“Tell you what,” Granny Max said, her voice a bit slurred. “I’d love to meet your beau sometime. Bet he’s really something if he’s claimed your heart.”
“Yes, he is. How about I take you to meet him after school’s out? I’d also like you to meet my soon-to-be adoptive son, Joshua. He, too, might be an Indigo.”
“Sounds heavenly. Now leave me to my work so I can get home before dark.”
I’d come to offer my support and ended up receiving something I needed to hear. I cast her a parting glance. “See you tomorrow for our intention experiment.”
“Prayer experiment,” she said as I headed out the door.
Chapter Forty-five
PRAYER OR INTENTION. WHAT distinguished the two? Weren’t they both ways of using the mind to manifest a desire or cause things to happen? Or was intention only meant to be used for things that lay within our power to control; and prayer, as Granny Max had suggested, reserved for what lay beyond our power to control? If prayer was a way to address God, then whom were we addressing through intention? Our own source of power? Should intention, then, be limited to the mundane, like influencing the growth of seeds and plants and affecting the pH of water; and prayer be reserved for the imperative, like curing Granny Max and Angelina of cancer? Either way, weren’t we projecting our own energy into the Universe for a particular outcome? Such thoughts plagued me all night and during my drive back to school on Tuesday.
Today we would send out our intentions for Granny Max’s good health in the form of prayer. But who would lead us? Science-minded Luke? Jason, dealer in magic? Codi or Shawn, readers of minds? Tessa, our reluctant healer?
Angelina would have been my choice, since she regularly attended Mass at St. Joseph’s Cathedral in San Jose and claimed to feel a special connection to God. But she hadn’t attended class since our field trip to the James Lick Observatory.
That left Ethan, twister of words, mis-interpreter of messages.
Stumped, I decided to leave it up to Granny Max to choose. She’d know who would be the right choice.
***
After her students had left for the day, Granny Max arrived at our classroom to take part in the “prayer” experiment. When I asked her who should lead us, she immediately chose Ethan.
Jason ducked his head. “Sheesh, that’s a relief. The only prayer I know by heart is the Serenity Prayer. Great for funeral cards and cremation urns, but not for what we’re about to do.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Granny Max said softly.
Ethan rose from his chair with the confidence of someone accustomed to talking to God. He motioned for us to form a circle then placed a chair in the center for Granny Max. “I’m probably no better at this than Jason, but I’ll lead the prayer because you asked me to, Granny Max.” He moved to a spot on the rim of the circle between Shawn and Luke. “If anyone has a problem with the words I use, go ahead and pray on your own. The thing to remember is we’re asking for God’s help in making Granny Max better and we need to believe, really, really believe, He’ll answer our prayer. Now, close your eyes and clear your minds the way we did during Luke’s intention experiment. Then hook up, not like smooching or anything, but mentally, like we’ve been practicing. Then connect with Granny Max, and, together, we’ll reach out to God.”
I opened my eyes—yes, I cheated, my prerogative as a teacher—and saw Ethan bend his knees and upper body and take a deep breath as if he’d done this hundreds of times before. “May the Blessed Holy One be filled with compassion for Granny Max’s health. May He send complete renewal of her body, mind, and spirit. Amen.”
Repeating Ethan’s prayer with all the belief I could muster, I wondered how Granny Max had known to choose Ethan to lead us. Ace of Spaces, source of illumination for others, key to the profound secrets of life. The perfect emissary between us and God.
Apparently, I didn’t know my students as well as I’d thought. One thing for certain, though, I had seven arguments to prove it possible for thirteen-year-olds to be perceptive and wise beyond what was conceivable for their age.
Chapter Forty-six
OVER THE FOLLOWING SIX class sessions the experiments continued, each with positive results. Luke replanted the sprouted lima bean seeds, and with the daily treatment of our intentions, the target seeds continued to outpace the controls.
“The treated seeds will need a trellis soon,” Codi said on the fifth day while inspecting the foliage about to flop over the rim of the planter. “You’d think they were enchanted or something like the ones in ‘Jack and the Beanstalk.’”
Luke glanced at the ceiling and shook his head. “We’re only interested in their health and how fast they grow. That means no assistance besides our good intentions.”
After we’d “healed” targeted water in one of Luke’s experiments, he used it to irrigate one of two identical plants—maidenhair ferns that had so far subsisted on benign neglect. He irrigated the other with untreated water.
“Is ‘healed’ water like holy water?” Ethan wanted to know after entering class on day six and taking a seat next to Shawn at their table.
“Sort of,” Luke said from his new position at the head of the U as class leader. “After the tap water receives our healing intentions, I guess you could call it holy water.”
Codi gave him a snarky grin. “How do we prove the water changed at all? Check its pH?”
“We’ll check it with a Raman Spectrometer.”
Her grin turned into a frown. “A what?”
“An instrument that can measure changes in water’s molecular structure via a probe connected to a CCD camera.”
“Hold it, boy genius.” Codi ran the tips of her fingers through her hair as though taming it with pomade. “What the hell is a CCD camera, and doesn’t that kind of equipment cost like thousands of dollars? What are you, King Midas?”
