MAYA HAD PROMISED THAT if we met her at St. Mary’s the following Sunday, she’d visit us at Anne’s house. That left a week for Veronica and me to entertain ourselves. Veronica disappeared into the basement again, with occasional trips upstairs for a meal. These trips came without warning, though, so I didn’t have enough food prepared for both of us. No problem. According to Veronica, she could survive on the nutritional supplements she’d discovered in the basement.
My particular form of entertainment was walking. During the week, I explored Lighthouse Avenue from one end of Pacific Grove to the other, roamed large sections of Ocean View Boulevard, and, at dusk on Friday, ended up back at the Point Pinos Lighthouse. I love lighthouses in general, but this one was particularly accessible. Instead of confining myself inside, though, I sat on a bench below a windswept cypress facing the ocean.
I can’t say how long I listened to the crashing waves and screeching seagulls before I felt a presence as palpable as if a real person were sitting next to me. At first, I thought it might be Emily Fish, since Maya had mentioned feeling her presence here. I eliminated that possibility though. This being, this consciousness, didn’t come across as forceful enough, not the type who could manage a lighthouse and a crew of thirty on a lonely peninsula during an earthquake.
I then thought perhaps it was my ancestor, Margarita, but as time passed and the presence revealed no more of itself, I also eliminated that possibility. Though Margarita never spoke to me directly, I would’ve been able to follow her thoughts like impressions on the surrounding landscape.
Antonia, too, would’ve made herself known by now, probing, prodding, plotting.
I continued to sit, unperturbed by my silent companion. In fact, I felt a familiar intimacy with whomever it was, a deep understanding.
Marjorie? It’s Maya.
“Hold it,” I said. “You’re alive. I only hear the—”
Alive and have the whole St. Mary’s choir as a witness.
“Please tell me they aren’t listening to you right now.”
Nah. I have my eyes closed. They think I’m praying.
“Can you see me?”
Of course. I’m sitting right next to you.
Until now, my only telepathic communication had been with the dead. Not that they ever listened. It was more of a one-sided conversation, with them doing the talking and me doing the listening. Apparently, I was a better receiver than transmitter. “No, you’re not.”
Something brushed against my cheek, followed by a charge running through me as if I’d rubbed against something wooly and experienced the resulting static.
“Okay, okay I believe you.”
As far as I knew, there was no scientific evidence to support telepathy in twins or triplets. Sure, multiples had deep emotional connections, but nothing out of the ordinary. Veronica, Maya, and I didn’t dress alike; we had different occupations, different temperaments. What was going on here?
We’re one, Marjorie, a connection that can’t be severed.
“You mean united until death.”
Even at death, especially then. We’ll always be together.
I stood and faced the ocean on unsteady legs. The sun would set soon, which meant another miraculous watercolor display, but the only miracle that concerned me now was that Maya was communicating with me from miles away without the use of a cell phone or CB. Brain power, instead of towers or satellites. Impossible. Yet, I couldn’t deny what I’d heard.
What was the purpose of Maya’s little experiment, besides playing with fire? I’d seen on the Discovery Channel once that priests had to exorcize a young man who’d brought evil spirits into his life simply by messing with a Quija Board.
The first time Antonia spoke to me, she’d scared me half to death, calling me Sunwalker and telling me there was something I must know. Until then my life had been normal, predictable. I’d believed dead people stayed dead and that their spirits resided in heaven or hell or someplace in-between. I’d never dreamt that only a thin veil separated the dead from the living and that the reason we couldn’t hear the deceased was because we weren’t listening. At least not with the appropriate ears.
My stomach ached, a familiar case of spiritual indigestion. How did this mind-to-mind communication work? Was it a God-given gift, a sixth sense meant to be used, or more like partaking of a forbidden fruit? Would God kick me out of Eden for using it?
Maya came as close to an angel as anyone in my experience, and she’d just used her telepathic powers on me. Was this anymore evil than picking up a cell phone, punching in a few numbers, and hitting send?
“What do you want?” I blurted, not meaning to be rude.
To lead the part of you that’s not constrained by your physical body to the place you visit in your dreams. Veronica’s next.
