(Not?) Hypnotized

by TerryWalstrom 10 Replies latest jw friends

  • TerryWalstrom

    What you are about to read I've never told anyone before.

    Why? Because it is mysterious.

    Mostly because it is a bit like the corner of your eye.
    You see movement there but you won't be reciting any Eye Chart letters.
    What you read next is sort of like that.
    I don't like to be vague. In fact, I tend to be overly fussy about details.
    If you ask me about a movie I watched, you'll have to grab me and slap me to get me to shut up.
    (Unless you just wanted to slap me in the first place.)
    It was around 1980.
    My wife and I were at a party at her friend's house.
    I didn't like those friends. Not at all!
    To my way of thinking (I'm White trash raised) these were pretentious people, show-offs, lah-dee-dah.

    They lived in a house in a part of town THEY referred to as (are you ready for this?) "Beverly Hills adjacent."
    That's like my avatar photo on Facebook with me leaning on the hood of a Rolls Royce. A big joke!
    I digress...
    The Kellers were Hollywood connected because Anton had one job a year connected with the Academy Awards. He was the main Producer of the ceremonies. (According to him.)

    (I did watch the credits at the end and he WAS a big deal in that regard.)
    One job a year. Okaaay. Good for you.

    The party was not filled with celebrities. No no no. Celebrities wouldn't be caught dead at the Keller's house. Only persons with rather tenuous connections (like me) were invited. My guess that's because Anton Keller would be the person with the most glamorous stories.

    "So, Terry, when does this story begin?"
    Okay. Okay. Right now.

    The Kellers had invited a hypnotist to this party. Her name was Pat Collins. She was called the Hip Hypnotist. She had a nightclub on Sunset Strip where she told everybody she earned about four or five thousand dollars a week.
    (How un-chic.)

    Collins was Bimboesque in appearance. Not sexy. A wig and too much eye make up. That sort of thing. I was itching to get out of there because I DID NOT BELIEVE in hypnotism.

    That's where I went wrong. I opened my big mouth. I said it out loud. (How un-chic.)

    The word spread instantly like fire in the dead grass of the Hollywood Hills.

    I was challenged, of course.
    What follows is why I've never told this story.
    I'm unsure of the details.

    The next thing you know, I'm lying down on a couch. Every damn pair of non-celebrity eyes is on me like I'm a patient in a teaching facility about to have a frontal lobotomy.

    Here is what I remember. Or at least what I THINK I remember...

    I was asked to close my eyes and relax. (Oh brother.)
    I was supposed to imagine a big red balloon with a string tied on to my wrist.

    "When I start counting backward from 10, you will feel the balloon tugging on your wrist as it lifts up higher and higher into the air."

    Okay, let's stop right here.
    What I say next is what I THINK IS TRUE.
    At that instant, as Pat Collins the Hip Hypnotist is counting backward, I get a weird idea in my head.

    "Why don't I PRETEND to go along with this just for fun?"

    I imagined myself as a Method Actor.
    I contacted my "sense memory."
    I "pretended" to lift my wrist and my arm ever-so-slo-w-ly.
    For my audience of not-celebrities, this was amusing.

    And at this moment, the "me" part of my memory switches off because--I think I fell asleep for a few seconds.

    I opened my eyes suddenly.
    I'm standing up.
    Everybody in the room is applauding with huge smiles.

    So, I took a lavish theatrical bow and remember thinking to myself, "These idiots are entertained by THAT??"

    Here is where my story gets weird.

    My wife started wanting to hypnotize me HERSELF.
    She was an artist--not a hypnotist. No training.

    It's like she once saw somebody performing brain surgery and thought to herself, "This looks like something I can do."

    Stupid me. I went along with it.
    At least, I "think" I went along with it.

    I only vaguely remember she'd always begin with the stupid red balloon tied to my wrist thingy. Then rather prying, intimate questions were being asked and I'd "pretend" to fall asleep so I didn't have to answer.

    Now--why am I telling you this?
    It is because I just woke up this morning from a fresh dream.
    Inside the dream, my wife was hypnotizing me and I heard her asking the following questions.

    "What would you most like to achieve?"

    "I want to be a writer."

    "Describe that for me."

