A shared gesture centers a fun, weekly session.
Yeah, patterns. Routines.
You asked me what’s my favorite part of this, and I had trouble coming up with an answer at first. I mean, it’s hard choosing just one thing. I love everything about it, but what comes in 1st place for me, is a toughie. Most hypnotists might say the control they’re given, the submission they inspire, which you said was your favorite thing, on the feeling side. Mine, when I put things into the abstract, ended up being patterns.
Weird, I know.
What kind? You mean what kind of patterns? May sound strange, but how about this – the ones you don’t even notice at first.
You’d think it’d be a lot easier to notice when you reflect on something you’ve just done that you’re so used to doing, running on automation, lost in routine. Like, what’s our routine? Every Saturday we come here around this time of day, exchange pleasantries, talk about our weeks, then I talk a little more, and you’re a little more receptive, you get this look on your face that says ‘I can’t tell whether it’s what you’re saying or how you’re saying it, but I’m noticing a change in you, and in me.’ Patterns, pleasant patterns, like what I just described. Sometimes those patterns can be things you’re clearly aware of, others vaguely aware. It can be like something you can’t put your finger on, but as warm as you feel, it’s more like it’s put its finger on you, like the beginnings of the spreading warmth of a hug or a handshake or some kind of embrace you gravitate towards and enjoy. You enjoy it partly because it’s mutual, something to share with someone who is just as happy as you are, and what you’re sharing is really special, practically exclusive; no one else gives you this feeling, so you revel in it as often as possible. Like a feel-good story you never tire of hearing, a favorite story like a favorite song that hits all the right notes, the perfect tempo, the flawless pace, lyrical words that absorb you into their meaning like the story is being told into you, based on your reactions. And since this story is so familiar to you, your body knows how to react to it; it’s done it a hundred times already, and wouldn’t mind one more in the slightest. And if you were on the one hundred and first time, that’s kind of perfect too. A perfectly pleasant pattern of experience. So much pleasant experience behind you, so much pleasantness yet to be experienced, sandwiched between pleasure and pleasure, resting on your past, pulling your pleasant future over you like a warm blanket. Your relaxed head and beginning-to-lull mind can even reflect on the how you got here if it wanted to, to enhance that where you are now. You remember what happened; of course you do. Your eyes lids did that involuntary closing of surprise, one of mine affirmed in a cute, pleased fashion, and it all went downhill from there, in the best possible way.
Do you know what just happened there? Are you cognizant of your perfectly automatic reactions that signal a significant patterned turning point you crossed? Do you know that once it happened, it was the point of no return for you? I bet that part of you knows, a part that can’t verbalize, but knows that to do. Any other part is beyond caring though, it’s just along for the ride, passed that beyond retuning point and headed deeper within. Allow me to tell you what you’ve done for me, just like if we ever played chicken, or if I suggested your eyes might get heavy for a moment they just….might….there we go.
That’s right, you blinked. And gracefully acknowledging your surrender, I winked. And gracefully embodying that surrender, you sinked. A curiously complete sequence of events, isn’t it? Like a combination lock that unlocks you with the right, specific string of occurrences, opening you up to me. That blink, followed by that wink, leading to that sink. An undeniably compelling pattern that you follow, helplessly, naturally, without fail.
Yeah, the blink, the wink, the sink.
Blink, wink, sink.
You blink, I wink, and you sink.
If there’s a more perfect pattern, I doubt you could think of it. And I’m fairly sure you’re not even interested in trying.
Whatever I say before all that is irrelevant to some parts of your mind, most likely the parts that are sleeping now and would wake up with a memory of another pleasant conversation remembered in a foggy haze of goodness. You love the lead-up, even if you can’t recall the topic, when you stopped talking, when all the talking I did flowed so easily into that empty, fulfilled head. Prior thoughts slipping out as my words slip in, much more interesting than what was on your mind before, whatever they were. Light and airy in the head, heavy and relaxed in the body, just from a little conversation between us. And you know it’s one of those stupendous conversations between us, those special ones eliciting that little reaction. Maybe even more irrelevant than what I said is the exactly how you got here. It doesn’t quite matter to you; on the tip of your mind, but evades you every time due to sheer lack of interest. You’re feeling so good, why question it? No need to look back, because in the end, you…blink, uh huh, I….heh, wink, and you just…mmhmm, sink.
And while we’re on the subject, and you’re keeping up your weekly role as my subject, I’ve noticed something funny about that; there’s even a built-in count down.
When you blink, that’s two eyes reacting.
When I wink, that’s one eye entrancing.
And when you sink, that’s neither eye resisting.
Those wide-open, lovely glassy eyes are like big zeros, telling me there’s just as much going on in that brain of yours, coming from you at least. It goes from vacant to filled, to mine in the span of a blink, a wink, and suddenly you can’t do anything but sink.
And if you add more numbers to blink, wink, and sink, do you know what that means? You know how countdowns work, so can you imagine if you start from a number as high as ten, how much further you have to fall once you start to hit that nine, anticipation burgeoning at eight, gaining momentum at seven, accelerating more at six, knowing you’re past the point of no return at five, your body tingling at the memory this feeling gives at four, knowing exactly what you shall do after three…
Exactly the response I was looking for, that lovely blink that makes a hypnotist wink playfully, knowingly at the mind she just set on the path to sink.
Mmhmm, blink, wink, sink.
And if I ask you to blink for me, of course you will, taking yourself a little deeper, as I wink knowingly again, enjoying that vacant, picture-perfect, unthinking, unblinking, sink.
