What would you do for a million dollars? For most, it is a hypothetical question. One that has most likely been asked, or at least bounced around in the mind, of almost everyone at some time or other. And in the fantasy world of "What If?", it seems to have a fluidity that allows even more unlikely "what ifs" to come along for the ride. Can the question ever be truly answered, when set upon such unrealistic and absurd parameters? Can we ever really know until we are put to the test?

This manuscript is made up of my recollections, my experience, when faced with a question such as this. And the moral struggle involved in maintaining ones honor, in the face of easier and more lucrative options. Suddenly swept into the life of a nonconformist heiress, I got to see what the lives of the rich can be like. The hidden horrors, and the grand luxuries. The options that wealth can afford, and the power that wealth can wield.

I have done my best to keep these tales as accurate and truthful as possible. I have attempted to place them back in their proper chronological order, from the scattered fragments of images that slide in and out of my consciousness. If a point of view was just an impression of mine, I attempt to state it as so. If I can recall the exact words that were used, I do my best to repeat them accurately. But 20 years have past between these memories, and the present. Time can bend, and long term memory can fade. Others may have viewed it differently, but this is MY testimony.

At no point have these stories been embellished, or contrived for dramatic effect. Some names have been changed, to protect the innocent from retribution, at the hands of the guilty. And though many of these stories may seem unbelievable, I assure you that I report them as accurately as I can, including my doubts and suppositions. The truth is, I had never experienced many of these things before. I doubt I would have believed it myself, if I had not been the one to experience it. But then, who honestly thinks that they are going to meet a multi-millionaire one day. That the multi millionaire is going to fall in love with them, and give them everything they want. And then after all that happens they are just going to live happily ever after. Sorry Sleeping Beauty, the real world don’t work that way. The real world goes something more like this…

It was a cold spring morning in Sedona, AZ. A heavy snow had fallen the night before, and the majestic red rock formations were capped and draped in white. It was a scene that is not so common, so I stood by the window for quite a few minutes, watching the cars go by and hoping a few would stop. Business was slow, and I was sure the snow didn’t help.

Oh, by the way, my name is Jim; well Gypsy Jim is what they had nicknamed me. I changed the spelling to "Jypsy Jim". And my shop was called "Jypsy Jim’s Magic Gems". My merchandise was crystals, gemstones, and objects of magic and spirit. I had done fairly well at the swap meets in California. Then in February of 1988, I was on a gem buying tour through Arizona, when I happened upon a small storefront in Sedona. 200 square feet for $300 a month. That was much better than the daily rate at the swap meet. Also, it eliminated setting up and tearing down every day, so I went for it.

I opened for business in March, with a six month sub-lease from its former tenants, a Christmas theme store. And on this particular day, a Christmas theme would have been more suitable. My breath had started to fog the window, when I saw the figure of a young man walking towards my door. I was already up, so I opened the door as he got there, and welcomed him in. He had long black hair and a black leather jacket. As he took off his backpack, I could see he was soaked to the bone. He told me he had camped in the snow the night before. He told me his name was "Wild", Wild Dog. He was scouting the area, so that he would know where things were when Mama Dog arrived. He had to be freezing, so I offered him a space in front of the small portable space heater that warmed my shop.

"Stay for a while, and take the chill off." I said, as I sat down behind the counter. He asked me how to find the Sky Ranch Lodge, at Airport Mesa. It happened to be up the hill from my shop, so I directed him. He leaned over on the chair, warming his hands close to the heater He brought up several of the spiritual concepts that this "Mama Dog" had introduced him to. Then he would ask my opinion on the topic. He was obviously a newbee to this stuff. But it was apparent that he had seen enough to nudge his interest. We talked for an hour or two, before he began to dry out. He needed to get up to the mesa. So he threw his pack over his shoulders, thanked me, and wandered back into the snow

It was about a month before I saw him again. A fancy Chevy "Luxury Ride" van pulled into my parking lot, and out jumped Wild. Followed by Mama Dog and her entourage, which included her 8year old daughter, Red. Mama Dog was a woman of great stature. She weighed about 400 pounds, and walked slowly, carrying a large staff. She wore a long sleeved black dress, headband, and lots of jewelry. She smiled at me, as her daughter helped her through the door. As she turned, and walked through my small shop, she moved so slowly that it almost seemed like a meditation practice. She found many items she liked, and began to amass quite a collection in relatively short order. Those with her followed, and milled about the shop as well. As Mama Dog finished her circle tour of the shop, she announced that this was about as much walking as she could do. She explained that she had a severe sciatic condition, and walking any distance caused her great pain.

The others had brought their purchases to the counter, as Mama Dog instructed me to "add them all together." They had selected dozens of items,. so it was a feat that took awhile, but at the end, the total had reached over $600. That was over two month’s rent in one sale. I was ecstatic. I bid them all a good day, as everyone slowly accompanied Mama Dog back to her awaiting coach. If sales like this could continue, maybe I could make something of this place. The shop fronted highway 89-A, with a speed limit of 45 miles per hour. By this time, I was noticing a lot of cars were going by so fast, that people didn’t have time to notice I was there.

Behind my shop lived Calvin. He was a pretty big guy, with a bushy beard of bright red hair. He reminded me of a Viking, from days gone past. And I wasn’t the only one who got this impression from him.. He was an unemployed construction worker, who would visit my shop almost daily. I guess at first, it was just something to do. He would come by, and tell me the latest way life was beating him down. A missed job opportunity, his truck breaking down, his girlfriend’s frustrations and his overdue rent. I gave him a place to vent his own frustrations, and tried to encourage him to think positive, and keep plugging on. Then after a while, I would notice him having a more attentive ear, as I would answer my customer’s questions. Often afterwards, he would ask me to elaborate on what I had told them. So I would try to reword things into models he could relate to. I could tell he got it, when he would also share similar personal insights with me.

In May of 1988, he stopped by my shop to remind me that it was a "Blue Moon". The second full moon in the same month. He was beginning to practice meditation by that point, and wanted to go out to Bell Rock. His truck had broken down a while back, and he needed a ride. I was working seven days a week and rarely got out, so I agreed. Bell Rock is one of the better known electro-magnetic energy vortices in the region. It was a short trip, not more than ten minutes away.

On the way, he told me of the hysteria surrounding the 1987 Harmonic Convergence celebration out there. Sedona had been attracting its share of space cadets for a while. And along with that, came those who preyed upon their gullibility. Apparently, certain people had sold tickets at $300 a piece, to ride Bell Rock as it left the planet and flew back to the "Mothership". Calvin joked that he "wanted to collect cars. Hell, they’re not coming back!" Of course, Bell Rock didn’t take off, although authorities supposedly found explosives planted at the base of the rock formation.

It was pretty dark when we arrived. The moonlight was just beginning to take over the day light. Bell Rock is right beside the highway, so it wasn’t much of a walk before we reached a large flat area at its base. We sat down and crossed our legs, then began our individual meditation practices. After a few minutes, I reopened my eyes to a phenomena I had not seen before, nor since. I do not believe Calvin saw it, but for some reason, I could not shake it. Somehow, I saw what appeared to be etheric blue smoke, like tall blades of grass, rising 2 ½ to 3 feet above the surface of the rock. Not being one who was inclined to "seeing" things, I was amazed. Was there something in my eyes? I rubbed them, and looked again. No, I still saw it. I moved my head up and down, then side to side. Nope, I still saw it. "Maybe it’s the moonlight reflecting off of evaporation" I thought, "Or heat being release after a day in the sun. I turned 180 degrees, now facing the moon, instead of turned away from it. I figured a change of the angle of refracting light, might not be visible. I rubbed my eyes, looked from above and below, side to side. I still saw it. I turned back around. I picked up a little, one-inch piece of red rock, and moved it about my head in every direction, examining it at every angle of moonlight. Still the emanations appeared, shifting with the breeze. Finally I had to accept the fact; the rock was "smoking". I set the piece back down, and returned to my meditation.