    "I want to walk down the sidewalk and see a big bookstore with a window filled with stacks of my latest book and a giant photograph of me with the words, 'Book-signing today' and I'll walk inside to see a huge banner with the title of my Science Fiction book and lots of red balloons..."

    I woke up very excited!
    This morning I remember WHY I wrote and how I wrote
    The Monorails of Mars.

    I hypnotized myself.
    I let a subterranean mental trance write the book.
    (Yes, I know how incredibly stupid that sounds.)

    Every day, week in and week out--for months. I'd close my eyes and imagine the bookstore window, the banner, and those red balloons and then---I'd begin to write and not stop writing for hours and hours.

    When I came to the ending--I remember sobbing, crying, wiping tears away with a runny nose!
    It was so profoundly traumatic!

    I don't remember--REALLY--any part of writing that book until it was finished and I sighed heavily and told my friend, Quentin,
    "This book just WROTE ITSELF."

    When I started reading it, strange feelings began.
    I had to stop.
    To this day...
    I confess...
    I have NOT consciously read my own book.
    Weird? Hell yes.
    I have pulled little excerpts out of it and scanned the paragraphs for errors and such. Those parts I've read in a detached and clinical way.

    But I want to give away the secret to the ending here and now.
    The entire book was being written inside the head of another person NOT in the book who is himself a famous writer, dying in a hospital bed. All his characters come to visit him in his mind. These characters, over many years, have TOLD him their stories. He didn't 'make them up.'

    That ending is a message to ME from my subconscious mind from all the parts of my life--telling me about my own life as an allegory.
    As strange as it sounds...
    Being a kid, reading Edgar Rice Burroughs, H.G. Wells, Ray Bradbury, joining a religious cult...it is all mixed into a hypnotic nightmare of what is straight out of my hypnotized mind and memories.

    In other words, my Monorails of Mars is a book only meant for me to read---a message from my mind--for me alone.

    I know it sounds idiotic.
    However, at last, I think I can understand: me.
    IF ONLY I could read my own book.

    LikeShow more reactions
  • tiki

    You have a very intensely creative mind. I wonder if you are capable of accessing parts of your brain that most people cannot...

    Of course the alternative is that you are just plain whacko. (which I highly doubt)

    Read the damn book...sounds tantalizingly curious.

  • days of future passed
    days of future passed

    I've read books were I had to skip parts because I feel like the person writing, is lost and I am reading a nightmare of theirs. Like they couldn't put into words what they wanted to say so it was incomplete.

    Maybe that is why you have a hard time reading it. You feel like you are caught in a dream?

  • TerryWalstrom

    I tend to have an "opinion" on everything.
    Not in this instance. Haven't got a clue.

    I have spent the morning watching informative (?) videos about what hypnotism IS and ISN'T and I'm still in the dark.

    As JW's you know we were told it is "binding others with a spell" and I completely reject superstitious drivel like that.

    Supposedly, the more intelligent a person is the more susceptible to the hypnotic suggestion they become. I don't exactly see any inherent truth in that other than making you ashamed to NOT be hypnotized.

    The more I think about it, the more convinced I am hypnosis is "something". Ha! Where does that get me?

  • days of future passed
    days of future passed

    I'll watch your hypnosis vid later cause I have to go somewhere. But I watched an old black and white movie based on a true story, about a woman who supposedly remembered someone else's life as a child. Past memories etc. But the first part of the story was of a man (could have been a doctor) who had guests over for a party. A hypnotist was included and he had some fun with the guests but couldn't hypnotize the man. He was a person who couldn't be hypnotized. That got him interested in doing it himself to see if it was true. He cured his wife of migraines, went on to help children overcome trauma and all without any license (who would credit hypnotism?) But it was kind of boring so I stopped watching it.

    I know that some people have a high probability of being influenced. The JW lady at work, believes in the "hold the pill, sugar etc in the hand and if it is bad for you, your strength will be weak in that arm" She swears that she lost strength when sugar was put in her hand. But I told her to close her eyes and so she couldn't see what it was - and nothing happened. She couldn't tell if it was sugar or vitamin c. So her belief in the process (and that sugar is bad for you) caused her to drop her hand and not because of any actual real life "vibrations etc"

    I will say that in my experiences, things that seem out of the ordinary or un-natural, can give your memories a twist because it involves emotions that aren't resolved and a puzzle not solved. A little Twilight Zone music now.

