Dear Kimberly,

Dear Kimberly,
I remember when you first came into B.K. Frantzis Energy Arts. What kind of name is that anyways? It's so clumsy, off-putting, bizarre. Anyway, I was the office manager and event coordinator. The organization was growing and I needed an assistant. In you came.

I remember your light nature, the lightness in your presence, the ease of your composure.

I remember that I thought you were very sweet and pleasant to be around.

I remember thinking that you seemed very alert and aware, more than most people.

I remember how small your fingers were, as I saw you using them, typing names and contact information into the new database I built for the Taoist organization.

I remember our first outing as friends. You asked me to go for a hike and we went up to the top of Mount Tam, up the road behind the Energy Arts place, winding up the mountain through redwoods in your Volvo.
I knew I wanted to know you right then.

You drove to the office that day, from Calistoga, where you lived with your mother. So we took your car. I didn't own on at the time. My Celica GTS had just been repo'd and I was doing my part to live eco-consciously. I always walked to work, and I loved it. Passing through the Fairfax neighborhood, past shops and houses, and on the way home, I'd dip in the pool and do backstroke, staring up at the sky and Mount Tam in the distance.

So here we were, closing up the office, ready to drive up the twisting Fairfax Bolinas Road for a hike on the west side of Tam, the sleeping goddess.
You had to clear off the front seat to give me space to sit. On the seat was a nalgeen full of water. I'd never seen one before. I liked that you carried a big bottle of water in your car. It was 1997. People didn't do that then. It was cool.

You also had fresh lavender around your gear shift base and parking break. There was a quartz crystal glued to your dashboard in the center. A rainbow ribbon hung from the rear view mirror.
Sitting down in the cracked leather seat, I moved aside a big blue book called "Chakras" with my foot.

Your laughter came quickly and lingered. Your voiced always lilting into a giggle. Your face always with an uncanny smile that looked like you knew something important and were elated about it, like you were on the verge of sharing it with me.

I loved your kinky curly hair and how you'd twist it into a tight bun on top of your hair and then bend down and undo it and swing your head back, all glorious enlightened Medusa!

I remember when I invited you to stay at my house as a guest. You drove over two hours each way to and from Calistoga for work and our more frequent hikes. I lived right next to the office and had a guest bedroom. You stayed the night, often, and it was a pure joy for me.
You'd fill my home with happy, laughing, water drinking, yoga posing fairy energy. I loved that you'd spread yourself out on my giant living room floor and do yoga while watching South Park, a show I'd never heard of. I had a tv, but I only used it to watch movies on my VCR.
It was the Southpark early years and I can't remember ever having laughed so hard. This was a gift you brought me; the juxtaposition of holding a yoga posture and cracking up!

I lived at the end of San Francisco Boulevard, which wasn't really a boulevard at all. It was a small, three block long dead end street that was backed up against the second largest hill in Marin County.
There was a nice open space area with a trail that lead to the top of the hill. We'd walk up it every day, talking about our love lives, consciousness, ideas, dreams, B.K. Frantzis, and wind up to the top and do Chi Gung while staring across the land toward the mountain. I miss that. I cherished that.

I remember your eating style. Carry with you and boil into a pulp a variety of veggies. Rail thin. Then eat all the ice cream and cookies in the middle of the night, puke it up, and start the day with boiling veggies again. It was an odd cycle and you struggled with it.

You were studying massage arts, and always had your massage table in the back or your Volvo. You'd bring it into my house, ask me to be your guinea pig, and spend hours working on my back. You'd practice the various techniques you were studying. I loved it, of course.

For two years we went to Berkeley every Tuesday night to see Lama Pema and Arija Rinpoche to chant and learn Tibetan Reiki. We took refuge together, in the Tibetan Buddhist vows, and were named satsang sisters. Remember?
I am Yeshe and you are Vadya.
Om mani padme om....
Vajra gura padme om. Ommmmmm...


Then you met my neighbor, Moni. Some new agey 50 year old guy (you were 34) who treated you like a follower, a groupie...
You started staying at his house a lot. You distanced yourself from me.
You moved to Hawaii to be with him. You followed him around the world.
He told you to disengage from our friendship and you did.

It really hurt me.
I felt abandoned, confused, and sad.

I loved your presence, your friendship.

I'll never forget how you took care of me when I was assaulted and couldn't function for weeks. I lay in bed, catatonic or convulsing in tears and wailings. You'd bring me tea, speak to me in a gentle angel voice, push the hair out of my eyes, cleanse my face with a soft warm cloth and tell me it's going to be okay.

After this I went through a period of post traumatic shock in which I'd get angry. I had been deeply violated and abused and I was reeling. In therapy, getting all sorts of alternative treatments, and actively pursuing meditation and other forms of stress relief. But you seemed to be afraid to handle what happened to me. When I was crying and hurting you cared for me. When I got angry you recoiled. You told me my anger scared you and that you didn't know how to deal with it or be around it.
This is when you met my neighbor and started staying at his house. You quit B.K. Frantzis. You lost 30 pounds and looked anorexic.
You disappeared for 6 months and never replied to calls or emails.
When I finally heard from you it was when you told me that Moni suggested a termination of our friendship and that you were now a breatharian. You lived on air and didn't need food. He was going around the world giving workshops and talks about Breatharianism.

I didn't know what to think.
Our phone calls and emails became less frequent.
Finally, I never heard from you again.
That was 5 years ago.

But I still wonder how you are, Kimber. I wonder if you're happy. I wonder where you're living and if you're fullfilled and happy.
I'll never forget the friendship we had. You meant a lot to me.
And it really hurt to be cut out of your life with no sense of closure, with no sense of cause. I know I never wronged you. We always had a sense of honor and respect and love between us.
I wonder if Moni just brainwashed and negatively influenced you away from me.

Nevertheless, I bid you well and bow in honor to you.

Sincerely,
Leila