I didn’t see Mama Dog again, until about a month after her first visit. She seemed a bit livelier than the last time, and a bit quicker too. With her were a couple of familiar faces, and a couple of new ones. This included her oldest daughter, Janet, who was 14. The routine was pretty much the same. Everyone milled about the place, picking up objects that interested them. Again, at the end, everything was brought up to the counter for a group tally. As I was tallying everything up, Mama Dog began telling me of her incredible trip to Boynton Canyon.

Boynton Canyon is another well-known vortex in the Sedona area. So well known, that a rather disruptive resort called "John Gardner's Enchantment" lay smack dab in the middle of it. Enchantment was a very, very exclusive resort. A chain link fence surrounded it with a guard booth at the gate. It reminded me of a military base, only with nicer buildings. It was the sight of another unusual experience I had, on my first trip to Sedona. There was a narrow passage along the canyon wall, outside the fence. Though at times only three to four feet wide, it wandered past the resort and into the rest of the canyon. I didn’t go too far in, that time, before I headed back. I only had two days scheduled to be in Sedona, on that trip, and was pressed for time. As I got back to the parking area, and slipped my key into the drivers side door lock, I looked back up at the rock formation to the right of the resort. This was the first time I saw what I believed to be "non-physical" energy variations. I had taken a couple of intuitive training courses, but my intuition tended to come more from feeling the energy than seeing it. But at this particular time, I seemed to see a very definite energy beam pyramid, rising up over the top of the rock formation. I stared in amazement for several minutes, amazed that I was still seeing it. This is the same rock formation I believe Mama Dog was describing when she related this story to me.

She had arrived at Boynton Canyon in her Lincoln Continental. Dismayed at the gate put up in front of such a sacred area, she told the driver to go back to the Jeep trail they had passed on the way in. She wanted to take that Lincoln just as close to the rock as she could get. When the car could pass no further, they came to a stop. Red got out, and handed her mother a walking stick. Mama Dog proceeded to take her ten or so steps, without severe pain, straight toward the formation. She had a rather pronounced curvature of the spine, so it was hard for her to look upwards. But as she reached the end of her walking ability, she began to look up, up, up, to the top of the monument. She was awe struck by the beauty and grandeur of the place. As she slowly raised her eyes, and slowly raised her head, she said her body filled with light. Her vertebrae went pop, pop, pop, back into place. She was healed.

I had almost finished the tally by the time she finished her story. She realized that she had forgotten to bring her pocketbook in with her, and all but Janet went out to look for it. Janet had her selections in her own little pile, off to the side of the counter. As I was busy calculating, I heard her voice say, "What about me?"

I looked up at her. There was a look on her face, that I can’t exactly describe. She looked like a sad puppy. Like she had lost her only friend. Like there was a hollowness left inside, from a severe trauma. I felt compassion for her pain. My own childhood had contained at least its fair share of hard knocks. Not wanting to aggravate the situation, I tried to console her by saying, "Just saving the best for last", and continued with my work.

The next couple of minutes were rather tense for me. I could feel a romantic interest growing in her, and saw the look of a young girl’s infatuation. Oh boy, did I say the wrong thing or what? I couldn’t wait for Mama Dog to return, and pretended to stay busy until she did. I added up Janet’s items, and included them in the tab. I presented the total to Mama Dog, which she effortlessly paid. Then they all climbed back into their van, and resumed their adventure. I sat back as they drove away, and reflected on all that had happened.

A few days later, Cheryl returned to my shop. Cheryl was my first friend in Sedona. Actually, I guess she was a friend before I ever moved to Sedona. She was working as a secretary for Bob Larson. He owned the "Red Rock News", the towns paper, as well as many other businesses and properties in the Sedona area. My shop was included on that list. I needed to get his OK, in order to sub-lease the space. I was told a certain time period, and day, that I could call him from California. Unfortunately, this time conflicted with my work schedule. So in the middle of my workday, I asked the boss for ten minutes off, so that I could make the call.

Company policy was, no long distance calls on the stores phones. So I lit a cigarette, and walked down the corridor to the pay phones. The phones were top of the line, computerized models. State of the art for the time, but lacking when it came to customer service. I punched in the telephone number, and waited to hear how many coins to insert. A computerized voice came on, and told me to insert over two dollars "for the first, one, minute." I popped eight quarters, and a few nickels and dimes into the slot, and my call went through. Cheryl answered the phone, and put me through to Mr. Larson.

We began discussing matters of business, and were still short of completion, when the mechanical voice interrupted. It informed me, that I had ten seconds to insert another "one dollar and eighty five cents, for the next, one, minute." I looked at the pile of change, I had lying on the counter. I had used most of the quarters I had, on the first one minute. The race was on. I inserted my last three quarters, and began frantically stuffing dimes into the slot. $ .85, $ .95, $1.05. Hang on, I yelled to the disembodied voice, or anyone who would listen. $1.25, $1.35, $1.45. Oh God, I’m not going to make it. "Wait, wait." I pleaded, to no avail. The computer voice returned to say, "Your time is up, good bye." Click. "NO!!!" I yelled. So close. The automated L.E.D. readout, informed me that I had inserted $1.75. I pushed the coin return, and returned to the store.

I bought a roll of quarters from the cash register, and walked back to the phones. When I called again, I could tell that Mr. Larson didn’t want to talk to me, after being cut off like that. Later, Cheryl told me that she knew by then, that I wanted to open a crystal shop there. And she encouraged the idea. I could hear them murmuring in the background for half a minute, before Mr. Larson picked up the phone. I apologized again for being cut off, and he gave me his O.K. I was in.

The first time I physically met Cheryl, was at the Saint Patrick’s Day parade. Every town has their big annual event, and Sedona’s was Saint Patty’s day. I had been in town less than a week, and barely had my shop set up, on the big day. I didn’t even have a sign yet. I set up a table of crystals, out in front of my shop, and made my presence known, as I watched the parade. My trademark at the time, was my black flared top hat, with a ‘rising sun’ bandana tied around it. My long blonde hair, hung to the armpits of my plain black leather vest. Black pants, and a brightly colored T-shirt finished the statement. People either loved it, or hated it, but everyone knew I was there. What is the saying? There is no good publicity, or bad publicity. There is just publicity.

Cheryl and a male friend approached my table and greeted me, welcoming me to the neighborhood. They looked through the crystals, and we talked for about half an hour, before she told me that we had previously met on the phone. I expressed my surprise, and thanked her for her assistance. Perhaps it was some strange fate for her, too. For that simple act, would go on to effect both our lives, and all that grew from that point on.

I usually saw Cheryl at least once every week or two. She would take me along to medicine wheels (Native American style ceremonies), and better and lesser known sacred sites in the area. When her friends, old or new, came to town, she would bring them to my shop for a visit. This particular day, she brought Sydney with her.

Sydney was a petite strawberry blonde, with a big smile on her face. Some said she looked a lot like the actress, Sissy Spacek, but I didn’t see it. Actually, I had trouble seeing what she looked like, with all that blazing energy emanating from her. I was spellbound, I was enchanted, and I was confused. I mean, I was fairly happy being "relationship free". I wasn’t looking for romantic involvement. I was far to busy. Still, I couldn’t help but smile back when I caught her eye. What was happening to me? The three of us talked for a while. She was from Dallas, and had a boyfriend, but was having problems. She loved Sedona, and was thinking of moving back. We talked for about an hour. Then the Sedona sun began to set. They had things to do, and it was closing time for me, so we all said our good byes.