  • Old Navy
    Old Navy

    Hmmm. Sounds like you may have an "alter" which can be accessed under certain conditions. Some people develop those spontaneously for unknown reasons while others require severe trauma to create the alter.

    Yours seems to be a skilled writer. Is it you? Yes, it is. At some point in time it should integrate with your consciousness, but perhaps not...

    It's a relatively rare condition.

  • Old Navy
    Old Navy

    The video above is partially true. He is describing the lowest levels of hypnosis.


    The deeper, more useful levels for "programs and agencies," requires skills and techniques beyond those the stage hypnotist is able or willing to reveal.

  • OnTheWayOut
    In other words, my Monorails of Mars is a book only meant for me to read---a message from my mind--for me alone.

    I won't interfere then. Let us know, in some long story, what you think of it if you ever read it.

    I am pretty sure these stories are fictions. Keep trying.

  • TerryWalstrom

    Our senses are a window to our world. If the "glass is dirty" our view is distorted.
    We've all heard something (or thought we heard) which turned out not to be accurate. We thought we saw, but it wasn't what we say we saw.

    If our memory is an unreliable narrator our entire life is a series of ruined records. This I fear most as my oldest and dearest friends die off.
    Comparing memories of events shared always served to sharpen verification.
    So many times, people have asked me, "How in the world did you remember that?" The things I think I remember, once I remind the others involved, becomes veridical.

    Alzheimer patients lose the life they lived--as far as corroborating incidents brought to mind--and the tragedy is experienced by their loved ones. However, most of my recollections don't amount to a handkerchief full of snot. Meaning: it doesn't matter to anybody else but me.

    My writing these last few years has consisted of incremental recollections of events meaningful only to me. "Some" others find them interesting (they say) and I'm only too eager to share if it means I can exercise my mania for writing these details.

    When Marcel Proust wrote REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PAST he set the literary world on fire. When I write, my equally mundane observations earn more shrugs than hugs.

    I've wondered for years why in the world I wrote that incredibly wonky and weird book in such a manic flurry. That dream the other night is all I can say I've come up with that satisfies (barely) that curiosity.

    I'll finish by saying how convinced I was that I saw a different ending to a NIGHT GALLERY episode "SILENT SNOW SECRET SNOW" than everyone else saw. I tried every way I could to prove an alternate ending was shown on TV. I was (and remain) shocked no such ending ever happened although it is vivid in memory.

    This makes me question my own sanity. Of course, it's unimportant.
    To everybody but me it is unimportant, I should say :)

  • days of future passed
    days of future passed

    It's funny how you remember a different ending to a story because I've had it happen to me at least twice. Are you a star wars aficionado? I swear there was a part where Yoda takes his walking stick and does a "whack a mole" version on a patch of mud that has little stick worms popping in and out. Maybe it's there in the movie and I just miss seeing it when I watch it but I swear I saw it.

    I often "see" books I read. I watch characters as they progress in a book. Books become movies that I read. I'm very visual and so images and the inferred emotions of a book are remembered as if it happened. I've even experienced a sort of sleep walking - altho I didn't go anywhere but remained in bed. But I now understand how people can "see" things and avoid them as they sleep walk.

    Maybe the trouble you have with reading your book, comes from the thought that someone "ordered" you to write it. You seem to infer that it was part of the experience of being hypnotized. Or you think so. I wouldn't like that either. Although it is interesting if it were true. A little experiment on you.

    Or perhaps it is like this. There was a man that contracted a virus that caused him to believe that in every 20 minutes, he was just waking up. He wrote in a diary "I have just now woken up!" Followed by his experiences of those 20 minutes. Over and over it was written in this diary, but he never believed he had written the previous entries because his long term memory was affected. Memories that were stored in other parts of his brain, could be accessed. Like emotional memories of his wife. Also, if handed a baton and positioned in front of an orchestra, he could conduct them. (he had been a music conductor) So maybe this book, is like a memory you can't access and feel like it doesn't quite exist. Anyway, I like puzzles.

Share this