“No,” I said. “If Veronica gets wind of what you’re trying to do, she’ll block you out for sure.”
Okay then, forget about Veronica for now. Close your eyes and concentrate on the ocean waves.
“Not before I have a little chit chat with our Creator,” I said, feeling the need for some godly support.
No comment from Maya.
“If what I’m about to do is wrong, God, please send me a sign, and I promise not to do it again.”
Now sit back down and breathe deeply. Maya said.
“What if someone attacks me while I’m gone?”
I’ll be there to protect you.
As Veronica would say, “Oh shit.”
I sat back down, per Maya’s instructions, and took several deep breaths.
Concentrate on the waves.
“Got it, close my eyes and concentrate on the ocean waves.” Wild waves, advancing and receding, advancing and receding.
Now give me your hand.
I felt Maya’s icy touch and shivered. “You’re pushing me to places I don’t want to go.”
Just leading you to your center where you’ll find your true self.
“I doubt it.”
Maya’s invisible presence was added proof to what I’d experienced with Margarita and Antonia, that consciousness could exist beyond the confines of the physical body. Either that, or I was having a disturbingly lucid hallucination. “Do I need to lie down for this?”
Sitting is fine.
After another bout of deep breathing, I experienced a wavering sense of instability. Strong vibrations erupted from the pit of me, accompanied by what sounded like an orchestra of field crickets rubbing their leathery front wings together. Maya was no longer holding my hand, at least not the hand now suspended above my physical one, a hand I saw even with my eyes closed, as though one part of me had separated from, and was floating above, the other.
Waves of pulsating colors, skin electric. boundaries expanding, relax, relax. I’m running across the grassy stretch behind the lighthouse. The earth feels soft and supple, yielding to the impressions of my feet. I take a giant leap, my translucent arms stretched to the sky. No words can express the lightness, the freedom of release from my earthly burden. I land softly, take another leap. Oh Lord, I’m floating. Higher and higher. No salty smell of iodine in the air, no resistance of wind against my skin, no separation between past and present, present and future. This has to be an illusion. The mind can’t travel beyond the confines of the body or see the earth or hear the ocean below without physical eyes and ears. I’m floating over El Carmelo Cemetery, past a car and a pedestrian, then swerve left. Anne’s house is below. Round-roofed turret, circular driveway, gazebo, birdbath—front door. It’s locked. No problem. I ease right through it. A reflection in the crystal ball, then the mirror. Don’t look. Don’t want to wake from the dream. Down the basement stairs with no fear of falling. Flying like an angel. Veronica is lying on the round bed. Crying. Not real. Veronica never cries. She’s too strong.
“Hey, Sis,” I say.
Veronica jerks up, pulls something from under her pillow. “Who’s there?”
I’ve never had a pistol pointed at me before. Can’t hurt me, though. This isn’t real. “It’s me, Marjorie.”
Veronica lowers her handgun. “Where are you?”
“Sitting on a bench behind the Point Pinos Lighthouse.”
“Yeah, and I’m the tooth fairy.”
“I don’t quite believe it myself. Why don’t you take the Jeep and meet me there?”
Veronica slides off the bed, tucks the pistol back under her pillow. If nothing else, she’s no longer crying. “This is nuts. I’m nuts. No chance of getting into the DEA now.”
Back to the lighthouse. Hurry. Have to get there before Veronica.
Oh God, oh God. That’s me sitting on the bench below. How do I get back in? Will it hurt?
Something’s pulling at me as if the body below and the part of me floating above are connected by an elastic cord.
Down, down. I’m transitioning from one world to another as though waking from a dream. Will part of me stay behind?
Focus, focus.
Smack. My spirit is dragged back into flesh and bone so fast the wind is knocked out of me. Blood rushes in my ears. My surroundings blur.
Cold, so cold. Can’t move.
Don’t panic. Breathe.
The mood of the ocean and texture of the air had changed, grumbling, stirring, electric, as if God were angry.