As they drove away, I sat back in my chair. I was tingling all over. What was going on? This wasn’t like me! What made this rather plain, but unique girl different from all the others? I turned the door sign to "Sorry, we’re closed", and went into the bathroom. The bathroom was the only private place in the shop. I stared at the image in the mirror, looking it in the eye as I washed my hands at the sink. After staring at myself for a minute, I turned to dry my hands. As I was drying, I closed my eyes and asked my inner self again. What is it about her? Why am I feeling this way? I got an image of two warm glowing lights that circled around each other a few times, then came together as one glowing light. As if we were two different parts of the same thing. Is she my soul mate?

Oh God, not again. I had been through this soul mate delusion before. I don’t say delusion because I think I was wrong. Just to say that circumstances never matched up to expectations. I was always left emotionally drained and heartbroken, with a scuffed up bag of paranormal coincidence at my side. Cheryl later named the affliction "S. M. S.", Soul Mate Syndrome. I still didn’t feel myself to be fully recovered from my last two bouts with the disease. Besides, she still had a boyfriend, and lived in Dallas. Never mind, I told myself. It’s just not in the cards.

I believe Sydney had returned to Dallas, by the time I next saw Cheryl. The sun had fallen, and Sedona had rolled up its streets. I had closed up my shop, eaten dinner, and felt like socializing a bit. I drove to the trailer park where Cheryl lived. She invited me in, and offered me some tea. We hadn’t talked more than fifteen minutes when Johnny Appleseed came knocking at the door. He had a message for Cheryl, and was heading over to Eagle Feathers trailer. He asked us if we wanted to come? Cheryl and I looked at each other, shrugged, and said "OK".

Johnny didn’t hide his homosexual persuasion, and was often quite flamboyant with it. I believe he understood that "my gate don’t swing that way". But as long as he didn’t direct his desires toward me, I wouldn’t have a problem with him. He was an amazing artist, actor and singer. I remember him telling us that he was in the Chicago / "Broadway" production of the musical "Hair". But after that, he accepted a part in some Robert Altman film, in which he was cast as a homosexual, and he "hadn’t found work since". He had been type cast. Now, here he was, a struggling artist in a hidden trailer park in Sedona, Arizona. We finished our walk over to Eagle Feather’s trailer.

Johnny knocked on the small trailer’s door, and an elderly woman’s voice beckoned us in. The dimly lit trailer had an altar to one side, and Native American art and medicine objects decorated the small front room. After a moment of greetings and introductions, she asked us to sit. Thumper, her partner, entered from the bedroom as Eagle Feather began sharing her medicine path stories with us. She was a one-quarter Cherokee "medicine woman", who had studied with several well, and not so well known, medicine men. She spent over an hour sharing bits of wisdom, she had picked up along the way. As she did, I sat attentively and listened, correlating how this wisdom fit in with my own quest for the truth.

After all, this is how I arrived at this place. My personal quest for the truth. Ever since that "voice" in 1984, I was a paranormal phenomena junkie. I checked out every weird science, philosophy, and religion I could find. Some I felt great resonance with, others not. Mostly though, it was set aside with, "Well, that is part of it. It’s just not where I feel guided to right now." Native American philosophy was one that I felt strong ties to. Even so, I didn’t consider myself any more Native American than Christian, Buddhist, Hindu, or scientist. For one who is truly looking, truth can be found anywhere it exists. But for now, I was on Native American sacred ground, and it was the flavor of the day.

The evening was drawing to an end. As we said our good byes, Eagle Feather invited us to a medicine wheel gathering at Schnebly Hill, on the full moon. We all said we’d be there, as we exited through the aluminum door. Then Johnny Appleseed went back to his trailer, as I walked Cheryl back to hers. I stayed at Cheryl’s a bit longer, but my head was swimming with new insights. After a cup of tea, I bid her a do, and was on my way. The stars shown brightly, as I maneuvered my V. W. bus up the winding road, and back to my shop. As I laid in bed that night, staring up at the Pleiadian star cluster and wondering, I slowly, fell, asleep.

I awoke to another blazingly beautiful Sedona morning. The hot Arizona sun was shining through the front windows, illuminating the magnificent crystal display behind the glass. Acting as a prism, rainbows projected from the crystals, landing in random patterns on the white walls of the shop. It must have been earlier than I usually wake, because I hadn’t seen that before. I still had time before opening my shop, so I made a quick trip to the post office to pick up my mail. Then I headed to Bayless Supermarket, and picked out a nice ripe cantaloupe for breakfast. I still had time, so I took a chair out to the shady west wall of the building, and ate my breakfast in the open air. After finishing, I scattered the seeds in the narrow dirt border that ran beside the wall. Who knows? Maybe they would grow.

Back in 1986, I walked on "the Great Peace March for Global Nuclear Disarmament". An eight and a half month protest march from Los Angeles, California to Washington, D. C. With me, I carried a pouch with a wide variety of fruit and vegetable seeds. Every time we walked past a place that looked as if it could support plant life without human intervention, I would plant a few seeds. I guess my philosophy was that people wouldn’t have to go hungry, if food was growing wild, in spaces accessible to all.

I finished the melon, and kicked some dirt over the seeds. After washing the juice from my hands, I grabbed the mail and headed back out to the chair. I usually got quite a bit of mail, as part of my business was mail order. My craft was custom made, tumbled gemstone necklaces. The pattern designs were an integration of the molecular vibrations of atomic elements ‘frozen’ within the stones. Two or three vibrationally harmonic stones, were selected for a specific intent. The mystical practices of chromotherapy, numerology, and chakra balancing were all integrated into the final design. Actually, these necklaces made up about a third of my business. On this particular day, along with requests for catalogs and orders, was a letter from the County. It informed me, that I had failed to get a County permit for the new sign in front of my shop. This was most likely because I had no idea I needed a permit. I called their office to request information, so that I could be in compliance with their regulations. A few days later I received a response.

I was shocked by all the restrictions. As well as the cost per square foot of sign surface. But it was the color limitations that seemed the most ridiculous. No primary colors (I. E., red, yellow and blue). No warm colors (I, E, red, orange and yellow). And no white, because the glare blinded the senior citizens and they drove their cars into each other. What was left? Purple, green, black, brown and gray. I looked around town, but found no signs that were in compliance with all that.

I read through the regulations a couple of more times, looking for loopholes. The heat of the Arizona summer was upon us. Visitor traffic had slowed way down. And I was already having my doubts about the location. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to renew my lease in September. And what would tourist traffic during the winter be like? I could not imagine to many people driving all the way out there, to hike through the snow. The regulations only applied to permanent signs, embedded into the ground. Instead, I put a sign on my van parked out front, and another in the window of the front door to the shop. The door sign was done with fluorescent paints. At night, under the black light I installed, the sign appeared to be illuminated from within. Quite a few people later stated, that they had only returned to see what was behind that sign they had seen glowing a few nights before.

Sherri, if I recall her name correctly, was one such customer. She and her friend came in, commenting about the sign. They looked around, checked out the necklaces, bought a couple of small stones and tried to leave. But for some reason, this was not as easy as they thought. Sometimes, things happen for our own good, that are in sharp contrast to our intentions. This seemed to be one of those times.

We were talking of stones, and power spots in Sedona, that they might like to visit. We slowly wandered out to the parking lot, still talking. Sherri sat on the row of phone pole sections that lined the parking area, and we talked for a few minutes more. Finally ready to go, she realized she didn’t have her car keys. She tried to remember what she had done with them.

