Biking to my hypnotist
When I decided to bike to a hypnotist recommended by a friend, I was sucked into a black hole of bliss.
Because she lives in “Reaching for the Future” Woodfin, I decided to ride Yolie the Yamaha, my new Ebike, to her house/office. I set Google Maps on bicycle, and Google Guide directed me toward Swannanoa River Road. When I turned right on Kenilworth Rd., she gargled metal filings and directed me over Beaucatcher Mt., down College, up Central (another gargle when I turned off Central), up Liberty, and onto the road that goes from Charlotte St. to Montford. Yolie hit a giant pothole and bucked off a water bottle, but I retrieved it and continued down Broadway. Having an extra 15 minutes, I stopped in at Cheap Joe’s, where I bought stencils for my collage group.
In Cheap Joe’s parking lot, a couple on road bikes was looking at a tourist map of Asheville. I directed them to Erwin Hills, and rode through Woodfin and up the steep Woodfin Ave. to my hypnotist’s house/office.
She greeted me at her front door and said Yolie would be safe on the porch. I went into the living/dining/kitchen/office, which was decorated with lavender salt crystals, Buddhist prayer flags, and cat play-stations.
I sat on a couch and told her how I came to be anxious. With her prompting, I described two times in my past where I felt safe, free, and happy: bodysurfing at Atlantic Beach as a 16-year-old; and visiting Morocco in 1972 as a 20-year-old.
She directed me to lie on the sofa, close my eyes, and focus on her voice and my breathing. Following the sound of her voice, I descended into a black hole, sinking deeper and deeper into the sofa until I could feel the fabric ABOVE me. Being under was unique. I was alert to my surroundings, aware of needing to swallow, and yet my breathing was shallow and my heart rate slowed. It reminded me of the time my bro-in-law and I rode our bikes from Charlotte to Myrtle Beach on the 4th of July weekend — when all the country stores were closed. By the time we found an open store, I was so tired that I sat on a plastic milk crate and passed out on a metal display rack beside some Bunny Bread.
It was that deep.
Once I was under, she told me that I was standing on a hill on a tropical island, watching the clouds scud by and the ocean glitter in the distance. I followed a path through the jungle, and arrived at the beach where a young girl in a lavender bikini waded in the surf. I retraced my steps to a clearing in the jungle, and my hypnotist told me that a cloud was sucking up all my fears and dispersing them, leaving me at peace. She asked me to enclosed this peace loosely in my left fist, and to carry it with me as I woke up.
It worked.
When I ascended to consciousness, I was calm and relaxed. I paid and biked home, and my tranquility lasted 24 hours. When I woke up the next day, my fear was back. My hypnotist texted me to visualize the color and the cloud, and to feel peace in my left fist, and my fears eased.
It’s been months since I biked over and sank under, and I don’t know what to think of the experience. On the one hand, the 24 hours of calm was wonderful. On the other hand, my anxiety recurs.
One thing I know for certain — while I’m bicycling, I’m not worried.