KNACK
with arms on each other’s shoulders. It’s more recent, but it’s definitely not the same people from the wall photo. This is probably him and his family; the other one must be someone else. Maybe a sibling. Maybe some long lost love. But then who would that be in the picture with her? It’s probably a sibling. I glance over the larger bookshelf. Most of it is medical texts; books with words in the titles longer than I care to try to sound out. The top shelf, however, takes a decidedly different tack. I-Ching, Tibetan Book of the Dead, Ram Dass, a slew of books on Tibet, Nepal, and India, from travel guides to what appears to be a book on sitar music. One in particular catches my eye because I think Gena, a girl from work, recommended it a few months ago and I immediately forgot about it until the title brings the memory rushing back. A Brief History of Everything by Ken Wilbur. I pull it off the shelf and look at the cover; a bald man with glasses staring up at me with a strange assurance in his eyes. Like he knows that he knows something I don’t know and is trying to beam it directly into me without my having to open the book. “That man has some pretty interesting ideas.” The voice makes me jump almost through the plate glass floor to ceiling window to my right, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you heard me come in.” “Oh, no, I’m sorry,” I respond, catching my breath and turning to the older version of the man from the desk photo, who is approaching from the door, “I shouldn’t be snooping around your office, Dr. Frost, I just noticed some of the books on this shelf, and I think I’ve heard of this one.” He isn’t particularly tall, but his body is very slender, giving him the illusion of added height. His face, in particular, is very pointy and angular, as well as his flat-top head of platinum white hair, making him look like some kind of James Bond villain. He’s not old-looking, but he’s definitely not young. He’s probably in his early 60s, but clearly in good shape, because, other than his hair color and the wrinkles around his eyes, he looks like he could be in his late 40s or early 50s. “Wilbur’s got some fascinating points about the development of an individual’s psyche and consciousness, which, while not widely accepted by my peers in this profession, I think - in the next 20 or 30 years - could become more wide-spread. If he wasn’t so cocky in his tone, I think a lot more people would get more out of his words, even if they don’t necessarily subscribe to his spiritual views. You must be Claudia. You can call me ‘Spencer’, if you like. Or ‘Dr. F’, or just ‘Doc’...” he smiles, “I respond to all of them. Sorry to keep you waiting, we had a small emergency with one of my patients downstairs.” “It’s Cloud-ia, actually... like... clouds, you know? It’s Italian.” Then I add, “And I didn’t mind waiting. I hope it was nothing serious.” I return to the chair I had sat in before, for some reason still holding the book in my hand. Again, I wonder if I’m supposed to be lying on the couch.
36
“No, nothing too bad. Some people just have problems adjusting to envi-