"Oh no." she said, "Maybe I put them in my purse, then locked them in the trunk." They got into the car and looked around, but no one could find them. I checked around the shop, to see if she had set them down somewhere, then checked out in the parking lot again. But they were nowhere to be found. By this time she was pretty sure they were in the trunk. She suggested we should take out the back seat, and pull the purse from the trunk.

"Are you sure?" I asked, though I didn’t have a better plan myself. She was set on the idea. "Calvin works construction." I said, "Maybe he has the right tools." I went behind the shop, to see if he was at home. He was. I filled him in on the problem at hand, and he appeared with his toolbox a few minutes later. Sherri said she had a small toaster oven, or some such, in the trunk too. Calvin could have that as payment, if they could get the trunk open. So Calvin jumped into the back seat, and went to work. It wasn’t a back seat that was meant to be opened, so it wasn’t easy. He spent a good thirty minutes wrestling with it, before he was successful in grabbing the handbag from the trunk. In the mean time, I shared with Sherri some other unusual occurrences that I had experienced in Sedona. Finally, Calvin hopped out of the back, and presented her with the purse. As she dug through it, a look of despair crept across her face.

"They’re not in here." She stated quietly. We all looked at each other in silence.

"Well, let’s not give up." I said, and we began rechecking the lot, and in the shop. Everyone else rejoined the search, but we found nothing. Sherri’s friend suggested that the spirits were toying with her. I thought about that for a moment.

"Well, if they are," I replied, " Perhaps your mission is not yet complete. Was there something in the shop you felt guided to, but did not purchase." She stated that indeed there was. She walked back into the shop, and directly over to the necklace display. Without a moments hesitation she picked up the one made of quartz crystal, lapis and amethyst. She brought it up to the counter, and I rang her up. Then she put it around her neck, and we walked back out to the parking lot. Now what? I suggested that we keep looking, and we resumed our search.

Now let’s be honest. My physical eyesight has never been that good. I was born with a severe astigmatism, and the eye surgery at age four didn’t really help that much. But I wasn’t the only one looking. Everyone else had checked the area a few times, as well. But, as I looked around the parking lot, I noticed a discoloration on top of one of the stumps. It was pretty close to where she had been sitting. As I approached, the discoloration took the form of a unicorn keychain.

"Is this it?" I asked. Much to their relief, it was. I guess it had been right there the whole time, but for some reason none of us were able to see it. Now they could be on their way. Sherri opened the trunk, and gave Calvin the toaster oven. We said our good byes, and they drove off. A couple of months later I would receive a request for another necklace from her. Things such as this, I counted as the sign of a satisfied customer.

The next evening, after closing the shop, I headed for Cheryl’s trailer. The evenings had lost their springtime chill. Actually, the night time temperature was becoming more tolerable than the sun scorched daytime. I drove the short mile and a half, with the windows open. Driving slowly, to enjoy the charm of a Sedona nightfall. I veered off, on to the narrow driveway that led down to the trailer park. The sounds of the babbling Oak Creek filled my head, as I shut off the engine. As I got out of my van, I saw Cheryl’s door swing open. I was glad to see she was at home. I was even more surprised to see that Sydney was back. She had left Dallas, and her troubling relationship, to return to Sedona.

Now what can I say? My hopes shot through the roof. She was back! They invited me in, as I approached the door. It was a pleasant night, so we wandered to the patio out back. The seasonal waterfall was flowing, adding a nice ambiance to the place. Cheryl offered us some tea, to which we agreed. Then she went to the kitchen to prepare it, leaving Sydney and me alone for a moment.

Sydney and I sat in silence for a minute or two, listening to the water splatter against the rocks. Finally I broke the ice with a simple question. "So, how are things going?" She proceeded to tell me of her break up, and the move, and how much she loved Sedona. I smiled, and nodded in jubilation. Then she informed me that what made things really great, was this guy she had met since she got back and… my heart sank. Oh well, I thought, maybe it’s still not the right time. Cheryl returned to the patio with tea for all, and we sat and talked for a little while longer. Then Cheryl suggested we go visit Eagle Feather. The light was fading from the sky, as we made our way across the trailer park grounds. Eagle feather invited us in, after hearing our knock at the door. When we had all found seats, Eagle Feather unwrapped, and prepared a sacred medicine pipe. Assembling, by joining the (feminine) bowl with the (masculine) stem, the worlds of the physical and the spiritual came together as one. The tobacco, or Kinnikinick, was the medium. We made our prayers to the Great Spirit. The omnipresent, omnipotent, totality of the one God. We inundated the smoke in our lungs with these good thoughts and prayers. Then released them to dissipate into the ethers, with the smoke. This is how the prayers were carried into the realm of spirit. We made our prayers, then told stories for about an hour, but it was getting late. Eagle Feather was in her seventies, and liked to retire early.

Cheryl, Sydney, and I went back to Cheryl’s trailer. The night had gotten a bit cooler, so we stayed inside the living room. Sydney and I sat on the floor, by the altar Cheryl had set up. On it was a light box, with a rotating color wheel inside. This wheel sent various colors of light through the large quartz crystal that Cheryl had set upon it. We sat and stared at the ever changing colors, as Cheryl returned from the bedroom.

"I wanted to show you this." She said as she approached us. It was a coloring book of mandalas. Cheryl laid the book on the floor, opened it to the first mandala, and began reading the poetic description of its meaning. Sydney and I stared at the mandala as Cheryl read. After Cheryl had finished the poem, Sydney pointed out some symbology in the mandala that related to the tarot. Tarot was something that Sydney had studied. I had studied numerology, which I used in my necklace designs, and likewise found supporting symbology through that medium. Finally Cheryl, with her background in astrology, could support the theme of the poem through the astrological symbols present within the mandala. We turned the page to the next mandala, skipping over the poem and straight to the mandala. Each of us gave our input as to what we saw through the symbology of our various disciplines. Afterwards, Cheryl read the corresponding poem. Yes, yes, yes. We all agreed. The poem and the mandala both expressed the same point of truth. My mind wandered back to something "Zen" had told me some time before.

"There is but one truth, which is the point of balance between its various forms of expression. Likewise, each expression must reflect this one truth, upon which it is based." (Zen, 1987)

We went through the entire coloring book in this manner. Each ‘reading’ the mandala first, then listening to the poem, nodding in agreement. It was a refreshingly integrated piece of work, in the form of a coloring book. Afterward, Cheryl brought in a fabric covered object that she had been given. It was palm sized, its contents unknown, and covered with an off green, silky material. Cheryl had the feeling there was something odd about it. She wanted to know what we thought. Sydney held the object for a couple of minutes, and made a questioning face, before she handed it to me. As soon as it reached my hand, I wanted to get rid of it. It was not a feeling that was easy to describe. Perhaps ‘Sharp’ or ‘Hot’ could be two vague similarities. All I knew, was that I didn’t like it. I laid it in the center of the triad, not wanting to be responsible for handing it to anyone else. Sydney picked it up again, a puzzled look returning to her face. It was pretty late by then, which I acknowledged by bidding them both a good night.

After a couple of uneventful days at the crystal shop, Cheryl stopped by. Sydney had gone out for the evening with her new boyfriend, and Cheryl was looking for something to do. She was going out to a medicine wheel a friend of hers had built, on Rachel’s Point. She asked if I would like to come. I hadn’t heard of Rachel’s Point at that time. I was interested in finding the lesser-known spots in Sedona, and this was a good chance to learn from a local resident of the area. Though I usually didn’t close up shop quite that early, business had been slow lately.

"Sure." I said, "Just give me a few minutes." I finished my duties, and joined her in her car. It was refreshing to be a passenger for a change. It gave me a better opportunity to sight see, than I ever got as a driver. She turned left onto highway 89-A, and we rode off into the setting sun. Past Coffeepot Rock, and Old Grayback, to Dry Creek Road. The setting sun danced between the spires of Cock’s Comb, as we winded our way to the T in the road. Instead of turning left, as we would to go to Boynton Canyon, Cheryl turned right. As we proceeded, Cheryl pointed off to the left.

