(Source: The Dallas Morning News)
DALLAS _ Ann Curry, Ann Curry, Ann Curry, Ann Curry. With a 10-foot path of 1,200 F coals bridging spiritual enlightenment and me, all I can think of is the Today show newsreader. Nine hours after arriving at Flower Mound Texas' Firewalking Institute of Research and Education, the moment has arrived. I've forgotten the chant, maybe something about adoring fire, and am told if I fear my feet melting off, they will. Focus remains on Ann. After a day with chanting, dancing, board breaking and over-sharing, I am thinking walking on fire is tired over matter.
"LET IT BE EASY!" a poster insists at check-in. The daylong seminar takes place at the rambling, natural stone home _ a compound, really _ of Charles Horton, master instructor and general manager of the institute. Described in the 54-page notebook as a 40-year-old "self-made multimillionaire" with more than 50 "retail financial outlets" across the U.S., Horton is way revered by today's participants.
Gathered in a living room with saddles affixed to barstools are soft-spoken housewives from Vancouver, granola grad students from New England, saucer-eyed senior citizens, all wondering when we're going to meet Charles. There are several official-T-shirt-clad, Up With People-types who don't mind direct questions. "Can I hug you?" a 40-something blonde asks me. Uh, sure, I say, offering a handshake-and-one-arm, Bill Clinton hug. She's not having it, pouncing for a boundary-invading squeeze, leaving me violated. "OK, it's time!" she announces. "Hurry!"
Off the 20 of us go, filing past the house's garage holding a silver 7-series BMW and stepping on stones across a stream to a converted barn, which emanates thumping gay-bar music. We're split into small groups, and I'm assigned to Team Prashant.
"OK, guys, first of all, you've got to move fast today," the long-lashed Indian-American tells us as introduction. "This isn't B.S." He pauses, looking each of us in the eyes.
"You can get hurt," Prashant says soberly. He hands us waivers.
This was the moment for Sean McGuire, living up to the background lyrics of the fire-walk: '... I won't look down, I must not fall! ... '
After agreeing to not bring a lawsuit even if negligence can be demonstrated, the Hugger tells us Horton is waiting for us inside the barn. But he just doesn't believe we're excited enough.
Uh-oh.
"OK, guys, huddle up," Prashant tells my group, which includes a bearded college student from Boston and a pretty actress-type with tattoos who plans on getting into motivational speaking. "Down with the good girl, up with the best girl," she inexplicably tells us several times, as if she's test-driving e-mail signatures. Also in our group is a Peter Boyle-ish retiree who shares that fire-walking is on his bucket list.
"Here's the deal," Prashant says in a stage whisper over thumping I recognize as Marky Mark. "Charles must hear how excited we are to be here."
"Is he going to turn down the music?" I ask.
"So we have to get really pumped up," Prashant says, ignoring my question. The other groups suddenly start screaming and bouncing, as if they've seen Robert Pattinson at Forever 21.
Our turn. As I halfheartedly wave my hands around, walking in place and realizing I wore the wrong shoes, Bucket List starts screeching, "I'm a Maasai warrior! I'm a Maasai warrior!"
The Hugger isn't pleased with the volume or the aerobic output of our group. "Jason, you need to loosen up," Prashant tells me, which is something I usually hear only from therapists and dates. "You're never going to be one with the fire with your hands in your pockets."
Take two.
