The Answer To Everything Part 7

theanswertoeverything.org 18 Nov TheAnswer2Everything @AnswerInst.i.tute In stillness there is peace. In peace, truth. In truth, freedom.

theanswertoeverything.org 19 Nov TheAnswer2Everything @AnswerInst.i.tute You are loved. The heart of the universe beats for you.

theanswertoeverything.org 20 Nov TheAnswer2Everything @AnswerInst.i.tute Father, Mother, Child, Wife, Husband, Friend, Teacher, Judge. The One you need is all this and more.

theanswertoeverything.org 21 Nov TheAnswer2Everything @AnswerInst.i.tute Your True and Absolute Self is waiting to be born.

theanswertoeverything.org 22 Nov TheAnswer2Everything @AnswerInst.i.tute Together we will wash away regret. Together we will vanquish pain.

theanswertoeverything.org 23 Nov TheAnswer2Everything @AnswerInst.i.tute Tomorrow is new. Your pristine future starts now.

theanswertoeverything.org 25 Nov

John

Eldrich invited me to tag along when he went to visit Phil at home. It was November but strangely warm and humid-some kind of record high for that particular date in Toronto. On the way, Eldrich confided that Phil had recently been diagnosed with cancer. The docs didn't know how bad it was; the surgery he'd had was an exploratory laparoscopic procedure to see what was what. I thought he looked unhealthy when I met him.

We took transit to his place, which was up around Lawrence and Leslie, a very chi-chi neighbourhood, with some of the most expensive and offensive homes in the city. We ogled our way past a vast display of energy-gobbling mega-mansions before finding Phil's street and his surprisingly modest-looking home. After the watch and the Bentley, I was expecting something grandiose, something pillared, but 81 Elderbrook looked like it could exist in any middle-cla.s.s, mid-century Toronto suburb. The front lawn was wide and deep, as was the driveway, which started straight, then arced slightly to the left into an ordinary two-car garage. The house was a bungalow and seemed on the small side for any neighbourhood but especially diminutive among the Bridle Path behemoths. It proved to be an optical illusion, though. Once you entered the home, you got a sense of its true size. The foyer was expansive, with highly polished oak floors and a huge leaded-gla.s.s skylight. Basically, all you were seeing from the curb was this foyer, jutting forward from the main building and flanked by trees. Once inside, you could see how the building extended back and widened out. It was easily three thousand square feet of living s.p.a.ce-small for the area, but still schmancy-and all hardwood and marble and thick Persian rugs.

Phil seemed happy to see me. "Handsome! h.e.l.lo! Thank you for coming!" He was dressed oddly in bell-bottom lululemon yoga pants, a Tommy Bahama sweats.h.i.+rt and a knitted cap and scarf. He led us into the kitchen, where we sat on bar stools at a large granite island while he unpacked a delivery he had recently received from a gourmet grocer. There were a dozen or so salads, each with an outlandish price sticker: $9.00 for a tiny tub of roasted beets, $11.65 for a sprinkling of couscous. There were exorbitant cheeses, high-end crackers and-I'll never forget this-a slim box of organic popped corn that had been "hand-produced at exactly 479 degrees Fahrenheit." OK. I ate the contents in three handfuls. We drank midget bottles of Limonata that had been ber-chilled in a special beverage drawer built into the island. I downed three of them in short order, much to Phil's amus.e.m.e.nt.

"I wish I had your appet.i.te," he said, moving some orzo around on his plate and sighing.

The plates all matched and so did the cutlery. My fork weighed half a pound. I think it was made of platinum. We used linen serviettes.

"I'll clean up here," said Eldrich. "Why don't you relax?"

"Thanks," said Phil. "I'm still a little woozy from my sleeping pills." He moved to a ma.s.sive leather sofa in the adjoining family room, covered himself with a throw blanket and patted the seat next to him. I trotted obediently to his side and sank into a sofa cus.h.i.+on. I asked for his story, and he gave it to me.