Jason stood and placed his foot on the seat of his chair as if it were the rear bumper of his father’s pickup truck. “Over the weekend, Dad borrowed the modular Raman Spectrometer used for undergraduate and graduate experiments and research at UC Berkeley. As far as the CCD camera goes, he’s got dibs on one that costs only like forty-thousand, used in astronomy for photographing the faintest light from distant galaxies.”
Codi slid from her chair in a display of shock that could have earned her a coveted spot in West Coast’s drama club. “Forty-thousand!”
My less embellished contribution to the conversation was, “You and Luke sure work fast.” Followed by the thought: Ron Ardis better have good insurance coverage for all that valuable equipment.
Codi rose from the floor without injury, ignoring the dust clinging to the back of the trench coat she now considered her own. “Okay, so how does your dad get that stuff here?”
The sudden straightening of Jason’s back embodied pride at his father’s continued contribution to the class. “The equipment is compact and portable and can operate on batteries. Perfect for field measurements.”
***
On May 6, Ron showed up with the spectrometer, CCD camera, and computer as promised. With that, the measures Luke and the students used in their experiments became ever more sophisticated.
I didn’t know what to say, besides “Thank you.” After that, I kept my mouth shut.
Over the following three days, the fledgling scientists continued to experiment, becoming more and more comfortable with their scientific inquiry. Practice didn’t make perfect, but they were getting better at what they aimed to do—prove that a group of people thinking the same thought at the same time could magnify its affect.
The only trial over which they had no control or conclusive results was their prayer experiment to cure Granny Max of cancer.
“Maybe we should have her drink some of our treated water,” Codi suggested after we’d completed another prayer circle. Besides praying on Granny Max’s behalf, we’d envisioned each of her cells smiling at each other, offer
ing their love and gratitude. “Or maybe we could have Tessa heal her.”
“That would make it a different experiment,” Luke said with the patience of someone who’d given up trying to explain scientific methods to the technologically inept. “It takes time for cancer to grow, so it’ll take time for it to go away. Anyway, Granny Max will share her journal and test results with us soon. Until then, all we can go by is how she feels.”
“She looked kind of pale and tired when she left today,” Tessa said.
Codi nodded. “I can see into her head, at least most of the time, but my findings are inconclusive.”
“Talk about findings.” Luke held up the journal containing all their test results. “Who do we share our research with?”
“No one just yet,” I cautioned from the seat behind my desk in my new role as advisor rather than teacher. “Not that you need to keep a lid on it forever…” A warning look at Ethan, though after the destruction of his owl, I suspected thoughts of betrayal no longer entered his mind. “Only until you have proof of the experimental significance of your theory. How, for instance, can you apply your findings to the world?”
“Are you saying we need to show ways our findings can help others?” Tessa asked.
“Yes, and after that, the first person you should notify is Dr. Matt. He started this class because he cared, really cared, about you and wanted you to use your abilities to advance yourselves and the world. Something’s bothering him at the moment. Not about you, but me. So, we need to handle the situation with care. Being teased or made fun of is the least of your worries. It’s the people who’ll take your findings seriously” —another glance at Ethan— “that you need to guard against. The ones who might use, even hurt, you.”
Shawn came to a slow stand from his seat next to Ethan. “I’ve been trying to keep my opinion to myself, but…” He started to pace the room as if working off, or through, something nagging at him. The rest of students remained silent, possibly relieved that he was providing them with a reprieve from opinions they, too, harbored and were unable, or unwilling, to voice. “I get where Luke’s leading with his experiments. But, as I see it, science can’t prove or disprove what goes on in our heads. Especially when it comes to the gifts we’re caught up in, mostly against our will.” Shawn’s grin emerged like a break in a cloud. “In Luke’s case, it’s called genius.” His comment drew chuckles, but the sparkle of his wit faded as quickly as his smile. “So, how are we supposed to make claims about the world—our world—when they can’t be supported by first-hand evidence? How, for instance, do we prove that what we’re doing during our experiments is responsible for the outcome? We’ve seen what happened, and Luke and Granny Max took lots of notes, but how can we prove what actually happened?”
My eyes stung, touched by the sincerity and concern in Shawn’s voice. And the brilliance of the workings of his mind.
“And even if we could prove that our so-called magical powers are real,” Shawn continued, “it could lead to disaster. Look what happened with nuclear power… Anyway, I agree with Ms. Veil that we should keep what we’re learning to ourselves for now. Uncle Matt is pretty upset with us because of Mr. Lacoste—”
“You mean pissed,” Jason said.
“Yeah,” Shawn concurred.
“So, we need to shut up about it,” Jason said.
Shawn returned to his table and slumped onto his chair. “Uncle Matt will come around. It’s just that…I’m staying out of it for now.”
Chapter Forty-seven
“DID YOU KNOW TODAY is Ascension Thursday?” Granny Max asked when I stopped by her classroom after my students had left for the day.
Ascension Thursday? Jeez, I’d forgotten. I checked my watch. Quarter past five. My mother was probably already headed for Mass.
