Insomvita. Oleksandr Dan

I’ve accumulated some real fatigue, plus all the trips and flights. For about ten days now.”

      “Many psychologists treat insomnia with different techniques of hypnosis. Indeed, quick results can be achieved only with the help of suggestion. I use hypnotic regression, find the hidden reason behind the insomnia, treat and remove it. This method leads to positive results in most cases, while the client may get some relief right after the first session.

      “Do you think insomnia can be treated in one session?”

      “I am sure of it,” said Amanda. “You will immediately feel better. Have you ever had a session of hypnosis?

      Trevor recalled street magicians he had seen, hypnotists with their “fake” people from “the crowd” and smiled.

      “No, Amanda. I’ve never been into this sort of thing. These tricks don’t interest me.”

      Amanda was also watching Trevor curiously. She liked men like Trevor, but her clients were mostly people with serious issues, bad habits and mental illness. In the case with Trevor, she realized that confident men suffered from almost the same insecurities and issues as the others, but they are able to skillfully conceal them from prying eyes. She also realized that in order for the session to proceed successfully, she needed to know more about the patient.

      “You see, Trevor, hypnosis is not just some phenomenon,” she continued. “It is a state of mind caused artificially by suggestion. There is no miracle or deception here. After all, this is a technique, or, as professionals say, a method of preparing the patient for diagnosing their condition using external influence on the subconscious. That’s not a God-given gift or a trick.”

      “To me, it all does seem like a kind of trick that attracts gullible people with an increased level of self-suggestion and nothing more.” Trevor smiled condescendingly. “I wouldn’t want to think that I am one of those people.”

      Amanda smiled. “It might seem that way at first glance, but, tell me, Trevor, do you read books?” Without waiting for an answer she continued. “Fiction, for example. Have you ever thought that, when you read a book, you see not the letters, the lines, the color of the atrament[17], the texture of the paper, something that is literally before your eyes, but something entirely different? When you read, sentence after sentence, you clearly imagine the characters of the story, the way they look, the world that surrounds them, their personality, impressions, and experiences. You are essentially an outside observer of everything that is happening to them. A reader mostly feels like a direct participant of the events. Am I right?” Amanda spoke unhurriedly, in an even, pleasant low voice, as if she were a TV anchor explaining the essence of the universe. “That is suggestion. The process of reading fiction in general, especially 'about the self', is very close to the state of hypnosis. Therefore, a love of reading accurately testifies to the high suggestiveness of the patient."

      Amanda stopped and glanced at Trevor.

      “So, do you like to read? What do you read in your free time?”

      “You know, I read a lot when I was a kid and as a teenager. I even found something beautiful in Walter Scott’s boring descriptions of landscapes and nature, if I remember correctly. Now, I am mostly into historical research. Unfortunately, I don’t have too much time to read books.”

      “If you like to read,” Amanda continued, “then you have developed the ability to think figuratively and the desire to perceive information. Avid readers are very high up on the hypnotic susceptibility scale. Some of them not only visually imagine everything they read, but also can anticipate dialog, scenes and even plot lines. All of this is also visual.”

      “Well, I am not so susceptible as to be able to predict future scenes when I read,” retorted Trevor. “Although, you are right; when you read, your mind does form certain images. And I agree that a writer can inspire a reader to experience certain feelings. It is normal and natural, for the most part. But I still think a hypnotist suggesting certain actions or non-existent situations is an outright fraud.”

      “Why? I will also tell you that experienced psychologists can provoke not only certain thoughts, but also images during a hypnosis session. In some cases, implantation of invented real-life situations is possible in order to block or replace some painful memories that affect a person’s psychological condition.”

      “So, you are saying that a hypnotherapist provokes dreams and can implant artificial memories about the past?”

      “Exactly! Moreover, during a hypnosis session, the patient does not perceive them as the past, but as reality. It is also possible to implant a wholly invented life-line, and the hypnotized person will also perceive it as reality. I’ve had extensive experience with such hypnotic manipulations, resulting in a positive trend of psychological recovery of the patient. This, however, is possible, as I’ve already told you, only with those who are highly susceptible to suggestion. By the way, based on my experience, they have the most vivid, colorful and very detailed dreams, regardless of whether they are their own or suggested.”

      Amanda paused and suddenly asked: “What kind of dreams do you have, Trevor – black and white or color?”

      Trevor thought about it. He hadn’t thought about it for a long time. Amanda’s question forced Trevor to look back to his childhood, and his memory created a small puzzle from the distant past out of several pieces of long-forgotten childhood impressions.

      It happened on the day he turned twelve.

      Trevor’s father, a well-known architect, was designing one of the tallest hotels in Thailand. His wife and son had moved to live in Hong Kong. It was the day Trevor’s family celebrated his birthday. The celebration ended with an evening gondola ride along Bangkok's canals.

      The boat was long and narrow and big enough only for a few people. A yellow cloth stretched over it to protect passengers from the sun. A kerosene lamp sat in the rear of the gondola while another dangled from a long pole at the bow, lighting the way ahead.

      It was close to midnight, but nobody wanted to return to the sweltering heat of the hotel. More lamps were lit on the boat; the conversation flowed. Trevor had been placed on the bottom of the hull next to his father and had fallen asleep. He dreamed that he was sailing on a large pirate ship on a stormy sea. The periodic splashes of water on his face made his dream seem more real. He was smiling in his slumber. Trevor remembered the day, full of fun, gifts and games.

      His father’s colleagues usually took their families with them on long business trips, so Trevor found plenty of friends. On this day, however, he received all the attention. He was given sweets and gifts wrapped in colorful boxes. His father gave him the best present – a model kit of a huge white aircraft. The color image on the lid astounded Trevor, and he couldn’t wait to open the box and start putting it together.

      After the party, his parents had decided on the gondola ride along the canals of Bangkok. Trevor held the model kit tightly against his chest, leaning against his father and quietly falling asleep. Trevor heard the casual banter of his parents, splashing of the water and rocking of the boat, the salty smell of algae and fried rice filled his nostrils, and then suddenly everything disappeared, and he found himself on the roof of a barn, like in a fairytale. Everything went still, but the picture was too realistic and clear. The roof of the barn was made of rusty tin. Trevor was squatting barefoot and staring at the clouds.

      Shocked by the abrupt transition, Trevor stood up and looked around. Next to him was a boy he didn’t know chatting in a strange language. Trevor looked at the boy with undisguised fear and astonishment, trying to figure out who he was and what was happening to him.

      Not far from the barn stood an old log house with a red tile roof. The cracks in its walls were visible. Chickens were scampering around a yard and a big shaggy dog was sleeping, chained to a wooden fence.

      The barn looked over a series of vegetable gardens, small houses with red roofs and farther – the mountain slopes densely covered by green forests. The day was very hot and smelled like burning bitumen, like at his father’s construction sites.

      In

17

Atrament – ink.