Phil, originally monikered Chen Xi Quan, was born and raised in Singapore. His family was still there and was one of the richest in the country. He said they were in the hotel business, but I later found out that in addition to owning seven hundred hotels across Asia, they owned a prominent bank. He told me they were also involved in Singaporean politics. Phil, middle child of three, was the pink sheep of the family-exiled to Canada after announcing to his parents that he was gay (bad) and wanted to come out (very bad), and intended to marry his Muslim Malay boyfriend who was nineteen years his junior (impossibly, stupendously, intolerably bad). The family could not abide the shame and ridicule of such a thing, so they paid Phil to change his name and disappear from their lives forever. They paid him a lot. He didn't say how much but indicated that it was more than he could ever lavishly spend in a lifetime. "Put it this way," he said. "They made sure I would never come back for more." He laughed his giggly, high-pitched laugh, but he didn't look so happy about it. His boyfriend, Mat, didn't mind a bit, though. Phil said he was positively tickled to leave Singapore with a mountain of cash. At the time, there were a handful of countries where same-s.e.x marriages were legal. Phil and Mat considered Spain and the Netherlands, but eventually decided on Canada because of its proximity to the US. The couple liked to frequent New York, so they opted for Toronto over Vancouver. Phil's family arranged for citizens.h.i.+p, and Phil and Mat moved here and got hitched. Fifteen months later, Mat withdrew $800,000 from a joint bank account and f.u.c.ked off. Phil had set up the account so Mat could dip in freely and feel financially independent. Bad idea. A private investigator tracked him to Venice, California, where he was living freely and financially independently with an underemployed actor/personal trainer. Phil could have (and I think, should have) called the police and US Immigration to recover both Mat and his dollars, but he decided just to let it all go. He said that if Mat had married him for the money, he didn't want him back. And he didn't need the dough, so that was that.

We talked a bit about his illness. Phil was pleased that the outcome of the exploratory surgery was relatively positive. There had been some question as to whether his cancer was too far gone for him to even receive treatment. If it had spread to his liver, for example, he would have had to manage the cancer instead of attempt to eradicate it. Now, even though it was more advanced and widespread than the doctors had hoped, Phil was at least eligible for surgery to remove the various tumours. But because there were only a handful of surgeons in Canada who were trained to do the finicky procedure he required, Phil had been told that he would have to wait two months. Of course, the rich don't wait two months or any months. Phil promptly booked himself the surgery at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center and a suite at the St. Regis for the four weeks of post-op recovery. Eldrich offered to go along, but Phil said he had friends in New York who would rally around him, one of whom promised to find a hunky male nurse to come to the hotel every day.

"But maybe you could house-sit for me while I'm gone?"

"As you wish," said Eldrich.

I wanted it to be me. I wanted it to be me. "I could mow your lawn," I said with a hint of lewd, as if I had instead volunteered to ream his a.s.s.

He laughed. "Here's a guy who obviously hasn't seen my lawn!"

"That's a good idea," said Eldrich. "It's too nice to stay inside. Today is a gift. And vitamin D is important."

"What about my wrinkles?" squealed Phil in mock protest, allowing himself to be led like a child by the hand to the backyard.

And then I understood. Here was where the grandeur of the house lay. This was where the Singaporean hotel and bank money had come to roost-in the impossibly vast ravine lot that extended back forever to the edge of an actual wood (or 690 feet to the periphery of Wilket Creek, according to Phil), where a ma.s.sive old oak stood like a sentinel.

"Holy c.r.a.p!" I said, gobsmacked. "This is incredible."

We had walked out onto a large, furnished deck with two separate seating areas, a wood-burning pizza oven and the Bugatti Royale of barbecues-a stainless-steel corner unit flanked by beer fridge and ice machine. The deck led down to a wide expanse of lawn and garden-beyond which lay a swimming pool and cabana, then more lawn-before angling off to one side, toward a giant tennis bubble, then even more lawn and finally, finally the woods. It was an oasis. A paradise. All s.h.i.+elded from neighbours by a natural fence of thick, tall evergreens. A secret, magical place.