"This is Long Canyon." She stated, pointing to the scattering of half built houses that littered the area. "It’s a very sacred place to the Native Americans who live in this region." Rumor had it that the native people, distraught over the site's development, had placed a curse on the project. And though they had tried and tried, the developers could not locate water in the area, to supply the houses they were building. Finally the project was abandoned.

Soon we left the paved road, and followed the dirt drive that led to the base of Rachel’s point. Her car would not make it on the four-wheel drive road to the top, but it wasn’t too far to walk. We followed the steep and rocky road to the summit, then across the plateau, to the west end of the formation. From there, we had an incredible view that overlooked Long Canyon. The sun had set behind the canyon walls, but there was still plenty of light in the sky. As I gazed out over the expanse of the canyon floor, I heard a coyote howl in the distance. I guess this triggered a little of the wildness in me. So I returned the coyote’s call, and it answered me back. I howled again and again and each time it returned my call. This lasted about five minutes, with Cheryl silently looking on in amazement. Finally, I’m guessing, the coyote got as tired of the back and forth as I was getting. Instead of returning my howl, it gave me two quick ‘yips’ and I got the feeling that it meant, "that’s enough". I remained silent at that point, and so did the coyote.

The last of the light was fading from sight. We continued around the edge of the summit to the medicine wheel. Walking the outer edge of the medicine wheel, we acknowledged the various animal spirit archetypes. Each archetype representing a quality also found in the human experience. After completely circling the wheel, we entered it from the east. After completing another circling from within, we came to rest in the position of the animal totem we felt most in alignment with at the time. Cheryl prepared a sacred pipe, and we smoked and prayed to the Great Spirit.

Later that week I got a visit from one of Sedona’s resident celebrities. A celebrity, at least in his own mind. I was a theatre student in high school, when Robert Shields of the mine duo "Shields and Yarnell" was at the peak of his fame. Their weekly television show was getting national exposure, and I was watching every week. But that was ten years earlier. So at first, I didn’t recognize this impishly smiling, dark-haired man, as he poked around my shop. He kept looking over at me, smiling. Then would quickly turn his attention to some object or other on display. My first concern, was that this guy was watching me as a shoplifter might. But it seemed a little too playful. What? Was he gay, and trying to pick me up? I just sat there behind the counter, politely half-smiling back, and wondering what his game was. He finally broke his step by step progression around my shop at about the ¾ point. It was as if he couldn’t take the joke anymore. He walked straight up to the counter, smiling broadly, and asked me if I knew him. I looked at him again.

"Well, you do look familiar," I told him, "But I can’t place from where." He introduced himself, to my mildest of amazement, then began sharing his experiences of the "New Age". His opinions were mostly sarcastic toward it. Considering all the "airy-fairies" he had probably met, this didn’t surprise me much. The quote "New Age" population contains at least as many crazies, as it does metaphysicians. And false impressions are easier to prove to the closed-minded, than the simplest of truth that all is built upon. Still, I smiled along with his criticisms. He was attracted to quartz crystals, though. "I like to build my own clusters." He told me, eyeing a half-harvested matrix chunk. I didn’t know what to say to that. It was kind of like taking a bunch of pieces of broken glass, and considering whatever you built from it the same as a cast vase. It lacked integrity. But I wasn’t going to waste my time talking to HIM about it.

As the sun began to set, on the evening of the full moon, Cheryl arrived at the shop. "Are you ready?" she asked me, as she pulled into a parking place.

"Yeah, just a second." I responded, locking the door behind me. Her friend Jon, was riding shotgun, so I climbed into the back.

"If we get up to Schnebly Hill before dark, it will be easier walking." She said, backing out of the parking spot without missing a beat. Jon was a nice enough guy. He was quiet, non-aggressive, but somewhat suggestible. Expecting miracles, and often perceiving them. Things were pretty quiet, on the road up to the medicine wheel ceremony. The sky was still quite bright as we arrived, so the walk was not difficult. Sydney, Johnny, Eagle Feather and Thumper were already there. Then, out of the small crowd that was gathering, came an old familiar face. A face that I had not seen since my old "Great Peace March" days.

Blake wasn’t just a friend. I considered him a spiritual brother. We had done a traditional "Lakota" sweat, out on the Dineh reservation a couple of years before. He was one of the first Peace Marchers I had met. Both of us had joined the march from Fullerton, CA. We had met, along with three other marchers, at a pre-march get together, about a week or so before the march began. He and I had talked a little, about how spirit had guided each of us to give up the safety of our secure lifestyles, to try to make a monumental difference in the world. We spoke of how individual consciousness shared, could alter mass consciousness. And how mass consciousness can create significant change in reality. I saw him many times on the march. Blake was also one of the five hundred or so marchers, who decided not to give up when the march went bankrupt, leaving us stranded in Barstow, California. David Mixner, envisioner of the march, flew by in a helicopter to tell us the march was over, due to lack of funds. Blake was also one of the nineteen of us, who responded to the plea of Chief Longwalker, of the Dineh (Navajo) people. Chief Longwalker asked for some marchers, to help share the message of the Big Mountain affair with the American people. The government was trying to reclaim reservation lands, so that industry (Peabody Coal, etc.) could mine uranium for their nuclear power plants, and later, nuclear warheads. The official word from the Peace March was, that "it would distract from the march." They would offer no assistance to "The Lost Tribe", as the nineteen of us later dubbed ourselves. Support or not, we would not turn our backs on our Native American brothers and sisters. We pooled our resources, increased our daily walk from fifteen to twenty-five miles a day, and made Big Mountain about a week before the spring equinox gathering of the elders. I opened my arms and gave him a hug.

"How is it going, my brother?" I asked him.

"Well." He replied softly. Blake was one of the gentlest, meditative beings I had ever met. I really appreciated the peace and calmness he shared with me, when my passion for creating change overwhelmed me.

All the participants gathered at the medicine wheel, as Eagle Feather instructed Sydney to begin the smudging phase of the ceremony. With sacred feather and smudge bowl in hand, she fanned the sage smoke into each participants auric field. It was a purification of the subtle energies, that takes place before any ceremony begins.

I guess what disturbed me was the tantric energy Sydney was emanating, as she danced and smudged each of us. She was turning on every male (at least) in the circle, as she smudged him. "Just being Sydney." is what people started calling it. After all, she was the Venusion Love Goddess type. What should I expect? Still, I started getting upset, when I saw her having her effect on Blake. He was a good man. He didn’t need to be toyed with. It began to become obvious, that some of the women in the circle were getting a little bit steamed at their men’s reaction to Sydney. By the time she got to me, I didn’t feel like adding to the confusion, so I practically ignored her as she smudged me. I just let my negative attachment go into the smoke.

The ceremony, unrecorded as is traditional, was guided to the topic of releasing our old baggage, and starting fresh. We each smoked from the sacred pipe, and prayed for the release of our old beliefs. We all felt a great release by the end of the experience. One of the participants at the medicine wheel was a man I would later nickname "Lightning John". The name came, due to our shared experience a few days later.

