No.”
“You’re here because it’s the end times and you’re supposed to help the world evolve to the next spiritual plane.”
The fish is too salty. I chew it carefully, watching the faint glimmer of eye whites behind his dark lenses. “I’ve got to get back to work soon.”
The studio is humid with sweat, silent but for the labored breathing of thirty people.
My palms are pressed together, my forearms form a V. I sink the crown of my head to the mat, walk my feet in till my pelvis is directly over my shoulders. But I can’t go up. I don’t want to go up. There is no wall behind me and I will fall backwards. I keep my toes on the ground.
Kofi walks up and down the rows of head standers. His step is solid, deliberate, measured. His feet stop behind me.
I hold my breath. Please go on. Please go on. Please go on.
His voice is imperious with a small tinge of humor underneath. He speaks with a South African accent. “The first step to standing on your head is coming to the realization that it is not the eighth wonder of the world. Any human being with a reasonably strong yoga practice and no extenuating injuries can stand on his or her head. Look at me. I am in a room full of people standing on their heads and I am not the least bit impressed because I know it is entirely possible.” He moves next to me to spot. “Go up.”
My feet leave the ground.
Everything turns upside down.
Kofi’s hand steadies my legs. “Good,” he says. “You just needed a change of perspective.” He turns his voice to the room at large. “You see, what you manifest in your life is largely dependent upon what you believe is possible.”
Ambient music drift ethereally from well-disguised speakers. The fountain trickles. I look up from behind the counter.
The man is very tall, with high cheekbones. He has long blond hair, blue eyes. He seems to glow from within. He is dressed in white.
The woman next to him is also very tall – six feet or more – and also dressed in white. She is slender and her cheekbones and the corners of her eyes sweep up elegantly. She smiles serenely. “Here you are.”
I put on my pleasant voice, “May I help you with something?”
The man beams. “We’re here to help you. You’ve been asking for help, haven’t you?”
Every day – I just haven’t asked anyone in particular. “I guess so.”
The woman’s voice is as calm as her demeanor. “These are dark times and they’re getting worse. As a light messenger, you’re going to need all the help you can get.”
I turn the ambient music down a notch. “Who told you to come here?”
They both smile. “We just knew you were here.”
“What do you want?”
The man’s smile deepens. “We only want to help you. We have some things to tell you, but we’ll need $200 first – preferably in cash.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You can’t be serious.”
He shrugs. “We’re on this plane – we’ve got to make a living.”
“You can’t save these yahoos.” Al is not the spiritual teacher I expected. He is wearing light gray sweatpants, a matching jacket, a white v-necked t-shirt, white tennis shoes. He has removed his white cap and set it on the table, revealing a white crew cut. If he had a whistle around his neck and a frown instead of a smile, he would look like a coach.
The restaurant is empty. A Country and Western song about good American values – family, hard work, Jesus, war – is playing.
He does not give me the usual line about how the world is a good place if you just have a positive outlook. Instead, he tells me to take off the rose-colored glasses. “This place is a hell hole. I know you want to help other people. We all do. But as far as the masses are concerned, you can’t help them..”
“But I thought God loved everyone unconditionally.”
“God does. You can, too. But just because you love someone unconditionally, you don’t overlook what they really are. It’s free will. They’re making a choice.”
“But they don’t know what they’re doing.”
“That’s what Jesus said – but he was a planetary master. He changed things, then – to a degree. It was much worse then than it is now. But even a planetary master couldn’t make things that much better here. Now people are killing people in his name. You think that’s how he wanted things to go? No – it’s free will – that’s how those people work. I know it’s not democratic or p.c., but if you drag yourself down trying to help people who are so low you have to carry them, you won’t be making much of a difference. If they’re not ready to get it, they won’t. Everyone has the same choices you do. Unconditional love starts with your own being.” He touches his heart center. “Send your love right here. It will naturally radiate.”
The sun is gone. A still blue horizon remains, gradually darkening over head. Just above the western horizon, three bright objects form a triangle. They glow steadily like planets. But they are not planets.
They hang motionless.
I keep my eyes on them; search for movement.
My dog jerks my arm with his leash, but I stay still. Waiting.
The sky grows darker. The lights do not move. The air grows chill. An airplane buzzes overhead.
One by one, the lights quickly shrink out of sight.
Jocelyn looks at me expectantly. “You never answered my question.”
“Question?”
“Do you ever feel weird?”
“All the time, but I can’t tell if it’s me or everyone else.”
Jocelyn smiles. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”
“You do?”
Essays by Kirsten Mustain • Next >