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Thursday, October 25, 2007

Operation Desert Spa

A tale of escape, discovery and psychic detox by Liz Armstrong...

When my cat died two years ago, he bequeathed to me his psychic ability. But all my partying since had tarnished my third eye, so I decided to spend my birthday last weekend polishing it up. On the first day, my closest lady kin joined me at a manicured little spa in Desert Hot Springs called The Spring, soaking in pussy-soft geothermal mineral waters, indulging in dry-brush detox and relaxing my headbones with cranial dreamwork. Later, after a snifter of Tuaca at The Parker, a luxuriously psychedelic rumpus room in Palm Springs (perhaps you saw the reality show on Bravo), we retired back to the spa.

That night, Santa Ana winds threw deck chairs around the mineral pools like it was a bar fight. The spa's proprietors said they’d never seen such a dust storm in all their years. I kept waking up in a sweat, thinking the resort was on fire. The next day, San Diego and Los Angeles started to burn.

About an hour into the Mojave desert and away from the disaster, we visited a fantastic spaceship tabernacle called the Integratron. Designed in 1954 by George Van Tassel, an aeronautics engineer and pioneer in electromagnetic physics, the Integratron was designed as a high-voltage electrostatic generator that could repair a body’s cell structure through various energy frequencies. It’s basically human-battery-recharger in the shape of a dome, using principles of sacred geometry and directives from extra terrestrials who visited Van Tassel in 1953 from the planet Venus. And it’s totally not a joke.

Though the dome was completed, Van Tassel died before his dream was fully realized. The two sisters who now own and keep the Integratron running decided to reinterpret his ideas and encourage cellular regeneration via “sound baths.” You know how you get a super pure ringing sound when you run your liquor-soaked finger around the rim of a crystal chalice? Imagine that chalice is pure quartz and about 617 times larger and thicker, and that there are nine of them, each keyed to a different chakra, and you begin to understand the instruments the sisters played.

As instructed, we removed our shoes and crept up a wooden ladder into the upper part of the dome. A couple dozen people cocooned in hand-woven serapes lay on the hardwood floor, blissing out to generic New Age music twinkling softly in the background. It looked like a Heaven’s Gate reunion, but we joined them anyway. Soon the sound bath began and I tripped my fucking head off.

In the most radical concert ever on the planet, tone after celestial tone reverberated throughout the chamber, often stacking up, sometimes canceling each another out, ringing in one ear and out the other. Not knowing the session had ended, I followed the last note on a star beam back to its magical kingdom.

Now my third eye sizzles like a laser.