Ring of Fire: Misadventures in Hypnosis

I never believed in hypnosis, and my disdain for Las Vegas was palpable. So it was surprising to find myself some years ago on a Las Vegas stage being amorous with a chair while under a hypnotist’s spell. I have the video to prove it. 

My husband and in-laws told me I stole the show. What’s more, this was no fluke. It was a repeat performance that took place two years after my initial experience with this same hypnotist on this same stage. My in-laws had heard about this spectacle and wished to see it for themselves. 

 

Everyone wants to know what it feels like to be hypnotized. I do not recall specifics but have hazy recollections of wanting only to please the all-powerful hypnotist, of trusting the hypnotist completely, and of there being no one who mattered in that room except me and the hypnotist. As is my wont, I was the teacher's pet. 

I am an educated person. I have held various positions of responsibility. I try to maintain normal personal boundaries and a modicum of dignity. But under hypnosis, I was willing to jettison all that for my buddy the hypnotist. 

My induction into a trance state was a form of seduction. He was commanding, he was firm, and he was going to divest me of my agency and inhibitions – but in a good way. I was all for his wishes and remain so to this day. I still feel that bond and would likely greet him with a hug if I were to randomly run into him in an airport or hotel lobby.

This being Vegas, the act proceeded from fairly tame stuff, like spasmodically playing an imaginary instrument, into areas more risqué (like me and the chair). The highlight of the show – and I am relying on video and family memories here because I just don’t recall this – was me scuttling around the stage trying to extinguish an imaginary inferno emanating from my ass while Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire” played loudly over the speakers:

I went down, down, down

And the flames went higher

And it burns, burns, burns

The ring of fire

Did I feel embarrassed or self-conscious? Not for a minute. I would do it again today, for art's sake.  

The Las Vegas sessions were not my first forays into hypnosis. Years earlier, I sought the aid of a woman who specialized in behavior modification – in my case, for smoking cessation. The therapy was conducted in her Upper West Side apartment, in a dark room with a reclining chair. I remember cracking up as she did her mumbo jumbo. She was not on par with the Las Vegas hypnotist; the result you get with hypnosis depends greatly on the quality of your specialist. 

My guy specialized in shenanigans. After putting me through my paces onstage he told me I would leave the theater feeling like a champion and have the best sleep of my life. I would wake up energized, optimistic, and cheerful. 

Not a morning person at the time, I did awaken the next day feeling all of these things. I was not my usual grouchy morning self and even made Joe his coffee. 

The last thing the hypnotist told me while I was still under his spell was that I would recommend his show to the first ten people I encountered thereafter. And I did; even in his retirement, I put him among the greats. 

I cannot endorse hypnosis for quitting smoking, but as for quitting one’s inhibitions, it works like a charm.

Shedding my inhibitions under the hypnotist's spell