I threw a large cocktail party at my place a few weeks ago, and instead of bringing a bottle of wine or a box of cookies, one guest arrived and presented me with a 10-inch tall selenite crystal slab. As she handed it to me, she said, “Hold this close to you, and it will change your life.”
It was noisy and crowded, and I had a lot of host duties on my mind (ice, wine bottles, crackers for cheese, and keeping Trumpers and Never Trumpers liquored and pacified and apart), so I didn’t have a chance to ask the obvious follow-up questions, such as, “How will it do this?” and “Do I have to plug it in?”
The party went on into the early morning hours, and it wasn’t until I was cleaning up that I saw the selenite crystal and remembered that I never found out how it was going to have an effect on my life. At two in the morning, carrying a box of empties to the garbage, I would have preferred it just lend me a hand with the vacuum. But the thing about gifts is, they come the way they come.
Selenite, I have since learned, is a kind of gypsum — an all-purpose mineral used in a variety of things, especially chalk and drywall. The fanciest and most expensive form of gypsum is alabaster, so my selenite block is what marketers might call an “accessible brand.” On the other hand, a lot of people think selenite has powerful healing properties, that it can bring light and energy and inspiration. Selenite, the internet told me, can clear the energy in a room, help open up the crown chakra, and send powerful vibrations into your heart center. I’d like to see alabaster try that.
“Why do you feel the need to make fun of selenite and the people who believe it has powers?” a friend of mine asked after I had spent the previous 15 minutes making fun of selenite and the people who believe it has powers.
The question surprised me because my friend is a classic no-nonsense financier. He’s a money manager, a successful one, and I just assumed he’d be smirking along with me. But it turns out he’s a closet crystal freak. He has a selenite slab on his desk at work — a job where he has a huge amount of power over other people’s money. You’d think he’d be more rational.
“What can I say?” he said. “I’m a Gemini.”
He saw the expression on my face. “Look,” he said. “I don’t believe in horoscopes and crystals and invisible energy fields despite being in the financial markets. I believe in them because I’m in the financial markets. I come into work, and I look at the Bloomberg and watch the markets, and I have literally no idea what’s happening, if I’m making the right decisions, if it’s all going to blow up. I need to think there’s some magic working for me.” And then, he added: “But, like, don’t tell anyone, OK?”
I have to think there’s some magic working for me. Those words had an effect. I’m a man in my 50s, and I’ll be totally honest: I’m not as energetic as I once was. I don’t have the same creative juice I used to. My blood sugar is too high, and my triglycerides are ticking up. I’ve been a television writer and producer for 30 years, long enough to get old in a business that worships the young. Laugh and smirk if you must, but I need to think there’s some magic working for me.
“OK,” I said. “I’ll try it. How do I activate my crystal healing?”
“Here’s what you do,” my friend said. “You bond with the crystal. You make it your own. You take it to bed for a week (put it under your pillow or something) and let it absorb your dreams and wishes and subconscious essence. Then put it next to your computer and let it inspire and guide you as you work.”
I tried to follow those instructions, but by Night 3, I was covered in scrapes and tiny lacerations. Selenite, or at least my slab of it, is a sharp and jagged piece of work. The sheets were covered in bloody spots. It looked like I had slept with a cheese grater.
But it’s there, on my desk, next to my keyboard, working its magic. I hope.
Rob Long is a television writer and producer and the co-founder of Ricochet.com.