The sky was cloudy and business was slow. I needed a few parts from the hardware store across the street, so I could put some more shelves up. I put the "Back in 15 minutes" sign in the window, and ran my quick errand. After picking up the desired items, I drove to the exit of the parking lot. Just as I was coming to a stop, where the parking lot meets Highway 89-A, I heard a loud crack. A bolt of lightning had struck the power pole right over my head. I practically jumped out of my skin. I let go of everything but the brake pedal. I looked up out of the driver’s side window and the passenger side window, counting electric lines. There was still the same number on each side. I didn’t see any hanging down on top of my van, so I grabbed the steering wheel again. Looking back at the pole that was struck, I noticed that the lightning had started a grass fire at the base of the pole. I looked in the rear view mirror. No one was behind me. I slammed the transmission into reverse, and did a backward 180 back into the empty parking lot. The lot next to the shopping center was undeveloped. The natural landscaping was juniper trees and dry grass. If we didn’t stop this now, we were a hundred feet of easement away from a wild fire in the middle of town. First things first, get back up. I jumped out, and started running toward the movie theater, which was the closest building. About half way there, the theater’s manager came out.

"We’ve got a fire!" I yelled to him. "Call the Fire Department!"

"I already did!" he yelled back. I stopped in my tracks, turned around, and started running back to the fire. About half way back, I saw "Lightning John" pull his Datsun Z car into the parking lot.

"I’ve got a melted cooler of ice!" he shouted as he pulled up beside me. He jumped out of his car, flipped the seat forward, and grabbed the cooler. Then we both started running toward the growing fire at the base of the pole. CRRRRACK!!! Another bolt of lightning hit the very same pole. The hair stood up on the back of our necks. The cooler slipped out of Lightning John’s hand, spilling its contents onto the black asphalt. Though we didn’t say anything, you could fill in your own expletive here, and have a pretty good idea of what we were thinking.

"I have another cooler with ice in it." He told me, and ran back to get it. As he paused to remove the food items from the cooler, I made my way over to the flaming dry grass at the bottom of the pole. I began stomping on the flames, and within moments Lightning John had returned. He dumped the ice chest onto the fire, then helped me stomp out the last of the remaining flames. With a few more, well placed stomps between us, the fire was out. We breathed a sigh of relief, as we kicked dirt on to the dying embers. I thanked him for his help, we shook hands, and we went our separate ways. The Fire Department never did show up.

THE VISION

Arriving back at the shop, I began going through old ad designs and paperwork from my first days in business. Among this was my vision statement. I had typed it up on my brothers computer back in 1986, after my experience at the ’86 Pennsylvania gathering of the Rainbow Family. Their universal spiritual ideal was reinforced by their commitment to walking a path of love. What little they had, they shared with everyone. It was a refreshing change from the conflict and intolerance of the "Peace March." The following is an excerpt from that statement…

I have a vision. A vision of a day when people can give up their need to compete, and find it in their own best interest to help others succeed. A day when the concepts of scarcity and limitation, is replaced with opportunity and abundance. A day when each person realizes that they are an individual and unique expression of the one source, within its diversity of form. A day when each person gives up their need for others to lead them, and let their heart be their guide, and love be their torch. A day when people will seek a place where they can re-establish their connection to nature and the Earth Mother, find their inner balance, and expand their spiritual understanding.

And these people will come to a place that is owned by no man, but is shared by all. A land where judgement is suspended, and free expression is nurtured. A land where the surgeon’s knife is replaced by the healers herbs. And the chore of raping the Earth for profit, is replaced with the loving gift of nurturing her to bring forth abundance. And this place will be called Rainbowland, for in the rainbow, a balance is found within its diversity. There the highest saint is no more important than the lowliest beggar.

After re-reading it, I decided to share my vision by posting it on the shop's bulletin board. Placing it in a prominent spot, I thought, "Who knows? Perhaps some people will respond to the idea." There were quite a few people with the consciousness of community. And many held a variety of concepts about such. Sedona’s knack for attracting people with a spiritual focus, led many to the concept of alternative healing and retreat centers. There were actually so many options, that would fit into this general concept, that it was rare to find two peoples ideals actually matching identically. There focus was more commercial than mine, but I consider what you do for a living your own business. What we do for the good of the whole society, is a place where our concerns can overlap.

Calvin came into the shop, a huge smile showed through his thick red beard. "I did it, man." he beamed at me, "I got out of my body. I astral projected. I bumped my head on the ceiling." Calvin was not the first novice I met who found astral projection more enticing, than most any other aspect of our spiritual nature. The astral realm is only one of the spiritual worlds. It is closer to our physical dimension than the higher levels. I shared with Calvin the humor of bumping your head on the physical ceiling, with your astral body. The limitations of physical concepts can be carried over into the astral plane, but they don’t have to be. I shared with him the story of a dream I had, years before. In the dream I had died and crossed over to the "other side". Amongst my experiences as a ghost, or disembodied spirit, was an incident involving a closed window. I had the feeling that something was happening on the street beside the building. I decided to put my head through the fourth floor window, because I couldn’t see at that angle, looking through it. Like Calvin, on my first attempt I forgot that the physical was no longer a limitation, and I bumped my head on the glass. "Wait a minute," I thought, "those rules don’t apply to me." On my second attempt my head passed effortlessly through the pane of glass, without disturbing the physical structure. I saw what I was looking for, and went on to the next experience in that extraordinary dream.

After closing the shop I headed to Cheryl’s place. As I pulled up out front I was rather surprised to see Robert Shields leaving the trailer. Sydney was following him. They were going out for the evening. They greeted me as I walked by. "Damn, this girl moves fast." I thought to myself. Cheryl invited me in, and offered me some tea. Returning with two steaming cups, she held one out to me before she sat down.

"Sydney has another date tonight." She stated in a rather low voice.

"I didn’t know she broke up with the last one." I replied. Cheryl expressed the thought that Sydney was just playing the field. Actually she seemed pretty upset at Sydney’s lifestyle. She talked for a while about how inappropriate she thought it was. I was just shocked. I felt more depth to Sydney’s spirit than this. Perhaps it was her wounded childhood, that led her to respond to every man sexually. I felt truly sorry for her. Certainly a guy like me would be much better than an endless stream of one-night stands. I never much cared for one-night stands. They always left me feeling emotionally drained, and suffering a loss when it was over. I returned home that night, feeling disheartened again.

Cheryl stopped by the shop a few days later. She told me of an ancient stone medicine wheel that had been found. It was up on top of the first hill at Airport Mesa. We decided to go up to it, after I closed the shop. I brought a large crystal point with me. We climbed up the steep, loose hillside and worked our way past the half-built houses that would soon cut off access. At the top, we paused to catch our breath.

"It’s over this way." Cheryl informed me, leading the way. We danced our way though the small cactus and Juniper trees that dotted the landscape. Before long, Cheryl came to rest at a ten to twelve foot circle of stones. The medicine wheel was half buried with time. The few stones that had fallen out of the circle had been replaced. I sat down as Cheryl relayed to me a story of this site. Supposedly, it was a place where human sacrifices had been offered. The nearby cliff face being the offering site. It was not clear whether those sacrificed jumped, or were thrown to the red rock floor below, but it was quite a drop. Before leaving, we said a prayer for the souls who had lost their lives there, and for the healing of humanity and the planet. I energetically placed our prayers into the large crystal point I had brought up there. Then just before we left, I placed the crystal in the center of the wheel. "For three days" spirit told me. I thought it would be safe. No one came up there, nor even knew about the medicine wheel.

After three days I returned to retrieve the crystal. Again the steep hillside left me winded, my heart beating rapidly. I had a little trouble finding the wheel again. It was barely distinguishable amongst all the other half-buried rocks. I figured the crystal would be the identifying feature. Finally I found the medicine wheel, but the crystal was not there.

"Who would do such a thing?" I thought to myself. I had met quite a few "airy-fairy new-agers" who had told me of the crystals spirit had left for them, at some vortex or other. This was not the case, of course. I had heard far more stories of people losing crystals that they had left at a vortex to charge. For this reason I usually left them under a plant or something if I was going to leave them unattended. But no one knew of this place. This was odd.