"Still want to mow my lawn?" Phil giggled.

In answer, I bolted onto the gra.s.s and, stirred by fine weather and the open stretch of green, turned my first cartwheel in about twenty years. I ended up on my back, staring at the sky.

"Handsome, don't hurt yourself!" Phil laughed.

Eldrich vaulted over me, like a hurdler, and bounded, long-legged and gawky, toward the pool, where he began to strip off his clothes.

"Your pool is still filled?" I said, moving toward the blue s.h.i.+mmer.

"Open all year," said Phil. "I heat it to eighty-four in the winter and swim when it's snowing.

I was equally appalled and enthralled by this information. Here I was turning off lights when I left a room.

Eldrich leaped into the water, and I contemplated doing the same until I saw his thickly skid-marked undies lying on the ground. I kicked them out of sight, and then chose a highly designed padded lounger to recline upon. The fabric was warm and smelled toasty. Phil shuffled over and stretched out on the chair beside me.

"You're not going to swim?" he said.

"Are you?"

"No. No energy."

We were quiet for a few minutes, feeling the sun, watching Eldrich dart back and forth under water. A regular Johnny Weissmuller.

"Mmm," said Phil, enjoying the warmth. He doffed his cap and unwound the scarf from his neck.

"You a tennis player?" I gestured to the white dome near the end of the yard.

"No. That was there when I bought. I'm going to have it removed."

"Really? You should try playing. When you feel better. It's a great game."

"I took lessons when I moved in. I don't like it. The court is all in horrible condition."

"Mind if I have a look?"

"Go ahead. I'm going to dig it out next spring. I like basketball. Maybe I'll put in basketball courts."

"You play basketball?" It was amusing to imagine.

"I'm good at basketball! I could beat you, handsome!"

"Them's fightin' words, Phil."

"I've been playing since I was little."

"You're still little."

Phil mock-punched my arm. "I'm five feet three inches! Muggsy Bogues is five feet three inches!"

"All right, Muggsy. You and me next spring."

"Next spring," said Phil with a wistful sigh.

"You'll be fine," I said, patting his leg and getting up. I went to check out the tennis court. Phil wasn't lying. It was in awful shape. The surface was cracked beyond repair and resembled a dried-up riverbed. Countless gangly weeds sprouted from hundreds of asphalt v.a.g.i.n.as. The nets had been taken down and heaped in the corner. It was just a big open s.p.a.ce. A big, entirely unused s.p.a.ce, one with a skylight and a bar fridge and a two-piece bathroom attached to the entrance.

Perfect.

A wave of excitement fizzed through me as I headed back to the pool, cartwheeling my way across the long, long lawn.

Amy

It was around then that everything moved up to Elderbrook. Initially, it was to accommodate Phil, who was suffering from a rare form of stomach cancer. Our third gathering was scheduled to take place on a Sat.u.r.day in late November, which was the day before Phil was flying to the US to have surgery at a private hospital. Eldrich had a plan for his send-off-a ma.s.s "laying on of hands" that was supposed to convey healing powers from the group. It sounds loopy, I know, but Phil was into it. He just didn't like the idea of having to head to Eldrich's cramped apartment just before his trip, so John suggested that the meeting be held at his house instead. I was all for it because I wanted to check out his place. John, who had already flirted his way into Phil's luxe life, had been going on about how amazing it was. So I was curious. And even though I sort of knew what to expect, I was surprised when I saw it. The home itself was lovely-not a mansion but wonderfully s.p.a.cious, and appointed with all the best high-end features and finishes. The lot was incredible, though. Like nothing you'd ever expect to find in the city. The backyard was pretty much a private park-huge, secluded and ridiculously deep. There was a giant deck, a flagstone patio, a beautiful pool, endless amounts of lawn, a tennis court, even woods and a creek. It was like being at a cottage or somewhere out in the country. It smelled crisp up there. Fresh. No trace of exhaust fumes. Just oxygen. And plenty of room to breathe. It was the perfect setting to hold meetings of a spiritual nature. Much better than our cruddy apartments on Hawton Boulevard. The only downside was that it was in the middle of nowhere. Up in North York around Leslie and Lawrence. Not at all convenient to get to by TTC, and with a pretty long walk after you got off the bus. I remember it was pretty miserable weather the day we first met there, cold, grey and windy. I figured people wouldn't make the trip, that it would just be us and possibly crazy-town Tyson or weepy Drew Woollings, but nearly everybody from the second meeting showed. And there were additions-Anne-Marie brought her teenage son, Richard, and Joyanne brought Perry and Moina, an old hippie couple who used to make experimental films back in the 1970s. Eldrich, apparently, was worth the trek.

