Today, we took some time off and flew across the state with our friends, Lynn and Bruce Gernon, Rob’s co-author on The Fog.
We flew to Immokalee, Florida in their Skylane, a four-seater 182-Cessna. It took us across the state, over the vast emptiness between the East and West coasts of Florida. It’s mostly Everglades interspersed with farms that grow tomatoes and corn and the ever so lucrative sugar cane. We’ve flown this route before, to various locations, but I’m always astonished by how wild and utterly the middle part of Florida is.
At the airport, as we waited inside the small county terminal for a ride to the casino, Lynn pulled out a small velvet pouch. “Do you know what dowsing is, Trish?”
I was frankly surprised by the question. I have read the tarot for Lynn, done astrology charts for her and her family, but didn’t realize she was into dowsing. She brought out an exquisite pendulum made by Kathy Doore, author of a book on Peru’s mysterious stone forest.
“Let’s see what the pendulum has to say about our trip to the casino.” She grinned. “Are we going to win anything?”
Okay, I thought. Here’s the day’s synchro. Rob and I had allotted ourselves twenty bucks apiece for the slot machines. The last time we were in a casino, in Aruba, we were clueless about the machines – how you placed bets, how they worked, the whole nine yards. But that night, we won and quit while we were ahead. I think we made twenty or thirty bucks, hardly high rollers.
So Lynn and I used the pendulum and the answer was a resounding yes. Now, to put it to the test.
At the check-in counter, Rob and I both received scratch tickets, free draws, because we’d never been to a casino in Florida before. Mine was for $25, his for $10. The clerk said we could use the scratch ticket on every machine except the “progressives.” Once we had placed a bet, we could cash in the value of the ticket. So Lynn led us off to the one-armed bandits.
She explained how you place bets on the various machines – bets from one cent to a quarter. Yes, we started very small. You slide your ID card into a slot, then insert your free ticket, place a bet.. I won $66 on my first try and quit the machine after I cashed out.
What stood out most about the casino was the clientele. Most of the individuals in the place were elderly. Some used canes, some were in wheelchairs, some used oxygen tanks. This part depressed me. Many of these people seemed grim, sad, their faces locked in a kind of despair. Gotta win that jackpot to pay my doctor bills. That kind of thing.
Then, at the “progressive machines,” where your bets progress upward on an incomprehensible scale, a woman shrieked with joy. She had just won $237. She was on a roll and she knew it.
“As soon as she gets up, we’ll try that machine,” Lynn said. “You want to use the machines that win.” And she proceeded to explain which machines she had used in past visits that had surrendered their riches.
That’s when I started to wonder if telekinesis is involved in lucky streaks. Do these people, through their intentions, needs, desires, beliefs, somehow merge with the consciousness of the machine to bring about a win? Is this how it works when a tipping point is reached in any endeavor? Is it how certain movies, books, art or whatever suddenly spill into mass consciousness and become bestsellers?
Here’s a photo of some of popular machines – Indiana Jones! There was actually a waiting line!
By the time we left, our winnings were at $130 and Lynn had won several hundred. Bruce, wise man that he is, sat out those hours with his iPad. I mean, this is the guy who went through the Bermuda triangle and experienced a verifiable time slippage and not much since then has measured up to that experience. For him, the iPad is preferable to the one-armed bandits.
On the way back, I kept examining those sugar cane fields 3,000 feet below us, hoping to see a crop circle (nope!) and marveling that the pendulum had been right. We had won some grocery money on the machines where you bet pennies, five cents, a quarter. No blackjack tables for us.
I also realized that casinos – no windows, no sense of the outer world – may be a lot like the state in between lives, where our expectations and beliefs dictate what we experience. In the between, we enter Rod Serling’s Twilight Zone, a vast emptiness of probability. So if we go to the casino again, my expectations will be higher – more zeros at the end of that 13. And that pendulum will be zipping around like a compass readjusting to the new magnetic north.


