I told Cheryl what had happened. Two days later, I saw her again. "I saw that crystal you lost." She told me. "Thumper has it." He was claiming, in the usual fashion, that spirit had left it for him. "I just feel bad," she told me, "Because I told him and Eagle Feather of our trip up there. And that you had left the crystal. I didn’t think he would steal it." She added.

The crystal was only worth a hundred dollars or so. But my sentimental attachment was much greater. Didn’t he understand how detrimental it was to steal sacred objects? Thumper was very Earth based. Obviously, he didn’t understand how the higher realms operated. I did not wish to harm him, or let his karma harm him. So I decided to retain possession of the crystal telepathically. I believed I knew the crystal better from memory, than he could understand its function even while possessing it physically. Therefore, with my mind, I instructed the crystal to shut down, or "go to sleep" as they say. This would prevent anyone from harming themselves with negative thoughts, until it was returned to me.

I went to the trailer park the next day. First I stopped at Cheryl’s. "The Sedona soap opera continues." She declared. Apparently she, Sydney, Eagle feather and Thumper had been driving along, when they came upon the body of a dead owl on the side of the road. The owl is a powerful medicine animal among the native people. It possessed the power to see though the darkness, and many tribes considered it to be a messenger of death. The difference being in how the energy was used. They harvested the wings, talons, and feathers in a "sacred" manner. That was when the disruptions began. They began fighting over the various parts. Each wanting to possess the others allotted parts. The frenzy had culminated in Thumper being locked out of Eagle Feather’s trailer. He responded by pounding dents into the trailer with a baseball bat.

I took this story into account, along with the warning that he had been previously incarcerated in a mental institution for his violent tendencies. I tried to calmly explain to him, that I meant him no harm. All he had to do was return the crystal, and I would respond with forgiveness. Instead, he responded with aggression. I looked him in the eye, informing him that this would not be a successful course of action with me. He fumed for a minute, refusing to return the crystal, then stormed off. I tried for the next two weeks to try to find him, and convince him to end all this. Repeatedly he refused, and evaded the encounters as best he could. After a while, I began finding myself waking from sleep, after agitating dreams about the whole affair. Waking up enraged from injustice was not the best way to start ones day.

It was the end of August. I decided to do as the bears do, and hibernate for the winter. I was sure business would be slow in the snow, so I chose to put my inventory into storage. I could always reopen when I found a better location. That is, as long as I didn’t loose my shirt first. Mama Dog was one of my last customers in that final week. Her now familiar van pulled into the parking lot. The random entourage was accompanying her. Her two daughters, Red and Janet. Lee, who was her driver. Wild, who first introduced us. And perhaps a person or two I didn’t recognize. As usual, they milled about, at least the immediate family bringing several items up to the counter. Mama Dog didn’t want to wait for everything to be rung up, so she left some money with Wild, and went to sit down in the van. As I totaled the purchases, Wild began reading the vision statement on the bulletin board.

"You should tell Mama Dog about this." He suggested. "She’s into stuff like that. She has lots of money. Maybe she would like to help." He closed their transaction, and took their purchases out to the van, which was already running. I sat and thought about it for a moment. I had never considered the phase of having to present my vision to potential investors. Was this to be the next phase of my life? Then my attention returned to the present. I had to get my shop packed up. I prepared some small display boxes, that I could carry and display from my van. They contained a few samples of everything. I could restock them from the back stock in storage when needed. I was glad to be freeing myself from the restrictions of my entrepreneurial dream. I had been in Sedona for six months and hardly made any time for myself to see this beautiful place in which I lived. I was committed to spending much more time in nature.

Mama Dog returned once more, the day before my sub-lease ended. There was not a lot left unpacked by this time, so the purchase was rather small. Wild had mentioned that she might be able to help me out with some ‘herbal remedies’, so I asked her before she left. She told me that she could, but she didn’t accept money as payment. She said to bring something from the shop, that I thought she might like. Then she gave me directions to her house, and told me to come by that evening. Her house was at the corner of Color Cove and Dry creek road, so it was easy to find.

After she left, I searched for the best thing I could find in the appropriate price range. I already knew what it would be, A circular crystal cluster, with points coming off both the top and the bottom of the platelet. It looked like the ‘Mothership’ from "Close Encounters of the Third Kind." I wrapped it up, and prepared to take it that evening.

I followed the simple directions to her house, and knocked on the door. She invited me in, and ushered me to the back bedroom. It was sparsely furnished to say the least. She indicated a section of floor that I could sit on, and I settled in. I presented her with the ‘crystal starship’, and she prepared a bag of medicine for me.

After that exchange, I decided to follow Wild’s hunch, and present her with a copy of my vision statement. I began sharing with her, the more refined points of my ‘big picture’ as she read. How so many aspects of our lives could be achieved cooperatively, and how things could work out better for everyone if we just treated each other as we wished to be treated. How many of the worlds ills could be remedied by simply working with nature, rather than against it. She finished reading, and set the statement down in front of her.

"This is my vision too!" she exclaimed. She began telling me how she was going to do this anyway, and how glad she was that I was there to help. "I’ll make you a partner." She said, "50/50 with rights of survivorship. That way if I don’t make it. You can carry on the vision for me." She was throwing ideas at me pretty fast. Ownership issues were the first to reach my attention. I had always envisioned it as being ‘no man’s land’, though I realized someone might have to put a name on it somewhere. As long as our intent and focus remained pure, I figured it could still work out. Besides, this was so much more than any outcome I was expecting, I didn’t want to throw this opportunity away before I even understood what it was.

She told me that she saw herself as a benefactress. One who helps good people do good things. She said that though she was worth eight million dollars, she didn’t see it as HER money. She preferred to call it ‘The Gift’. And her path was what she called ‘The Great Sharing’. She even quoted a line that reminded me of Thornton Wilder’s play, "The Matchmaker", though she attributed it to her adoptive father. "Money is like manure. It’s no good unless you spread it around." Having heard the quote many times, during rehearsal for a high school theatrical production, I was fairly certain he was not the original source of that bit of wisdom. But, truisms do tend to be often quoted, or at the very least, misquoted.

She began to fill me in on her history. Her adoptive father and mentor, was at one time the fifth richest man on the Eastern Seaboard. She rattled off a few names in the order of prominence. There was the Onasis family, Rockerfellers, Kennedys, some French sounding name that I did not recognize, and then her adopted family. She said she was born to a family of Vermont dirt farmers. Her grandmother was a full-blooded Cherokee, as her story went. Her natural father left her natural mother with four children. She was the youngest. She was just three years old at the time. After her father left, her mother had a breakdown and was institutionalized. The children were orphaned, the older two brothers, and the younger two sisters.

Her adopted father, and his infertile wife adopted the sisters. The brothers, not being of their blood, were not worthy of carrying the family name. The girls would only carry the name until they were married off. If they had adopted the boys, the family name would be spread to generations of unrelated children. (How distasteful).So the boys were left behind, to find their own way in life. It was the last time she and her sister saw their two older brothers. A cloud of dust in their face as the limousine drove the "new family" home.

I started visualizing this grown up ‘little orphan Annie’. But she didn’t like the comparison. She related stories of child abuse and torment at the hands of her new mother, and the previously adopted, and older ‘sister’. The only light being her relationship with her new father. She told me that he loved her, and when he was around everything was O.K. He intervened in his wife’s abuse, and took the child places. He even taught her to play Chess. Pretty well, I might add. But things got much worse at the time of his passing, in 1969. She had been expelled from practically every boarding school in the area by that time. She managed to find trouble wherever she went. Without Daddy Warbucks' help, she had no where to turn. Rather than put up with the hardship, she decided to run away, at the age of fifteen years. It wasn’t until after she was considered an adult, that she received any support from the trusts that Daddy Warbucks had left for her. At that time, she reported, she was told that twenty-five dollars a week was all that was due to her. She didn’t know any better, so she accepted her meager portion.