The Elderbrook meeting seemed more structured and official than the previous ones, but we didn't plan it that way. I think it just happened because of Phil's bas.e.m.e.nt. The former owners had completely transformed the place to look like an old-fas.h.i.+oned movie theatre. There was a carved wooden stage with a panoramic screen and a heavy red velvet curtain flanked by wooden pillars. The curtains opened and closed automatically, just like in a theatre. It was pretty cool. And there were rows and rows of padded, flip-down seats that had been salvaged from a defunct movie house at Ossington and Bloor. At the other end of the long room was a cute snack bar with a working popcorn machine and groovy vintage tin signs for different items. Mr. Dee-lish Hot b.u.t.tered Popcorn. Mountain Dew, It'll Tickle Your Innards! Chilly-Dilly-The Personality Pickle. Everyone had been milling around the snack bar, grazing on trays of sus.h.i.+ and Thai salad rolls, but when it came time to get people's attention, Eldrich naturally took to the stage and everyone naturally ended up in the seats. It wasn't like Eldrich was trying to be big man in the spotlight, it was just the obvious place to address the attendees from. Still, even with him seated cross-legged and being relatively low key and Eldrichy, the proceedings seemed more formal with him raised up and everyone else in the audience.

"Friends, Seekers, thank you for coming today. I love you, and I'm so happy to see you. Welcome to new friends who have come to join us for the first time. And thank you to our generous host, Phil, who has received us into his home and provided us with shelter and sustenance and a comfortable place to convene."

A smattering of applause. A wave from Phil in the front row.

"Some of you travelled a long way on buses and subways to get here. When we leave today, could the people with cars please give the people without cars rides home or at least rides to the subway?"

More applause. And Eldrich warming to it. "Emerson said that the purpose of life is to be useful, honourable and compa.s.sionate. So let's try to make it easier for each other whenever we can. OK?"

Cheers from the crowd.

"So ... the last time we were together, we sent healing energy to Phil from a distance. Today we have a chance to intensify the curative process by transferring life force directly from our healthy bodies to Phil's ailing body, which is out of balance. Phil, you want to come up now? I think if you lie right here, then people can stand beside you and it'll be a good height."

Eldrich spread a yoga mat out at the edge of the stage and Phil dutifully stretched out on top of it.

"Is that OK? Are you comfortable?"

"It's good. Yes."

"OK. Maybe we should all take some deep breaths before we begin. Let's focus on breathing in healthy, vital energy and breathing out negative, dirty energy."

Eldrich breathed in deeply and then everyone else breathed in deeply. Eldrich breathed out purposefully and then everyone else breathed out purposefully.

"Cleansing breaths," said Eldrich. "In through the nose and out through the mouth. Think of each breath was.h.i.+ng your cells and your internal organs. Think of each breath cleansing your physical body and at the same time brightening your light and s.h.i.+ning your soul."

He inhaled. They inhaled. He exhaled. They exhaled. Once rhythm and synchronicity were firmly established, Eldrich began to speak softly.