Granny Max pushed aside the stack of worksheets she’d been correcting. “I’ve given a lot of thought to the meaning and significance of the Ascension since my cancer diagnosis and your students started beseeching God on my behalf. What, for instance, is the likelihood that Jesus ascended into heaven physically and the Apostles were able to witness it? Is there a scientific way to prove this biblical account as true? Or, did the Apostles experience Jesus’ rising while in an altered state of consciousness or a group trance?”
I moved a student’s chair to the foot of Granny Max’s desk and sat, figuring the best I could do for her at the moment was lend her a listening ear.
She swiveled her chair toward the ten-foot lightbulb painted on the wall to her right. I followed her gaze, taken in once again by the mural’s capacity to jolt the senses. “Science functions by reproducible experiments and observations,” she said. “Miracles, however, are non-reproducible, so they can’t be proven by scientific means. And if science can’t find defeating evidence of a reported event such as the Ascension, it can’t say one way or another whether it truly happened or is a miracle.”She wheeled her chair back to her desk and eyed me as though she’d caught me drifting. No chance of that; except for the powerful magnetism of all those colors ricocheting off the wall to my left. “Do you get where I’m going with this?”
Her argument touched on the concerns Shawn had voiced in class only a short while ago. “Yes, I think so.”
“That’s good, because I’m not sure I do. Anyway, science is best at describing normal workings of the world. Miracles like the resurrection are not normal. If science, then, can’t say if Jesus’ resurrection happened or not, should we give up the plausibility of the claim?”
I thought of my students’ attempts to prove scientifically that the mind’s range was beyond the brain and could change physical matter. “Well—”
“Hell, no!” she said with a fist to her thigh. “Because science isn’t our only means for accessing truth.”
“I agree, but…”
She folded her hands on the desk and leaned forward. “I don’t have a physical explanation for what happened with Jesus or, for that matter, what’s happening with your students, but I do have rational ground to believe it did and does happen. Luke and his cohorts can spend the rest of their lives investigating whether we are more than our physical brains and never come up with a scientific explanation. The trick is to keep an open mind. There’s more to consciousness than we’ll ever understand.”
“No argument there,” I squeezed in.
“I think of heaven and earth as two interacting and interpenetrating fields of force, so, I don’t see a sharp dichotomy between the material and the spiritual.” Granny Max’s gaze sharpened and she laughed. “I can tell by the way your face is wrinkling like a Shar-Pei pup that you’re wondering how a mathematician and closet quantum physicist, who revels in facts, figures, and the stretching boundaries, can also be a Christian.”
“Pfft. The thought never crossed my mind.”
The quick lift of Granny Max’s brows indicated she knew I was pulling her leg. “A mathematician and physicist, more qualified than I once said, ‘Science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind.’ Validation that science and religion depend on each other, don’t you think? Especially coming from Einstein, who claimed neither faith nor disbelief in the existence of God.”
I nodded. When this self-proclaimed fuddy-duddy got going, she never failed to intrigue.
“Hmph. Quantum physics and its application of mathematics isn’t only compatible with God’s existence, but makes it more likely, by illuminating some of His most creative work.”
Impressed at her ability to reconcile science and theology, I released a long breath.
“Okay, okay, I get the hint,” she said, “better rein in this one-sided conversation before your sighs turn into yawns and you start searching for an excuse to hightail it out of here.” She shot me a smile that prompted no other interpretation than mischievous. “Like joining your mother for Ascension Thursday Mass.”
“Too late for that. Though I plan to join her for Mass on Mother’s Day.”
<
br /> Granny Max slumped over her desk and cradled her chin in upraised hands, something I’d seen my students do at the end of a long day. Venting for so long had tuckered her out. “As far as your students’ prayer experiment is concerned, tell them it’s okay to ask for guidance from the wisdom that surrounds and informs us. I feel a divine presence whenever I’m in their healing circle, and for me that’s enough. But also… Please tell them not to beg for a specific outcome, such as praying away my cancer. No one but God knows what’s best for me. He’s providing me with the opportunity to discover something about myself and redirect my life in some way. A ‘give her comfort and strength’ or ‘thy will be done,’ is far more effective.”
My eyes started to tear, and I visually searched Granny Max’s desk for the box of tissues I knew would be there. Nothing, it seemed, escaped her when it came to the comfort of others. She pulled a couple of tissues from the box bookending her letter tray and handed them to me, then pulled out a couple for herself.
“Granny Max—”
“Let me finish, dear. Somehow, I get the feeling you need to hear what I’ve got to say.”
I reminded myself that I’d come to offer my support by listening. With both ears.
“Tell the kids I’m feeling fine. Okay? If it weren’t for the doctors saying different, I’d insist I was healthy as a horse. Problem is, I have difficulty accepting help from others… It opens up a whole bag of issues and anxieties I’d rather ignore. The thought of being dependent on someone else overwhelms me, literally knocks me to my knees. I’m trying to convince myself that allowing you and the kids to express your love and support is a form of giving on my part, you know, providing you the gift of meaning and purpose.”
I wanted to say that, yes, helping her was giving the students and me a sense of meaning and purpose, but I could see by the impatient flutter of her hands that she wasn’t done.
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