The Ylem (17 page)

He continued to the next image of several
water bottles of well-known brands. “Of course, distilled water is
until now the most sanitized water to drink. But can we improve it?
Is it lacking something vital to obtain the quality that we need?”
he asked.

Vital? I thought. Looking at Tristan felt
like something vital, as if my day couldn’t be complete without the
image of his face filling my eyes.

Ugh, stop it Kalista. You were the one who
ended everything with him. Deal with it
.

I focused on Mr. Harder’s voice. “Snow has
been falling on Earth for more many million years,” he said,
switching to an image of kids playing under a light mist of snow.
“Each snowflake, as we have been told, has a very unique shape and
structure. Have you wondered why?”

“If you hadn’t, someone did it for you and as
a result made a breathtaking discovery,” he added, changing the
image. This time there was a person in a chamber, wearing snow
clothing and looking through a big microscope. “A Japanese water
scientist, Dr. Masaru Emoto, wondered why and began photographing
the crystals formed on frozen water samples, using a very powerful
microscope inside a freezer at a temperature of minus five degrees
Celsius.” He nodded to the picture behind him. “He got incredible
pictures and information. He discovered many fascinating
differences in the crystalline structures of water from different
sources and different conditions around the planet. For instance,
water from immaculate mountain streams and springs showed a
completely formed geometric crystal.” He changed the image to a
stunningly beautiful symmetric crystal of a silver color. It came
from a water sample of a Fountain in Lourdes, France. Then he
showed another one from Japan’s Shimanto River, one of the last
clean streams in Japan, which had a lovely hexagonal form of a pale
crimson color.

“However, that wasn’t the case with polluted
and toxic water from industrial and populated areas.” An image from
the water sample of the Yodo River in Japan illustrated a distorted
crystal. It was an ugly disseminated form with dull colors. The
same happened with an image from the sample of the Biwako Lake, the
largest lake at the center of Japan. This one looked like a
half-done crystal. It seemed like it was about to become complete
but didn’t—maybe the water was too polluted.

“Now, from these pictures we can easily
understand how pollutants in water can affect the crystal’s
structure. But the interesting part comes pronto,” he said, waving
a finger to emphasize the fact. “Emoto’s research group found that
distilled water failed to crystallize as well. So, with the recent
popularity in music therapy, they decided to observe what effects
music had on distilled water and placed it between two speakers for
several hours. Then they followed the same procedure and took
pictures. Here’s the first one,” he said, introducing a new image—a
sublime, perfectly shaped snowflake-like crystal.

“This beautiful crystal was the result of the
Beethoven’s Pastorale, which I would like you to listen for a
moment.” He played a beautiful melody, spoiled by a few groans
around the auditorium, Owen amongst them. But I was delighted by
the symphony of tunes. It was impossible to not loosen up.

The music stopped. “And here are other ones
for you to see and listen,” he said, showing the pictures with
different melodies. “This one is the result of the Tibet Sutra, a
song said to have a strong positive effect on people.” This crystal
was one of my favorites. It had a bright ginger color and a
hexagonal contour. Curiously enough, it made me think of
energy.

“This other one is from the Kawachi Folk
Dance. As you can see, this crystal is not snowflake-like, but it
does have the six-fold symmetry. It looks like silver symmetrical
leaves.” He was right. The crystal had a unique beauty that
curiously enough, again, made me think of a dance.

“Therefore, it is possible to generate
crystals that are specific to the music to which the water has been
exposed to. But then again, crystals are not always formed to types
of music,” he said, showing a jumbled image of a frozen water
sample.

“Feel the difference for yourselves.” He
played an utterly thunderous heavy metal song.

I tilted my head in displeasure, catching a
glimpse of Tristan’s reaction. His wide hands were clutching the
wooden armrests, as to almost dig his long fingers into the hard
surface. It seemed like he was in torture, as if someone was
stabbing him deep inside. Perhaps he couldn’t stand the
high-pitched tunes. And I had to agree with him. The noise was
disturbing the waters inside of me, turning them into a black,
crashing storm. I wanted to throw a rock to the speakers wherever
they were. I couldn’t stand it.

