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I Got Spiritually Bitch Slapped At A Healing: Part III |
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THE REVEAL
Just a refresher course in the healing scene hierarchy: Jesus In Training is Head Healer Himself’s quasi-apprentice. But JIT has a quasi-apprentice of his own. JIT’s helper, we’ll call him The Phony, had been acting weird with me from the get-go. When I first showed up at the last one of these meet-n-greets, The Phony was uber-friendly and JIT was the one being hostile. This time JIT is all over me, yet, The Phony gives me attitude from the minute I walk up. It's like JIT has magicallly transferred his feelings about me to his little helper.
I have a few hostile interactions with The Phony that aren’t interesting enough to write about because it has to do with where someone can use a credit card...like I said, boring. He’s just being a punk. I’m waiting in line to talk to HHH and he stands there like the muscle, allowing everyone else who comes up go ahead and sit on Santa's lap. Everyone but me. I can’t get near the guy. The Phony keeps staring at me, actually, glaring at me. It’s unnerving. Finally I have to confront him about it.
“Is something wrong?” I have to ask.
“Nothing,” he says sharply. His disdain for me is palpable.
“Ohhhhkay, because it seems like something is bothering you.” I say.
My spiritual bitch-slap comes in the form of poorly worded sentence:
“Maybe you should look inside yourself for why that seems.”
“Excuse me?” Is that even English?
I still don’t know what hit me until The Phony gives me a snide, condescending dirty look, turns pointedly on his heel and walks away.
Please take a moment to remind yourselves that I'm at a Goddamn healing.
Mother fucker. It takes me a second to register what happened. My cheeks burn with rage. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!!!!???? I scream on the inside.
I walk to the back of the yoga studio where I am sitting, take one look at The White Collar Hippie and burst into tears. I cry because I can’t scream. I look toward the exit to bolt, but JIT and The Phony stand deep in conversation, probably about me, arms folded like guards. I sit down, put my head on my knees and can’t stop crying for 20 minutes. It's that kind of muffled, heaving, sobbing crying like when you are a little kid and you can’t breathe because you’re trying to stay quiet. It doesn’t feel healing, though. They are the gut-wrenching tears of frustration.
When I finally do calm down, the rage I immediately had to squelch in the moment really has a chance to kick in. I downward spiral quickly from tears to feeling enraged that I didn’t punch The Phony right in his smug face; I then swing wildly to feeling guilty for having such violent thoughts in the middle of a healing.
I sit there clenching my fists, counting to 10, breathing in and out, listening to some dude preach about love. My breathing, which usually always works, isn’t working. I don’t know if it’s the sparkling-eyed devotees or the fact that I just can’t shake the feeling that shadow side to this whole operation must be very dark indeed. I’m becoming more and more furious with every breath. I am afraid if I open my mouth, the only thing that will come out will be the high-pitch shriek of banshee woman. Needless to say it quickly becomes apparent why I was wondering if anyone had ever gone postal—because I’m about to.
I feel trapped. Why am I so mad?
The thing that snaps me out of it is the guy with chronic sleep disorder who volunteers to be “healed”. I perk up. This ought to be entertaining at least. Even in the face of blinding hypocrisy and boiling rage, the comic in me can’t help but snicker.
Now let’s be clear, I feel the same way about people with Chronic Sleep Disorder as I feel about marijuana addicts going to rehab. I have a really hard time finding the empathy and I have an even harder time not laughing in their face. I always thought those sleep disorders were just another way of saying someone was chronically lazy.
SNAP. SNAP. SNAP. SNAP. SNAP.
SNAP. SNAP.
SNAP. SNAP. SNAP. SNAP.
SNAP.
I'm observing the "miracle", wishing Buddha Monkey, the non-verbal autistic teenager I work with was there. Oh, so you can heal chronic fatigue syndrome? Big deal. Here ya go, snap your fingers Healer man and have at it, because I can’t wait to hear what Buddha Monkey has to say about you guys when you heal his Apraxia/Aphasia (googled it for ya).
While Collar Hippie suggests I out The Phony and ask publicly what kind of attitude that is to cop at a healing. I’ve already moved on and am pondering more important matters—does HHH have health insurance? Seriously, it’s a good fucking question. If I’m going to pay a healer and I have cancer, my healer better not be spending a fuckin’ penny on health insurance unless it’s catastrophic.
I’m legitimately considering raising my hand and asking the question and simultaneously praying I won’t have to witness another performance when I finally have my moment with God. Right then, someone steps into the room and interrupts.
“The garage downstairs is closing in 5 minutes and those of you who have parked there will have to move your car or it will be locked in over night.” the Angel says.
Can I get an AMEN?
By the grace of God I had parked there. I politely excuse myself, JIT and The Phony are distracted and I make a break for it. I get in my car and never return.
However...looking back over this essay, maybe I deserved my bitch slap. Maybe The Phony sensed my quiet cynicism the whole time and that’s what he was taking me to task on. Maybe The Phony is the real deal and he can read my thoughts.
Nope. He’s not. As it turns out, The Phony went crazy and was checked into a mental institution shortly after our little run-in. How do I know this?
Because Jesus In Training and I, on the other hand, have become very good friends…
Article Series
This article is part 3 of a 3 part series. Other articles in this series are shown below:
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I Got Spiritually Bitch-Slapped At A Healing: Part I
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I Got Spiritually Bitch Slapped At A Healing: Part II
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I Got Spiritually Bitch Slapped At A Healing: Part III
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