Instant Karma at Bell Rock

Instant Karma at Bell Rock

When I was 22 years old, my best friend was being bullied by her paunchy, cigar-smoking boss. I suggested to her that we "use our mental energy" and visualize her worksite free of him. Just gone. We both concentrated on that possibility and then went for ice cream.

He died the next day.

We were horrified. That guy was a lech who once ogled me like I was a lamb skewered for barbecue. But I'm no killer! My grandmother, rumored to be psychic, once told me, "The dark arts are a dead end. Steer clear, my dear. That means no Ouija boards, seances, or other mumbo jumbo. Keep it positive."

So I reassured my friend, "Not our fault. Probably his number was up, that's all." Privately, I posted a sentry on my thoughts and cultivated the habit of snagging and neutralizing malicious ideas. Thought substitution, self-soothing and gentle humor served me well.

At the time, I made my living as a flight attendant based in Phoenix. Polished lip gloss and professional courtesy were my stock in trade through marathon days, sometimes catering to thousands of people. But after three years, I was drained dry of empathy and my smile had gone plastic. Lacking other job training or prospects, I began to feel trapped.

I found myself meandering the Mall one day, munching a warm, salty pretzel and imagining a different life. I nestled in at the New Age bookstore with its overstuffed chairs, ambient music, and intriguing titles. A poster depicting spectacular orange cliffs captivated me. “Visit the powerful vortex at Sedona's Bell Rock. Renew the cosmic energy of your deeper Self.”

I knew of Bell Rock and Sedona's mystical reputation. And my deeper Self definitely needed renewal.

I signed up.

The following Sunday, I joined a group carpooling from Phoenix to Bell Rock in the host's SUV. He was a yoga teacher wearing all white clothes and a turban. Buckled into the backseat were a massage therapist with a long, thick braid, her tattooed carpenter fiancé, and a rumpled young man. I sat in the passenger seat, juggling high hopes and skepticism.

The Arizona sun bedazzled white clouds in the infinity of blue sky, inviting reverie. But a chirpy monologue in a nasal voice from the backseat trampled the mood. It was the rumpled young man.

“Anthropology is the best field to specialize in nowadays. The study of different cultures. The very essence of cutting edge! Yessiree. Yup. And with my Archeology and Economics degrees, I'll have a fascinating career. Lucrative, too. I'll discover an ancient site, publish a book about the people's culture, and do a lecture tour. With the profits from that, I'll fund another expedition and do it all over again. My parents keep nagging me to be happy with the degrees I already have and get a job. They want me out of the house. But hey! I’m still in school. You've heard of the Anasazi, haven't you? I know all about their culture and their views on extraterrestrials and mystical sites. They were…”

As he droned on, I dozed off.

I awoke to see the breathtaking orange cliffs of Bell Rock looming before us like a Titan's rock garden. Surely I could savor quiet contemplation amidst all this grandeur.

But the young blabbermouth shadowed me. "The Anunnaki enslaved human beings..."

I clambered up the cliffside to a huge boulder. He followed me, babbling about auras. Maybe he's lonely? But I've spent years listening to others. This is MY time!

I sat cross-legged on the boulder. He perched on the ground nearby and continued yammering. I inhaled the crystalline air and closed my eyes. "Let's be still.” He rambled on. Infuriated, I slid down to leave. “I need silence and solitude.”

He took my place atop the boulder. Still talking! A thought snarled before I could snag it.

I wish he were GONE!

I gasped in horror. I had to fix this. Fast! He was a silly buffoon, but I didn't want to have the remotest connection to harm befalling him. Grandmother's advice, and all.

Not GONE. I…I…wish him Instant Karma!

A sharp Boom! pierced the air. Then a howl. Panicked, I spun around, dreading what I might see and thinking to call for help right now. But there before me was the huge boulder split cleanly in half from top to bottom. From what I could tell, it cleaved into two smaller boulders when he sat on it. He was dumped on his ass in the dirt.

I held my breath until he started moving. He was OK.

I exhaled and allowed myself a chuckle. He gave a wan smile. I retreated to a shady spot under a mesquite tree, cued up my little audiotape player with headphones and pulled out my journal and pen. He moved on, wobbling a little and looking befuddled.

A few hours later, he offered me his hand and helped me down the cliffside back to the SUV.

The two-hour drive home to Phoenix was blissfully quiet.