by E. Clay
“I’m a survivor, I’m not gon give up,
I’m not gon stop, I’m gon work harder,
I’m a survivor, I’m gonna make it,
I will survive, Keep on survivin’”
All the ladies in the house stood clapping and some danced in the aisles. It was like a rock concert. Amidst all the chaos and music a timid, redheaded schoolgirl nervously approached the stage. She stood on the opposite side of the emcee. We had a show. What kind of show? I didn’t know but I was happy to be a part of it. What I found most calming was I was about to help someone. Hypnosis was second nature to me and my mindset shifted from Smokehouse the entertainer to Clay the hypnotherapist.
The emcee applauded the young woman’s courage, the audience followed suit. The frenzy slowly faded with the end of the music.
“Good evening, young lady. What’s your name and what brings you here?”
The woman flipped her hair over her shoulder and adjusted her glasses before speaking.
“My name is Sarah and I have a fear of elevators. I took the stairs,” she said pointing to the exit sign at the back of the room.
“Imagine what it would be like to erase that fear for ever?”
“Oh, wow, I would love that more than anything. But I don’t think I can be hypnotized.”
Sarah was very nervous and made little eye contact with me and no eye contact with the audience. I felt empathy for her and wanted nothing more than to help her. I felt a tremendous feeling of humbleness and purpose. I wasn’t concerned about the crowd; my focus was this young, distressed woman.
The audience was absolutely silent and the emcee fitted Sarah and me with headless microphones.
“Clay, just tell me when you are ready to begin and we’ll start the clock.”
I’d completely forgotten this was timed, but I quickly dismissed it. I saw Mason Tylor sitting in his seat slowly stroking his temple with his forefinger. I knew I couldn’t do a conventional induction. I had no other option than to do a rapid induction. But before I could induce her, I had to quickly gain her trust and confidence in my ability.
The emcee backed off the stage leaving me alone with Sarah.
I slowly closed the gap between Sarah and I. I smiled.
“Sarah, look at me. I know you’re nervous but for the next few moments it’s just you and me. We’re gonna do this together. When you leave here you won’t be taking the stairs.”
I deliberately omitted the word elevator from my prehypnotic suggestion.
Sarah slowly raised her head until our eyes locked. She saw no fear or concern which gave her a comfort level.
“Can you help me?” Sarah asked, with her hands clasped behind her back.
“Yes, I can help you. But I will need you to place your hand in mine. Can you do that, Sarah?”
Sarah swirled her body slightly left to right before placing her hand in mine.
I drew just a little closer to Sarah never breaking eye contact. Within a few seconds our breathing was in synch and her eyes fixed on mine.
“I’ll see you on the other side,” I said while raising her hand to chest level.
I jerked her arm downward in a startling motion before I gave the command.
“SLEEP NOW!”
Sarah slept and swooned into my arms. I was poised and ready for her fall. The audience sighed in wonder.
The emcee gave the signal to start the clock.
“Sarah, I’m going to count from five to one. When I get to one, you will take me back to the time when this fear first emerged. Five-four-three-two and one! Give me a report, are you inside or outside.”
Her voice was faint so the sound tech turned up the volume on her mic.
“I’m outside. I’m in a stroller. My nanny is pushing me. We’re over a bridge. I’m only a few months old.”
The clock continued to count down. The crowd watched the time intently. I was oblivious.
“Sarah, okay, you’re in a stroller. Fast forward to the initial sensitizing event. Tell me when you are there.”
“I’m there,” Sarah responded, still in my arms.
Her rapid eye movement was indicative of trauma. Her eyelids were fluttering like butterflies.
“Sarah, where are you?”
“I’m sinking to the bottom of the river, still strapped in my stroller.”
My mind began to process and interpret her response. She must have survived because I was holding her in my arms.
“Sarah, what happens next?”
Sarah’s eye movement stilled.
“I drown and die alone.”
A tear fell from her eye.
I recognized what was happening. I responded with the appropriate course of questioning.
“Sarah, what year is it?”
“The year?” she said, slurring her voice.
“Yes, the year you died.”
“It’s 19... it’s 1922. Tuesday June 6th.”
Just as I thought, Sarah was in a past life with fragments of past trauma spilling over into the here and now.
I glimpsed the counter briefly. There was 20 seconds left. I didn’t care.
“Sarah, your fear is from another life. You can see that now. Would you be willing to let go of that little girl so she can rest in peace? So you can live your life?”
“Yes, yes,” she responded.
The fear from her face was yielding to peace.
“Sarah, imagine tightly holding onto a rope anchored at the bottom of the river. It’s trying to pull you in. Does the rope serve any noble purpose in your life?”
“No.”
“Then let go of the rope and grab my hand. When our hands interlock you will feel the rope slide through your hands, for ever.”
Sarah’s right arm slowly drifted upward with no economy of motion. Our hands interlocked.
“Let go now.”
Once again her rapid eye movement experienced an electrical storm of violent movements.
Her hand fell from mine and her body became dead weight.
