the imagination.
Listening to Proud’s story, he had at first been incredulous, then shaken. He had fought to stay cool, to present only his professional face to Proud. He didn’t want his patient even to sense the excitement churning around inside of him; it might upset him. Any effective use of the trance itself was contingent on the trust and confidence the patient had in the hypnotherapist; without it, there would be resistance to the induction of the trance itself. Further, the hypnotized subject was very sensitive to everything in his immediate environment, especially the emotional configuration of the hypnotherapist.
He canceled all his appointments for the rest of the day. And that night he was unable to sleep.
Chapter 12
The next morning, Bentley saw that Peter was tight, tense.
“What do I do first?”
“The first thing you do is try to relax.”
“That’s pretty hard to do. I’ve got a lot riding on this.”
“The idea of hypnosis bother you?”
“I guess it does, a little,”
“No reason for it. If you respond, you’ll find the whole experience quite pleasant. Now, suppose we get started. That is, if you feel ready to begin …”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“All right, Pete,” he said, slipping into the first name casually and easily. “Take off your shoes and loosen your tie. Lie down on the couch and put your head back on those pillows. Let your body go slack. Take a few deep breaths …”
Then he spoke into the tape recorder.
“This is Wednesday morning. The date is February sixth, 1974. The hypnotist is Dr. Hall Bentley. The place is my office on Rodeo Drive, Beverly Hills, California. The subject is Dr. Peter Proud, age twenty-seven, a professor at the University of California, Los Angeles. I have never hypnotized or regressed this patient before.”
He clicked off the mike. Then he went to the windows and closed the blinds. He walked back to his desk and turned on a small desk lamp. Then he sat down in one of the easy chairs, lit a cigarette, and looked at Peter.
“Still uptight?”
“Yes.”
“Take it easy. Just lie there. Try to empty your mind of everything. Take a few more deep breaths.”
There was silence for a while. Bentley sat in the chair as motionless as a Buddha, watching him. The clock on the shelf, next to the sailing trophies, ticked away the seconds. Peter felt his muscles loosen a little. He began to get a little drowsy.
Bentley reached into his pocket and took out a flat gold disc about the size of a half dollar suspended on a thin chain. He held the disc up to the lamp. It glittered in the light.
“Now, I want you to take ten deep breaths. In and out, in and out, slowly. Deep, deep. Now fasten your eyes on this disc. Keep looking at it. That’s it. Relax, relax …”
His voice was soothing, tranquilizing. He started to revolve the disc on the chain. Peter continued to stare at the spinning disc. Bentley’s face faded. So did the rest of the room. He saw nothing now but the glittering gold disc.
“Now close your eyes. Listen to my voice. I am going to count to ten. At ten you will be fully relaxed.”
Bentley began the count in a slow beat. It seemed to Peter that his voice was receding. It sounded disembodied, far away.
“Your arms and legs are getting heavy. Your whole body feels as though it were sinking down in the couch. You are alone now. You hear my voice, but it comes from a distance. I am going to count to ten again. When I reach ten, you will float out into the distance. Far from where you are now. It will be a pleasant place, but far away. And you will always hear my voice.”
Bentley’s voice slowly counted to ten. It seemed to move even farther away. But he could still hear it distinctly. It didn’t seem to belong to anyone in particular. It was just a voice.
“You can still hear everything I say. Now listen to me. You are free, and you are floating away. You are alone, You are happy, relaxed and alone. There are
Listening to Proud’s story, he had at first been incredulous, then shaken. He had fought to stay cool, to present only his professional face to Proud. He didn’t want his patient even to sense the excitement churning around inside of him; it might upset him. Any effective use of the trance itself was contingent on the trust and confidence the patient had in the hypnotherapist; without it, there would be resistance to the induction of the trance itself. Further, the hypnotized subject was very sensitive to everything in his immediate environment, especially the emotional configuration of the hypnotherapist.
He canceled all his appointments for the rest of the day. And that night he was unable to sleep.
Chapter 12
The next morning, Bentley saw that Peter was tight, tense.
“What do I do first?”
“The first thing you do is try to relax.”
“That’s pretty hard to do. I’ve got a lot riding on this.”
“The idea of hypnosis bother you?”
“I guess it does, a little,”
“No reason for it. If you respond, you’ll find the whole experience quite pleasant. Now, suppose we get started. That is, if you feel ready to begin …”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“All right, Pete,” he said, slipping into the first name casually and easily. “Take off your shoes and loosen your tie. Lie down on the couch and put your head back on those pillows. Let your body go slack. Take a few deep breaths …”
Then he spoke into the tape recorder.
“This is Wednesday morning. The date is February sixth, 1974. The hypnotist is Dr. Hall Bentley. The place is my office on Rodeo Drive, Beverly Hills, California. The subject is Dr. Peter Proud, age twenty-seven, a professor at the University of California, Los Angeles. I have never hypnotized or regressed this patient before.”
He clicked off the mike. Then he went to the windows and closed the blinds. He walked back to his desk and turned on a small desk lamp. Then he sat down in one of the easy chairs, lit a cigarette, and looked at Peter.
“Still uptight?”
“Yes.”
“Take it easy. Just lie there. Try to empty your mind of everything. Take a few more deep breaths.”
There was silence for a while. Bentley sat in the chair as motionless as a Buddha, watching him. The clock on the shelf, next to the sailing trophies, ticked away the seconds. Peter felt his muscles loosen a little. He began to get a little drowsy.
Bentley reached into his pocket and took out a flat gold disc about the size of a half dollar suspended on a thin chain. He held the disc up to the lamp. It glittered in the light.
“Now, I want you to take ten deep breaths. In and out, in and out, slowly. Deep, deep. Now fasten your eyes on this disc. Keep looking at it. That’s it. Relax, relax …”
His voice was soothing, tranquilizing. He started to revolve the disc on the chain. Peter continued to stare at the spinning disc. Bentley’s face faded. So did the rest of the room. He saw nothing now but the glittering gold disc.
“Now close your eyes. Listen to my voice. I am going to count to ten. At ten you will be fully relaxed.”
Bentley began the count in a slow beat. It seemed to Peter that his voice was receding. It sounded disembodied, far away.
“Your arms and legs are getting heavy. Your whole body feels as though it were sinking down in the couch. You are alone now. You hear my voice, but it comes from a distance. I am going to count to ten again. When I reach ten, you will float out into the distance. Far from where you are now. It will be a pleasant place, but far away. And you will always hear my voice.”
Bentley’s voice slowly counted to ten. It seemed to move even farther away. But he could still hear it distinctly. It didn’t seem to belong to anyone in particular. It was just a voice.
“You can still hear everything I say. Now listen to me. You are free, and you are floating away. You are alone, You are happy, relaxed and alone. There are
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