The Mind's Basement

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Review Chain


A tour of the human psyche in all its boundless intricacy.

Submitted: March 22, 2018

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Submitted: March 22, 2018

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The Mind’s Basement

 

by Harris Proctor

 

 

“Three.  You are in a state of complete relaxation,” he continued.  “Two.  Total relaxation.  When I reach one, you will be hypnotized.  One.  Do you feel relaxed, Emily?”

 

“Yes,” I said, my voice soft and flat.

 

“Good.  You are hypnotized.  Now I want you to picture a house.  A beautiful house on a sunlit day.  It is a lovely two-story house standing in a meadow.  Can you see the house, Emily?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good.  Let’s walk inside.  The first floor is very inviting.  Light and airy.  There are delicious smells coming from the kitchen.  The television is on in the living room.  There is a romantic movie playing.  We’re not going to stop to watch, though.  We’re going to walk upstairs.  Do you see the stairway, Emily?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good.  We walk up the stairs.  See the bedrooms?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“This is a warm and cozy space.  So bright and cheerful.  We see a room for a playful little child.  Another room for a mercurial teenager.  Yet another for a kind and patient adult.  Let’s open the door to the attic.  Do you see the stairs to the attic?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good.  We walk up to the very top of the house.  The sun is blazing through the curtainless windows.  There are very many things up here.  It is full.  It seems almost difficult to maneuver.  There are items of great value up here.  Heirlooms.  Antiques.  Objects of tremendous sentiment.  Do you know where you are Emily?”

 

“I am in the attic of the house.”

 

“Yes, Emily.  You are in the attic of the house.  But we are inside of you.  This house is you.  And we are going to explore it while you are hypnotized.  This attic is your mind.  Your intellect.  The seat of your thoughts and your memories.  This is a space filled with the artifacts of the culture you have absorbed from your family and your environment.  We shall return in a moment.  Let’s go back down to the second floor.  Do you see the second floor?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“This is the space of your feelings.  Your heart, if you will.  This is where you find all the facets of your emotional self.  All of her aspects.  The inner child.  The archetypal teenager who represents constant change.  The caring, mature adult you have become.  This is a safe and spiritual, intimate space.  We shall return.  For now, we will descend back to the first floor.  Are you walking down the stairs, Emily?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Here we are in your most basic space.  Your animalistic space.  This is we see your primal needs.  Food.  Reproduction.  Even the front door represents a deliberate boundary between yourself and the predators that might be out in the world.  We shall return here as well.  Let us go to the basement.  Are you walking down the basement stairs, Emily?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good.  Now we are in the basement.  It is fairly dark down here.  The light struggles to get in through the narrow windows.  There is a light bulb dangling just ahead of you.  Can you pull on the chain to turn on the light?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“There.  The light is on.  It helps a little.  This space is cluttered and musty.  Everything that has been discarded from the top floors has ended up down here in muddled, mixed-up piles.  We are in your subconscious, Emily.  This space needs to be cleaned out.  Excavated.  Organized.  Do you feel ready to do some serious work?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“That’s good.  There is something we need to examine first.  Step to the darkest corner of the basement.  There is an old wooden door set into the stone floor.  It is covered in dust.  Perhaps there is an old table resting on top of it.  I want you to remove that table.  Expose that door.  Do you know what that door is, Emily?”

 

“No.”

 

“That is the door to undiluted madness.  Chaos.  Behind that door is where you will find the noxious screams of living nightmares, whose muffled voices reach your sleeping ear as mere whispers.  Behind that door is a gibbering insanity who knows not a single rational thought and craves naught but an eternity of bloodshed and agony.  It is a blind and fumbling lunacy that a rabid beast would find unbearable and unholy.  It is true pandemonium.  Behind that door is the fountainhead of torment and revulsion.  I want you to open that door.”

 

I opened my eyes.

 

“I’m sorry- what am I supposed to do now?”

 

He cocked his head and leaned in.  His gaze hardened.

 

“Are you pretending to be hypnotized?”

 

“Uhh…”

 

“Get the hell out of my office!”

 

I left.  Without co-paying.

 

 

The End




© Copyright 2018 Harris Proctor. All rights reserved.

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