"The universe is energy. Energy and electricity. Humans are also energy and electricity. Our cells generate electrical impulses. That's what makes the heart beat. Our brains are full of glial cells and neurons. Neurons are like tiny electrical transmitters. We have billions of them in our brains. Literally. Our circuitry is beautiful and complex."

"I will praise you," shouted Tyson, rising from his seat. "For I am fearfully and wonderfully made!"

"Yes," said Eldrich. "Very-"

"Marvellous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well!"

"Thank you, Tyson."

"Psalm 139:14," said Tyson, nodding. "Anyone here doubt it? Anyone who thinks we weren't created by a benevolent G.o.d?"

n.o.body spoke. But a strange sound issued forth from John, in the last row.

"We are fearfully, wonderfully and intelligently made," said Tyson, scanning the crowd, as if daring someone to challenge him. n.o.body did. We all just stared at his thick neck and his crazy tattoos and his shaved, muscular head. Satisfied, he murmured, "My soul knoweth right well, right well ...," then lowered himself into his chair.

"OK," said Eldrich. "Maybe we should start. Who wants to start?"

Anne-Marie put up her hand. "I used to do therapeutic touch."

"OK. Cool. Then maybe we should just all line up so we don't have to interrupt the flow of energy to figure out who's next."

Anne-Marie approached the stage, and people shuffled into position behind her. I noticed, as I took a spot between Drew and Catelyn, that John hadn't budged. Heather also remained seated, and I later learned that she felt her energy was too corrupted, too sick to transmit to Phil. Oddly enough, Marina, our fibromyalgia poster girl who could speak of nothing but her myriad mystery ailments (including "alien fibres" sprouting from her arms), was directly behind Anne-Marie, raring to go.

The room was quiet as, one by one, people moved to the stage to either lay their hands on Phil or skim them lightly over his body. Eldrich controlled the length of time, allowing some to linger longer than others. A few were dismissed with a nod after only ten or fifteen seconds. I was hoping to be one of the quickly dispatched. I felt self-conscious and awkward, mostly because of John. I could feel his eyes on me. I could feel his judgment and scorn. I am not an airy-fairy person, and I don't appreciate being viewed as such. I am a scientific person, and I happen to know that the brain-body connection is powerful. It's real. I knew that what we were doing would, at the very least, be psychologically beneficial to Phil, and that what is psychologically beneficial is often physiologically beneficial. Even if we were just helping Phil to relax, we were, in fact, serving him. And so I took my place in the line and went to the stage and did the deed. I hovered my hands just above Phil's body and pa.s.sed them slowly back and forth from his head to his feet. Eldrich kept me there for what, at first, felt like an excruciating amount of time. But after a few minutes I forgot about John and being embarra.s.sed and I just eased into the thing, into the motion and the purpose of it. I felt a strange warmth and tingle in my palms and fingers as they floated back and forth through what seemed like a substance thicker than air. It became hypnotic and calming, and I lost myself for who knows how long. It was only when Eldrich touched my shoulder that I regained the room around me. As I was returning to my seat, I noticed that John had taken off while I was up there. So I pretended to need the bathroom and went to see where he had got to.

I found him in the tennis bubble. He was drinking beer and unpacking building materials for a ma.s.sive sculpture he planned to construct. He had convinced Phil to let him use the defunct s.p.a.ce as an art studio for as long as he wanted. Obviously, John felt zero compunction about exploiting a cancer-ridden man who was at his most vulnerable. But he thought it was just fine to make me feel like an idiot for actually trying to help that man.

"Ah, there she is: reiki master." He said it with a j.a.panese accent. He bowed.

"That's funny stuff."

"You know about the guy who invented reiki, right?" He swigged his beer and belched. "The whole healing touch thing?"

"No. I don't know anything about him. But I guess you're going to tell me."

"Can't remember his name, actually. But the important thing to know is that he died of a stroke when he was sixty." John laughed.

I let him have his little victory, then I said, "Presumably you've heard of the placebo effect?"