I glanced at the clock and it flashed 10 seconds remaining.
“Sarah, when I count from five down to one you will awaken having no memory of what happened here, your fear replaced by confidence. Five-four-three-two and one. Awaken.”
As soon as I spoke the word awaken, a loud buzzer sounded. The counter was at zero.
To my surprise the crowd went berserk and gave me a standing ovation. Except for Mason Tylor who remained seated.
The emcee was initially at a loss for words, but quickly joined in the applause.
Sarah came to and stood on her own power. She wiped her eyes and straightened her blouse and skirt.
I saw Monet in the crowd and she was applauding like she did back in the day when she attended my early shows. I wanted her to be proud of me. I smiled at her from on stage.
During the applause, Mason Tylor bolted out of his seat and soon joined me on stage. He was given a microphone and he stood between Sarah and I.
“My name is Mason Tylor. Trust but verify! Is that fair ladies and gentlemen?”
His fan base cheered him on.
“Trust but verify!” they chanted.
“Allow me to be the verifier,” he said, like the smooth operator he was.
I had no idea what was taking place. I was just coming out of my own trance.
It wasn’t too long before I realized my hero would re-induce Sarah back into trance to test if the hypnotic suggestions held. He did so with amazing flair and showmanship.
Mason Tylor winked at the audience then he placed his arm around Sarah.
Sarah gazed into his dark glasses almost fearful.
He removed his glasses and Sarah was out lying lifelessly in his arms.
Wow!
The audience was mesmerized.
I knew all the inductions of trance, but that was like nothing I have ever seen. There was more to come.
“Sarah, I would like you to validate my parking downstairs. Here is my ticket. Hurry.�
��
In a zombie-like fog Sarah exited the stage with the ticket in her hand. I was just hoping she wouldn’t run into anything or fall and hurt herself.
The audience cast their eyes on Sarah following her to the rear exit. Everyone wanted to know if she would take the stairs, or would she choose the elevator. I looked at Mason Tylor and it was as if he wanted to prove me wrong. He wanted me to fail. I didn’t care about his stupid record, I cared about Sarah.
Sarah paused and stood in front of the elevator. This was the moment of truth. Everyone was doing the rubber neck to observe her next move.
Sarah chose the stairs. She disappeared into the stairwell.
The crowd became deflated. So was I.
Mason Tylor seized the moment.
“Many are called, but few are chosen. No need to worry. This story has a happy ending. When Sarah returns I will break my own record and show you how it’s really done.”
I was humbled by the ultimate showman and returned to my seat. Monet was not disappointed as I thought she would be.
“Honey, I didn’t think you’d go up there. I’m proud of you.”
That’s all that mattered to me. I sighed and put my arm around my sweetheart. I was so nervous at first. I was just glad to overcome it and not let negativity control me.
Mason Tylor stood at center stage waiting for Sarah to return. It took a little longer than expected and the audience became a little restless.
Then everything changed.
The emcee signaled to the disc jockey something was happening. Beyoncé’s song I’m a Survivor began to blast from the speakers. Everyone stood and looked behind. There was a lot of commotion.
“Clay, what’s going on back there?” Monet asked.
“I’m a survivor, I’m not gon give up,
I’m not gon stop, I’m gon work harder,
I’m a survivor, I’m gonna make it,
I will survive, keep on survivin’”
The audience was applauding Sarah’s return as the elevator doors opened. Still very much in trance she gave her ticket back to Mason Tylor and returned to her seat.
I was waiting for Mason Tylor to terminate her trance. He did so with the flair of a true showman.
With the snap of his fingers he commanded, “Awaken now!”
The emcee and Mason Tylor had a few words off-stage.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we regret to inform you that Mr. Thompson had a five second head start on the clock. Mason Tylor’s record remains intact.”
The crowd had mixed responses, most were not in support of the emcee’s announcement, but the fan base came through for my former hero.
For the rest of the night Sarah would not remember me or what happened on stage. She left with her girlfriend about twenty minutes later, via the elevator.
SEVEN
* * *
Hypno Expo 2011 Part II
After an incredible inspiring message of selfempowerment, Mason Tylor took a bow and exited the stage to his theme song We are the Champions by Queen. He was the real deal and it was an honor to share the same stage with him. Despite a less than favorable encounter, it would not be my last.
The emcee approached the stage and concluded the hypnosis portion of the program and suggested the audience patronize the psychic vendors aligned along the walls. Almost half of the patrons vacated and I was keen to head home and spend time with Monet.
“Honey, I’m going to look for the ladies restroom, I’ll meet you by the elevator, okay?”
“Sure, babe,” I replied as I escorted Monet to the outer lobby.
I reentered the ballroom and it annoyed me to see such gullible men and women clinging onto every word these charlatans spewed. I had nothing but contempt and disdain for these amateurs. But they had a captive audience that wanted to believe. The patrons managed to twist readings to suit their needs. They all had one thing in common; they wanted to connect with loved ones who had passed on.