Blink for me again, yeah, because I want to wink at you again and see you sink deeper again.
This is so cool, you know? It’s just like those TV or movie productions. They count off from ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, and three, but instead of the lights, camera, action, it’s a blink command, the approving wink, and the inactive, desired sink.
There’s even a way to look at it well into negative numbers, where you’re past the brink….
Thoughts you could have from this point are rather pointless, so, really no need to think….
The only thoughts with weight and meaning are mine, because we’re totally in-sync, with one another….
Wow, I did not mean to rhyme this much. Far be it from me to sever this new link though, heheh.
After you blink for me, and I wink at you, and you sink like I want, you know you’re beyond the brink, with no need to think, because we are in-sync. You’re practically an extension of me at that point, a little puppet strung along on simple words, and the most innocent of gestures. Well, you already were before this, but a little bit of creativity to get you there makes it all the more fun for me. So you’re going to wake up soon, mind as usual programmed to respond how I want, just because I want, and because you love it too.
Time to wake up.
I know, I know. So trippy, and fun. Worth the wait all week. The more you get into this, the more you’d be willing to wait all year if you had to. Aww, no need for the crestfallen look; I wouldn’t make you wait that long. But…I wouldn’t be above making you think you waited that long. Don’t even try to get indignant with me; just think how fond you’d be of after emerging from a trance thinking you hadn’t had a trance in 365 days. You can’t hide the excitement from me, don’t even try.
Speaking of, remind me to make you divide 365 days from 7 days to make a confusion induction out of the magnitude of waiting for me. Yeah, better to write it down; you are more forgetful than you used to be lately. What? Are you implying that regular sessions with me is the root cause? Is that a problem? Heh, didn’t think so. Why not use that induction now? I’ve got something else in mind.
Remember that stage show I got roped into doing? Yeah, was thinking of having a prepared technique on hand in case someone decides to mention what I’m good at again. Yes, you. Anyway, was thinking about sort of a meta kind of induction, where I talk about individuals up on stage as if I’m talking about them in a vague sort of way. Like, let’s say I’ve got five of them up there, and I address them, speaking about one particular subject that could really be any one of them. They don’t know who, and they’re kind of wondering who as my voice starts to fade in and out of their thinking, into their background while they start to forget what their foreground looks like.
I give no details about them, gender, race, clothes, whatever, just a person up there who’s breathing slowly like I’d expect them to as a hypnotist the more I talk, just listening, talking about the technique and what the average subject no matter who they were would fall for. It wouldn’t take long for me the hypnotist to find someone with a case of lost concentration, and more importantly, fluttering eyes. Gotta love that tale-tell sign, cause it just doesn’t stop cause the hypnotist doesn’t stop, especially when she calls attention to it.
Noticing that fluttering, it’s still amazing how the right words start to control it, how I can say one eye is fluttering more than the other, trying to close and stay open, until it can’t stay open, until it has to close, leaving that next eye to follow suit. Stubborn or not, the hypnotist wins in the end, and two eyes are down, and eight to go.
Some of the other subjects will have looked over and noticed that first subject down for the count, and others are not far behind from where the first to fall was. Of course the hypnotist addresses the struggling ones next, same prattle, same insistent tone of fluttering eyes getting heavier and heavier. I do two of them at a time, standing in-front of one with fingers waving down, urging one eye to close at a time, not-stopping until one is closed, than the other. Two more eyes down, six to go. And it takes only a little effort to get the next one to succumb the same way. Two more eyes down, four to go.
The only people left are those who’ve been watching me work, fully convinced of my power and their vulnerability. They know exactly how it’s going to play out, as I coyly step in-front of the next one, telling them not to worry, how there’s nothing they can really do to stop it; and just the mere mention of that makes their eyes flutter. It’s just so easy to find that happening, I’d tell them, so easy to make it so every word is making them heavier, I’d convince them, until it’s one down, and I do a little trancey sing-song to watch the other go aaaaalllllll tttthhheee wwwwaaaayyy down, and it’s down. Two more eyes down, two to go.
And guess who’s eyes are last. Yours, of course. You’ve been wide-eyed and staring this whole time, because more than anyone on that stage, you know how this plays out. And it’s a weird kind of gratification to see something good happen to someone else, and know that it’s your turn. And instead of the same song-and-dance I do with the others, I just stand in-front of you, as the crowd watches you watching me, waiting for me to say something, anything.
I say one word.
You do it, because you know you have no choice, I wink at you with the utmost glee, and bow before the audience as they watch you sink, down and down, different from the others, much further down than the others, much happier to be sunken than the others.
I tell you to blink again, just for fun.
Staring at my eyes for that borderline arrogant wink, that just makes you sink.
I start to explain to my audience how compared to everyone else, you are so far over the brink, no thoughts of your own, cause you can’t think. If you had thoughts, they’d look exactly like mine, since we’re so in-sync.
And I’d spend the rest of the show proving the beginners depth the other four are in, while you are just my utterly mindless, helpless blinked out, winked out, sinked in, plaything.
Oh if you knew how the audience and the other subjects would be as envious of you. Just one word, that snowballs into an avalanche of hypnotic pleasure.
And don’t you love my wink?
The one that tells you to sink?
Moving past the brink?
Traveling light with no thoughts to think?
Your destination, the inseparability of our being in-sync.
You know, the longer I look at you, the more I’m certain – control really is the best kink.