She married, and had two children before her eventual divorce. The oldest, a son we’ll call Drew. And her first daughter, Janet, who I had met at my shop. This was where she let me in on ‘the problem’. The way I could pay her back, for all this generosity she had presented me with. She had been separated from Janet for years, up until now. Both Drew and Janet had been kidnapped as children. Drew was still in Mrs. Warbucks’ custody, but Mama Dog was hoping to get him back soon, as well. Mrs. Warbucks, assisted by at least one of the trustees, had kidnapped them. They did this with the help of public officials they could coerce into serving Mrs. Warbucks’ interests, including the town’s Sheriff. The children were immediately put on a plane, and flown to Greece. The family had friends there, and it was out of American jurisdiction. The only reason they admitted this to Mama Dog, was to dissuade her from calling the police. There was nothing Mama Dog could do. They insisted that she submit to a psychiatric examination. Otherwise her children would be dis-inherited. She did submit, figuring she would pass without incident. Instead, she claimed that she had been injected with drugs, and held in lock-down for an indefinite period. She estimated it to be a few months. Finally, after pretending to swallow, but instead spitting out, the pills they gave her daily, she got her wits about her. From there, she managed to get herself released. She had moved into a cabin, that I believe she said was in Sutton, New Hampshire. She said it was right down the street from Aerosmith drummer Joey Kramer. It was there, that she met Red’s father. Carl had been recently released from prison. As he happened to pass in front of her cabin, he noticed a car he had owned before his last arrest, parked outside. He walked up to the cabin and knocked on the door. Mama Dog opened it, to his declaration of," That’s my car!" She invited him in, apparently in more ways than one. I distinctly recall her telling me his reaction to her invitation. "I ain’t never done it with a fat chick before", was his reported response, and the rest is history. They later married, but she implied that it was more for worse, than better.

Mama Dog eventually became pregnant with Red, but that really didn’t improve the situation. Mama Dog told me that Carl often got very drunk and belligerent. He also had the sneaking feeling that Mama Dog was carrying on with the red headed neighbor. She said that as a form of antagonization, she focused her will and intention on having a red headed daughter. She surrounded herself, and filled her environment with pictures of little red headed girls, and claimed to have conjured Red’s physical expression into existence. This only went on to further Carl’s insecurities.

Mama Dog described Carl as extremely aggressive. He got into trouble a lot. For that reason, he spent a lot of time in jail. She even joked that he spoke of writing a book. The subject was to be how to live for free, off of the United States Government. It was to be a listing of various ways to get yourself thrown into jail. That is, at least I think it was a joke.

Carl liked to stir things up, according to Mama Dog. She told of him getting together with his biker buddies for wild drunken parties at her cabin. When they all got good and drunk, he would bring out the football helmet, and suggest having a head-butting contest with their Billy Goat. Perhaps needless to say, but the goat was always victorious. Often the challenger would end up knocked out cold. It was always good for a laugh. Not to mention being a great way to conserve beer, since sleeping bikers don’t drink as fast.

Other times, he would take his old beater car into the woods, and run over trees with it. Carl new where the moist soil was, and would look for the smaller trees, plowing right over them. His not so informed buddies, not yet educated in the fine art of tree tipping, would then take their cars and try to emulate him. But alas, they would eventually select a larger tree, firmly rooted in the soil. The result would be a sometimes severely damaged vehicle and a cursing, drunken biker. This brought gales of laughter from the rest of the partying crowd.

But sometimes Carl’s antics were a source of great anxiety for Mama Dog. Like a time he came to bed drunk, still leaving the light on. She insisted he get back up, and turn it off. The alcohol in his system, challenged his will to return to a vertical position. Instead, he pulled his handgun from under the pillow, rolled over, and shot. "There. It’s out now." was all he had to say.

But a crazed ex-husband wasn’t the only dark element in her bizarre tale. She accused Mrs. Warbucks, (or Mrs. ‘Bitch’ as she called her), of conspiring with the trustees of the family corporation to have her killed. She claimed that Mrs. Bitch held a million-dollar life insurance policy on her. She said it covered all causes of death, even suicide. "Or anything that could be made to look like suicide." She added. Mama Dog also claimed that these conspirators planted people in her proximity, to spy on her.

Mama Dog continued by asserting that the trustees abused their power to control her finances, and that Mrs. Bitch wanted to have Red kidnapped as well. Then there was that time that someone tried to force her off the road at a high rate of speed. Mama Dog seemed certain that had been done at the bequest of Mrs. Bitch, the trustees, or both.

From the barrage of horror stories she had told me, it was clear that this woman had serious problems to deal with. The cruelty and injustice made me furious. It was no wonder she had yet to accomplish the vision we both shared. I thought about it for a moment. I had already told her that I envisioned a large land base of fifty acres or more. She understood that it would need to be large in order to have enough room for all we intended to do. And she assured me that this would not be a problem, "If only I can live long enough to do it." She said. This being the case, I figured I could help her out in return.

All these stories triggered my own memories, of brutality and injustice I had endured as a child. As a young adult I came to a point in my understanding, that unless I was able to defend myself, I would continue to be victimized. My parents tried to raise me to be a pacifist. My question became, "Could one truly be a pacifist, if they couldn’t defend themselves?" My answer was NO. If one has a choice of how to respond to a situation, then they could choose a peaceful approach. But if one doesn’t even know how to fight, they are not a pacifist, but a victim. Every animal understands pain, so I chose to take violence, as a second language.

By this time, I was confident in my martial arts abilities. I had been trained by one of the best martial artists on the planet. Grand Master Tiger Yang had been the 1969 and 1971 World Tae Kwon Do Champion. I had trained under his instruction for about two and a half years. After watching my fellow student racing toward their black belts, often somewhat lacking in the refinement of their skills, I chose a different route. I didn’t care so much about a black belt, I just wanted to be good at it. Not to mention, that each advancement brought a higher and higher testing fee. So I decided to pass up the advancement tests, and just keep practicing.

By the second time I let the testing date pass by, Grand Master had figured out what I was up to. So he didn’t let me get off easy. Whenever it came time for the class to spar, he would pair off students according to rank. When he got to me he would stop, and tell me to go stand with my face to the wall. This was normally a position of shame. But I would bow, saying "Yes sir", and take my place staring into the mirrored wall, waiting for him to finish pairing off students. Then, when he had finished pairing off all but the last (or actually, top) black belt, he would call me back in. This would be my sparring partner. I figure I sparred with at least a dozen different black belts, that were five to six levels my senior. I appreciated the challenge. Also my confidence grew with each experience.

Mama Dog accepted my counter offer to serve as her bodyguard in return for this million plus dollar partnership. She asked me when I could start. I still had to finish closing down my shop, so I told her I would return September first. It was getting late, and I decided to call it a night. She asked me where I would be sleeping. I wasn’t sure. "In my van, or in my shop." I replied. At that point she made some suggestive remark, saying that I could share her bed. She gave me a look that made me nervous. It was like a schoolgirl with a crush. My inner guidance cut in, and told me quite intensely, that I was never to consider being sexual with her, under any circumstances. "She will use you up, and spit you out" it told me, word for word. So I politely declined her offer, and excused myself for the evening.

=========================================================

If you enjoyed what you read, and would like to own the rest of this fascinating and disturbing story, you are in luck! The entire book, "Beware of Rich Friends" is available for download at: http://stores.lulu.com/store.php?fStoreID=1757323