And that’s when it happened.

Something in my forearms started quivering,
as if small electric snakes were moving underneath my skin. The odd
sensation reached my palms, snaked along the fingers, touched the
tips, and then…bling…the lights in the whole auditorium went on,
flickering for a few long seconds, until they stopped.

“I think we might have some electrical
issues,” Mr. Harder stared, confused at the bright bulbs
overhead.

I gulped, trying to decide whether this was a
huge coincidence or…something else. Could my static problem have
turned into something
bigger
? Or was I going nuts?

“And it seems the projector wants to work on
backwards,” Mr. Harder added with a frown, switching it off so the
blue screen reappeared on the board.

On backwards
, I remembered. Like that
day in my room when I’d woken up with the lights on, even if the
light switch was down.

“Wasn’t that—Ah!” Valerie shouted after
touching my arm. “You gave me a shock.
Again
.” She said,
rubbing her finger. “Aren’t you using the anti-static spray I told
you?”

“I don’t like the smell.” I’d bought it a few
days ago, when Valerie had suggested it, but I didn’t like the sort
of sticky coat it left on my skin and clothes.

“If you don’t want to electro-shock your
friends every time we get near you, you know what to do, City
Girl,” Owen added with a smile, his cute dimples dotting his
cheeks. “Don’t be selfish. Spread the love.”

I smiled. He was right. If what’d happened
with the lights in the auditorium, and the ones in my room that
night, had anything to do with me, I had to control it. Even if
that meant spraying some of that sticky liquid on me.

“Okay guys, stop the chat. We need to go on,”
Mr. Harder ordered through the microphone. The screen was now where
we’d left it. “So…this image was the direct result of continuous
exposure to heavy metal music, like the one you heard before the
lights went crazy. For that reason, the water didn’t crystallize.
It responded to the dissonant music, giving an unclear image. But
maybe it is not so strange that water should be sensitive to sound,
given that sound could generate some vibrations that influence the
crystallization process. After seeing the effect music and
environmental conditions had on water, Dr. Emoto and his team
decided to check how thoughts and even words affected the formation
of water crystals. How did they do that? They typed words onto a
paper and taped them onto glass bottles overnight, using the same
procedure as before: distilled water was frozen and then
photographed. The results? See them for yourselves.”

The first photograph was the crystal
resulting from the words “Thank you.” It had a perfectly formed
hexagonal structure with a big circle at the heart. Then he
displayed a magnificently elaborate crystal created from the words
“Love and Appreciation”.

But there were also water samples that were
exposed to negative words like “You fool,”, which gave no crystal
at all and was similar to the result of the heavy metal music. And
“You make me sick, I will kill you” gave a distorted image with an
outstanding figure of what looked like a man pointing a gun.
Perhaps pure coincidence, but mind-blowing.

“And it did not matter what language was
used, the results were always similar. What is more, the water also
reacted to names.” A hazy image with the name “Adolph Hitler” at
the bottom shocked me. It looked similar to the “You make me sick,
I will kill you” image. The one with “Mother Theresa” gave a
hexagonal crystal that radiated light.

“Wow,” Valerie whispered, careful not to
touch my arm. She was gaping bewildered at the pictures and,
surprisingly, Owen was as well. The silence in the auditorium
showed even the most skeptical person would wonder about the
amazing probability.

“But this doesn’t stop here,” Mr. Harder told
us. “If words do this to water, what about thoughts? Take this
example of frozen water from the Fujiwara Dam before and after a
prayer.” He put on a new image. The before picture looked
distorted, with dull colors and no crystal. The after picture had a
beautiful colorful snowflake-like crystal.

“Incredible, isn’t it? Now, look these other
two.” He pressed a key on the mouse. Now we saw tap water before
and after prayers. The before picture was amazing. You could see
that a crystal had been shattered like glass in little pieces. Then
a flawless crystal appeared after the prayer, like it had been
reconstructed. Very moving.