After thirty seconds of paralysis, I found myself bracing against the wind. Darn it was cold. Would Veronica show? Part of me hoped she would, the other part hoped she wouldn’t. If she showed. My God, if she showed. That would prove this wasn’t a dream, but real.
“Veronica,” I called when she sprinted around the corner of the lighthouse.
She halted, put her hand to her mouth, then slid to the ground.
I ran to her and dropped to my knees.
“Just when I thought I was getting my head on straight,” she said, “you offer me this.”
“I’m sort of having a problem with it myself.”
“You’re having a problem?”
“If it’s this easy to detach from the body and—”
“Easy? You almost blew my mind.”
“Well, you know what I mean.”
She looked at the moody ocean, then at the dark clouds. “There’s a storm coming in. But…ain’t it grand?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Good thing you brought the Jeep.”
❂❂❂
On the short drive to the house, we didn’t speak; too many questions, too many improbable answers. After parking the Jeep, Veronica said, “Show me the labyrinth.”
So, she’d been listening to my labyrinth spiel after all.
It started to sprinkle. No problem. We were both wearing waterproof jackets and could rush indoors if it turned into a downpour.
I led Veronica to the entrance of what I now thought of as a path of healing and prayer.
“You and your circles,” she said, though not unkindly. “First the Native American Medicine Wheel, then the Magick Circle, now this.”
“Hey,” I said, leading her onto the winding path to the labyrinth’s center, “the Magick Circle was Anne’s contribution, which you’ve got to admit, helped us contact Antonia while in Big Sur. And this, well, I uncovered it, but I didn’t build it. And once uncovered, I couldn’t ignore it. You would’ve wondered at Anne’s purpose in putting it here, too. My take is that these circles are human sanctuaries, like the Monarch Sanctuary for the butterflies.”
“Truus would have a fit if she heard you right now,” Veronica said.
“I know.”
A wet mist swathed our hair, our jackets, and the concrete path. “Will we need an athame to direct psychic energy and cut the doorway on our way out?” Veronica asked.
“No ceremonial daggers required,” I said. “Just walk and allow for what comes.”
“Okay then, while we’re walking and allowing for what comes, please explain, to the best of your knowledge, what happened out there on the beach.”
“You’ve got me,” I said. “Teleportation. Out of body experience. They’ve done experiments at Stanford—”
“Spare me the facts that explain nothing.”
“Maya tried it on me so—”
“You tried it on me. Which makes it okay?”
“Let’s try contacting Maya. Maybe she can explain.”
Veronica shrugged as if she couldn’t care less.
I took her hand as we stepped into the labyrinth’s center, not sure if I liked her this way, passive, accommodating. “Does this scare you?” I asked.
“What do you think?”
“I know the feeling.”
Sprinkles turned to rain, but I was too intent on our mission to care. I concentrated hard, picturing a narrow tunnel leading from my mind to Maya’s. “Let’s sing the song she sang last Sunday.”
“Sure, why not?” Veronica said, “in place of an incantation.”
I hummed into the imaginary tunnel until the song lyrics arose from my memory.
The Lord stands knocking at the door to your heart,
A door that opens from within. Let him in.
Veronica joined in, her low, resonant, Mama Cass voice so like Maya’s.
Hello sister, I know how you’ve been,
I know troubled times are upon you.
A third voice joined in. Maya!
Your tears I feel like rain, I want to ease your pain,
What will it take for you to turn to me?
When you leave here today, I’m with you all the way;
And if you need a friend, all you have to do is ask me in.
When the three of us reached the end of the song— Let me in. —Veronica and I were both crying. We dropped back our heads and let the rain stream down our faces. “God, this feels good,” Veronica said. So good in fact that time became timeless, and we soaked up the rain with no sense of how long before making our way back out of the labyrinth.
“First one out of the shower makes tea,” I said as we stomped through the back door and into the laundry room. We stripped off our wet clothes and dropped them into the utility sink, our bodies pink with cold and covered in goosebumps.
Veronica headed for her apartment in the basement. “Add a teaspoon of sugar to mine. And I’d appreciate it if you’d whip up a salad.”
For the second time since coming to Pacific Grove, she sounded hopeful.