Last year I went to a seminar purporting the use of hypnosis
as a method of smoking cessation that was guaranteed to work AND be easy. I went in skeptical, not because I don’t have
any faith in hypnosis, per se, but because it seemed unlikely that I would sit
in a group full of complete strangers, listen to some smooth psychobabble for a
couple hours, and leave hating cigarettes more than I love them.
To be clear, I currently hate them equally as much as I love
them, which doesn’t help in the least.
The seminar was actually more interesting than I thought it
would be. The guy leading it had that
effective combination of charisma, humor, and well-practiced lines that gives
those who possess such gifts the ability to sell anything to anyone. The pre-hypnosis spiel inevitably included vast
amounts of information on the chemical and mental effects of quitting cold
turkey and in no uncertain terms, assured the wary listeners that they did indeed
have ways to help eradicate the horrible, nasty feelings we’d experience after
leaving the seminar as non-smokers. For
just a nominal amount (in the hundreds), you could leave with vitamins and
supplements that would leave you craving and side-effect-free, never to darken
a huddle of stinky smokers again. That
was the point where I decided I’d wasted my time and my money, but I stuck it
out for no other reason than curiosity.
The hypnosis, I loved.
Loved, loved.
Like, I almost would've bought the wildly over-priced vitamins if only I could get this guy to do this with me every day.
It wasn’t so much what I think of as hypnosis, but more of a
mass meditation. The lights were flicked
off, the room became quiet. The voice of
the sales-guru was soothing and melodious.
He led the way to a state of alert relaxation that I didn’t realize
existed and then deftly guided us to our own personal happy place. I think I’ve always been a bit of a
daydreamer, and I’ve always had images of happy places to choose from, but this
atmosphere was focused. I was being led,
instead of wandering around my own mind willy-nilly with no real purpose. That made it much easier for me to surround
myself with the images and smells and sounds of a place where I feel at
ease.
For that however-long-it-was, I sat Indian-style on a rise
in the middle of a velvety green valley.
The grey craggy mountains arose on both sides of me, and rays of sunlight
pierced the clouds above, tracing patterns across the landscape. I was naked, and devoid of self-consciousness,
ageless and proud of lines of motherhood tracing my belly. The air was warm on my skin, but a faint
breeze, smelling softly of grass and earth and also slightly of salt, made the
hair on my arms rise, tickled the back of my neck. There was no movement, no sound. I was comfortable and peaceful. I thought of nothing, or everything, but as
though the thoughts were merely colorful strokes of a paint brush in my head. I was alone, and not alone. I could’ve stayed that way forever, just
stayed and done nothing but “be”.
It was so good, this meditative state, that when it was over
and the lights came on, I had no sense of time or place for a moment. In fact, it had been a very LONG time since
the lights were turned off, and my toes were numbly asleep. I had been awake the whole time but still had
the urge to stretch. I knew the minute I
“woke up” that I would keep smoking too.
But, I left with something else in my peace-of-mind arsenal: a better
understanding about how good it feels to step away from the hustle and bustle
of life and spend a little quiet time in a happy place.
