An antic memoir about a woman exploring the byways of New Age spiritualism.
The long string of problems and bizarre encounters in Martenson’s (Diary of a Beverly Hills Matchmaker, 2014) autobiography begins when, while clearing her Los Angeles house of “SICLW” (or “Shit I Can Live Without”), she made the impulsive decision to throw out a small Buddha statue treasured by her husband, Adolfo. The housecleaning was part of a spiritual journey she was taking with her friend Julie and held special appeal to Martenson as a kind of psychic counterweight to her job as a “successful, well-known, high-end matchmaker for affluent men.” Her quest met with steady resistance from her husband, who succinctly urged her to lay off the New Age stuff, but it also got an enormous energy boost from her visits to a place called the “Imagine Center”; there, she met a teacher known as “Goddess Tauheedah,” who tutored Martenson and Julie in the ways of the mystical world. Along the way (and accompanied most of the time by Adolfo’s irascible skepticism), the author digresses on dozens of side topics, from adventures in astral projection to the idea of a lurking order of Reptilians bent on world domination. The book has some serious didactic aims about spirituality and detoxification: “Though not all psychics and mediums are vegan or even vegetarian, for me, it is a package deal,” she writes at one point, “It’s about consciousness.” There’s even an appendix with wholesome recipes. However, its main attractions are very much grounded in Martenson’s zany everyday life and her unfailing, infectious happiness in describing it. As a result, her stories will make readers laugh, regardless of where they stand with the Buddha.
A warmly funny, wide-ranging, and off-kilter spiritual odyssey.