card reading as we take them.”
“I’m all yours, Mr. Shaman.”
I shuffle the deck and she draws her card.
“The Death card? Seriously? First the Hanged Man and now this?”
“Now wait a minute, it’s not always doom and gloom. Tell me, what does the card look like?” I say, as she holds it up. “Tell me what you see in the imagery.”
“There’s a big, scary, shrouded guy, and three people at his feet who look pretty scared.”
“What about the horizon?” I point at the glowing red ball in the card.
“The sun is setting.”
I shake my head. “It’s actually rising. That’s what most people get wrong about the Death card. It’s a terrific card.”
“That’s a little counterintuitive.”
“Look closer at the card. Look at the child.”
Her eyes focus in on the card. “Is the little boy offering Death something?”
I nod. “The child is offering Death a flower. That’s the thing about an ending—a childlike trust in change is the best way to move forth. The death you’re dying can be a painful one, or an it can be easy one. It’s a good card, and it means you’re about to experience a big transformation somewhere in your life.”
“Is this really a good card?”
I nod. “Think about all of the major religions. They all include some kind of symbolic death, and what comes after it? A resurrection. What in your life is there that you need to bring to an end?”
Maya is thinking now and suddenly says, “This is crazy, it’s so accurate. I need to stop thinking about my parents’ divorce, and go on and live my life.”
She fiddles with her hands, then looks back at me. “What about you, Mr. Smarty Pants? Are we drawing a card for you?”
“Of course.”
She shuffles the deck, and I pull one.
“Five of Wands,” I announce.
“That looks like a scary card. What’s it mean?”
“The card’s image is of Jason’s battle with the dragon to capture the golden fleece.”
“What’s your golden fleece?”
“Baseball,” I say without a second thought, then point to the card again. “He’s got his lover and sorceress with him to aid him.”
My eyes land on her. “You.”
She points to herself. “Me, seriously?”
“Yes, you. You’re a sorceress.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.”
“So, are we going to do these or what?”
We eat the mushrooms, go for a walk, and when we come back, we still feel the same.
“So, what’s going to happen, exactly?” she asks.
“So, they’ve done the brain-scans of high-level meditators. Psilocybin promotes activity in the front part of your cortex, the same part that’s active during dreams and high-level meditation. Consider this a long, strong, relaxing meditation.”
I put some relaxing guitar music on, and then we sink into the couch.
“Our egos—the part of us that is constantly judging every one of our actions is about to be gone.”
“See ya, ego!” Maya smiles, waving at nothing in particular in front of us.
I laugh. “You just waved at nothing.”
“I did.”
Her eyes shine as she turns her head toward me.
“So, baseball, ey?” she says as we lean back. “That’s the dragon I’m helping you slay?”
“I suppose. I wonder what about it, though.”
“That day that we did it in the locker room, did you really have the best performance of your life after?”
I nod. “Yep. Which is weird, right? I mean, it’s not like sex should impact my performance on the field. But it jolted me out of the funk I was in.”
“Is Coach Johnson going to start you?”
“Doesn’t look that way. It’s like he’s trying to find any excuse not to start me.”
“What are you going to do if he never starts you no matter what you do?”
“He will.”
“But what if he doesn’t? Would you transfer schools?”
“I’ve never considered that.”
“Well, if he’s not starting you and that’s the most important thing to you…”
“It’s just sad how now, at this point, I think he’s just not starting me to prove a point. There’s a lot of talk on campus about how he’s not even that good of a coach, and that the only reason he won the national college World Series the last two seasons was that he had Morgan Kennedy and Luke Rutledge—both total stud ace pitchers. It’s like he’s trying to mess with me on purpose.”
“That’s crazy…” she says. “He’s literally sabotaging your life. What a tool.”
A soft, warm feeling sets in. “Let’s not talk about Coach anymore. Let’s talk about you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. Come here,” I say, making a come-hither motion toward her. “You’re too far.”
She snuggles up close to me on the couch, and we look out