Some of the psychics performed basic and elementary mind-reading tricks that I learned early on in my magic career. Some of them struggled with even the basics of mentalism. But they all got paid, twenty-five dollars for a reading. I stopped at one booth and listened in. It proved to be minutes of my life wasted that I could never get back.
“I see you are in a relationship, is that right?” asked the woman psychic dressed in 1960s garb.
“No, actually I just broke up with my fiancé.”
“Well, it looks like you still have deep feelings for him, is that right?”
“Yes, I still love him. His name is James.”
“I see James is in communications.”
“No, he’s a fitness instructor.”
“Well, that’s a form of communications. He has to communicate with his clients, right?”
I wished I had a bullshit alarm, ‘cause I would have set the sucker off so freakin’ fast.
I saw an empty booth by the elevator and sat in the empty seat waiting for Monet. I noticed an old, bedraggled, biracial lady who seemed very much out of place. She had large dark circles around her eyes and she wore a dated headscarf. She looked like a peasant swaddled in dull and drab clothing. She reminded me of the Oracle in the movie the Matrix. She creeped me out because every time I looked around I saw her staring at me out the corner of her eye.
Before long, a distinguished-looking mature woman approached the booth where I sat and mistook me for a psychic.
“Excuse me, I got here late. I heard Mason Tylor was brilliant. Did you see his show?”
“Yes. He was in rare form,” I said, as I looked around the room for Monet.
“So, are you a psychic?”
I couldn’t resist.
“Why, as a matter of fact I am.”
The lady reached into her purse for some cash. All she had were fifties and hundreds.
“Do you have change, sir?”
“Ma’am, this show is on the house. There’s no charge.”
Guests that overheard I was doing free demonstrations began to crowd around my booth to check me out.
My new client was named Mary and she gladly placed her wallet back into her purse.
I went straight into my routine.
“Mary, being psychic is much more than being able to receive messages from the other side. It’s also the ability to project messages. Allow me to demonstrate. Do you have a pen and piece of paper?”
“Of course,” the woman replied, eventually placing them onto the table.
“I want you to pick a playing card in your mind.”
“Any card?”
“Yes, any one of the 52.”
“Okay. Got it.”
“Now, write it down on the piece of paper and show everyone around you.”
Mary scribbled the six of clubs on the paper and everyone jockeyed for a glimpse.
“I will need the use of a cellphone with an international calling plan. I’ll pay for the call.”
A man standing in the back of the crowd made his way to the front and handed me what looked like a company smartphone.
I continued.
“I will call a very close friend of mine in England, a person whom I share a psychic bond with. She will tell you the card you picked. Sir, thank you for the phone. Have we ever met before?”
“No,” he replied.
I called Keisha, my partner in crime in England. She was also my assistant in my magic act years back. I placed the call on speaker so the crowd could hear.
Ring, ring, ring.
“Hello? Who’s calling me this late at night?”
“Hey, Keisha, it’s Clay. I’m in the US.”
“Clay, I’m gonna kill you. I was almost asleep. This must be important. What do you want my brova?”
“Keisha, you are on speaker at the moment and I would like to introduce you to Mary. Mary has selected a card and I want you to tell her the card she selected. Can you do that for me sis?”
“Okay, but you owe me.”
I took t
he phone off speaker.
“Keisha, when I count to five I will hand the phone to Mary.”
The crowd expanded in numbers and all eyes were on me as I counted very slowly.
“One, two, three, four, five!”
I looked around and let the suspense marinate for a moment.
“Mary, Keisha would like to speak with you.”
I handed Mary the phone. She hesitantly placed the phone to her right ear.
“This is Mary.”
Mary froze like a statute.
The audience responded in unison.
“What’s happening, what’s happening?”
Mary gave the gentlemen his phone back and started shaking her head repeating the same words over and over.
“That’s not possible, that’s not possible.”
For a bunch of psychic fanatics the crowd seemed in awe of what happened. If they only knew how simple that trick was. The crowd wanted more. I had time for one more act.
“I wish I had a set of cards but, unfortunately, I don’t,” I commented.
“I have a set,” said a man from the back whose voice I was all too familiar with.
The crowd gave way to Mason Tylor who was standing there with his arms folded. He had an unopened deck of cards in his right hand. Mason Tylor was a big time gambler and it made sense why he had a deck of cards in his possession.
After a brief moment he approached the table and tossed the deck in my direction.
“Mr. Tylor, would you be so kind as to open the deck, shuffle the cards and fan them across the table?”
With the finesse of a Las Vegas pit boss, he demonstrated why he was the one and only Mason Tylor.
I needed a volunteer. I selected a man in a black tux with a pink cummerbund. His name was Marty.
“Sir, I would like you to point to any six cards.”
He did.
“Now, out of those six cards make a mental selection. Just in your head.”
“All right. Done.”
I scooped up the deck and shuffled them a few times and fanned them on the table facing up Smokehouse style.
“Marty, look closely. Do you see the card you selected?”
Marty scanned left to right and back again.
“It’s not there. The other five cards are. How did you do that?”
