Trust Me by Earl Javorsky Read Free Book Online Page B

human heart. The path to wellness must always begin with recognition of sickness.”
    George put out his hand, palm forward, and intoned solemnly, “A riddle.” The party looked toward George expectantly. He wore a black silk shirt buttoned to the throat. “What did Madame Blavatsky get when she ate some bad pork?” He suppressed a smirk as he looked around for an answer.
    “Uh-oh,” Art said. “Watch out.”
    “Tricky Gnosis,” George burst out gleefully.
    Everybody groaned and then burst out in laughter. Holly had no idea what they were laughing at or what they were talking about as they chatted on about Theosophists and Yeats and the Golden Dawn, about the Platonic Ideals and Aldous Huxley.
    The conversation was interrupted by a small Hispanic woman carrying a tray. She silently placed it upon the table, looked to Joanie for further instructions, and left the room.
    “Okay,” said Joanie, “who would like some tea?”
    Tea was poured, the cards put away, and the room was silent for a few moments, except for the murmurs of “sugar only,” “yes, that’s perfect,” and “thank you.” Holly took tea and several cookies. She felt comfortable and yet apprehensive, as if something were in the air that everyone was aware of except her.
    ⍫
    Only an hour earlier, after the lecture in Beverly Hills, Art had suggested to Holly that she mingle, and then he led her to a group that was conversing in the lobby. Art merely presented her and said, “Holly. New.” The others introduced themselves. Art told her he would be back soon and disappeared.
    A tall man with a gray beard held out his hand and said, “Welcome to SOL.” A student-type in a corduroy jacket told her she was in for the ride of her life if she stuck around.
    “I’m not so sure I will stick around,” Holly replied. “I’m certainly not going to spend fifteen hundred dollars to find out what’s next.”
    “Holly, what are your aspirations?” asked Frank, the man with the beard.
    “I’m an actress.”
    “Since you’ve not yet graced the cover of People magazine, I imagine you have some measure of success yet to achieve ahead of you, yes?” He looked at her patiently, she thought, and did not seem to expect an answer.
    “Holly.” It was the guy in the corduroy, Nick. “How would you feel if you had a suspicion that everything you think you know was wrong? Everything you know about how the world works, about how other people work, what they think, what they are. Like a flat earther just beginning to figure out that something wasn’t right.” He grinned.
    “The point,” continued Frank, “is that people come here because they feel stuck in the problem that is their life, but are unwilling to admit that, at the most fundamental level, their thinking is the problem.”
    “Yeah,” said Nick, “who wants to give up their thinking? It’s all we know.”
    “Yet what you know may be entirely false,” added Frank, “and what you think you know generates what you call reality. Talk about staying stuck. There’s no way out of the box.”
    Holly looked around for Art. She wished he would come back, yet she was angry with him for abandoning her to this onslaught.
    “I just came here out of curiosity. Who said I was stuck?”
    “Oh yes, the retreat into ‘I’m okay, my life is fine, I’m just auditing this deal like I’m auditing the rest of life.’” Nick was derisive. “Okay, a riddle. What do you call a sound that you’ve heard ever since you were born?”
    “I have no idea,” Holly retorted.
    “Silence. You would call it silence because it would be the threshold below which you can never hear anything new. The sound of the chatter of your own thinking is what you think is silence. Think of the possibilities of what you’re missing.”
    “It all seems very arrogant,” Holly told him. “You’re all talking to me like I’m an infant.”
    “That’s the point, Holly.” Frank was lighting a pipe as he spoke. “I was,