“Unless you were held captive in a basement until escaping, you have a happy memory.”
That is how my trainer persuaded me I could do this, before I left her office to eat my lunch in the break-room. Before the rest of her trainees returned from their lunch bubbling over with joy from being outside.
Now we are all gathered again in her small office for her short hypnosis demonstration before splitting up into our practice partner sessions.
I smell rose scented soap.
She is holding her palm right in front of my face. “Take a nice deep breath,” as she wipes her palm upwards. I follow her hand with my eyes, because I know she expects me to. “Exhale and close your eyes.” Her hand wipes down and my lids automatically follow along.
Everything is dark. I exhale.
It is my first time to sit in my trainer’s Big Comfy Chair. It’s a posh leather recliner big enough for anyone’s unhealthy eating habit to be comfortably corrected. I can hear my classmates sipping iced coffees through their ecofriendly straws.
I am not sure how comfortable the chair actually feels. I know I am not comfortable at all.
As I listen to what she is demonstrating to class, I recognize what I have been studying and practicing for weeks. I simply haven’t experienced it yet. I haven’t wanted to take the opportunity away from another. There are only so many demonstrations that we can volunteer for. I should let everyone else go first, my original thinking. I did not want to be seen as selfish with our training any more than I want to be seen as needy with my healing.
She’s counting. Her voice is so rich and velvety. I wonder if I’ll ever sound like more than a mouse searching for cheese.
“Going back, to a time and place, you feel free, you feel happy...” exhaling deeply, I feel the chair accept me a little more than before.
“...follow my voice to wherever it takes you, wherever you need to, go there, and you are there...” is she even making sense?
The chair melts away. I’m standing. The path under me starts making noise. Little twigs are snapping under my steps. Looking down, I see the dirt underneath my dirty Nike’s with the blue swede lettering on the side. Just like Elvis. I giggle.
“good”
Yes. They are good shoes.
I hear leaves playing in the breeze above me. I exhale deeper and follow my little steps a bit further down the path. So small. When were my feet this small? I look up a bit confused.
“As if you are there now...” I hear “...what’s happening?”
“There’s a butterfly.” Fluttering right in front of me, did it just ask me what’s happening? The river in the distance sounds louder now than before.
Watching the butterfly’s big wings, I notice there’s an eye on each wing. Is it watching me watch it?
I follow the butterfly down the path and watch it land on a bush. I know I am at the campground daddy always brings me to. Whenever he’s in town, we come to Camp Difficult. He always laughs at this name. Now I laugh at it too. It’s fun to laugh with daddy. Even when I don’t know why.
“No touching.” I hear my daddy remind me for the first time.
“I’m not. We are just talking daddy.” I hear my 4-year-old-self reply.
“Good. That lady there flew all the way from Mexico. Her wings are very tired.” He says it so slowly. I know it is important. I just can’t understand why.
This butterfly isn’t nearly as pretty as the other butterflies I enjoy following around the front yard when mommy’s napping with the baby. It looks bigger and more powerful. This butterfly might be magical.