“Thoughts have an extremely important power
on water structure. All these impressive photographs show us that
water is highly responsive to every one of our emotions and
thoughts. It’s prone to receive the vibrations and energy of its
environment. And the tricky part is that if we are seventy percent
water…imagine how our thoughts can affect our body,” he said,
wrinkling his wide forehead. “Not to mention the seventy percent of
water on earth.”

My eyes widened. The information fell on me
like a big pot of cold water. Everything made absolute sense.
Thoughts did affect us, and the world, in a huge way. One could see
how positive people looked healthier and radiant, and how negative
people looked unwell and lifeless.

“The point of all this,” he explained, “is to
transmit Dr. Emoto’s message to create an awareness of how we can
positively impact the Earth and our personal health. Now it depends
on you to make the change.”

Mumbles started to flutter around the room.
“Do you have any questions?” Mr. Harder asked.

A girl in the back stood up. “Can we
photograph the crystals ourselves?” she asked.

I had to admit I’d thought about it, too.

“If you have a super powerful microscope with
photographic capabilities and a walk-in cold chamber then, yes, you
could,” he said smiling.

“Well, I guess I’ll leave that to
scientists,” she said from her seat.

Everybody laughed.

“Yes, Mr. Woodstock,” he said acknowledging
someone else.

“Is he doing more stuff, like, more
research?” the guy asked.

“Yes, he is. In fact, he worked on magnetic
resonance with a device called MRA, properly known as the Magnetic
Resonance Analyzer. It can measure the resonance of a substance,
meaning its energy. The device can also be used for water quality
inspection. But I don’t have any further information about it.”

“That sounds cool,” Woodstock said.

The bell rang. A rain of applauses poured
down on the room. “Thank you everyone. See you next class,” Mr.
Harder said.

I stood up and grabbed my tote. When I turned
to leave, I bumped against a tall imposing body. Tristan reached
out and stilled me, preventing my fall. I blushed, my heart kicking
into overdrive. Though I had my jacket on, the touch of his hand
burned my skin.

“Thanks,” I told him with a shy smile.

“No problem,” he stared at me with those deep
eyes.

Control your heart. Breathe
. I
realized his hand was still wrapped around my arm. I swallowed. Was
the air between us sizzling? Something inside didn’t want me to
move, though. I couldn’t. I wanted to close the distance. I wanted
to pull him against me. Did he want that, too? That intensity
burning in his eyes…

“Kal, everything okay?” Dean stopped next to
me, glaring at Tristan.

As if we’d touched acid, we broke apart. “I'm
fine,” I told him, lowering my eyes.

“Are you sure?” he insisted, looking fiercely
at Tristan again, who was staring back as if he hadn’t liked the
question.

“Yes,” I frowned.

Tristan turned to leave, and before he
reached the exit door, he glanced at me over his shoulder. A warm
and fuzzy feeling swirled inside of me with that look.

He pulled open the door and left.

Dean looked at me. “So, do you still need a
ride? Or is that asshole going to take you?” His eyes were hard,
the blue in them darker.

Valerie, now next to me, threw me a wary
look.

“No, I…I still need someone to take me home.
But if you want to I can go with Valerie and Owen.” After all, I’d
only accepted to go with him because of the pressure Valerie had
put on me. She’d said these were Dean’s last days and that a little
pampering from my part wouldn’t be that bad.

Riding home with him wasn’t something I would
have considered “pampering,” however. And there was a bit of
convenience involved. I’d told my dad Tristan was going to take me
home, and since that wasn’t obviously going to happen Dean had come
up as the best option. But it certainly didn’t look like the best
one now.

Dean sighed and shook his head. “No, I’ll
take you,” he said softly, as if he’d realized what a ridiculous
fuss he’d been making.

I nodded, hesitant. “See you guys,” I told
Valerie and Owen and headed outside with Dean.

We drove in silence, both pensive with our
own thoughts. Dean felt embarrassed, I guessed, and I felt
uncomfortable. The sunny road quickly detoured into the narrow path
amid the sea of trees that led to my house. The light seeped
through the foliage, drawing shadowy patterns on the ground.