JACK AND THE BIFLOP – Hypnosis for Dummies

You are feeling completely relaxed and yet very alert…Your eyelids are so buoyant you couldn’t shut them if you tried…You will read what follows as if it held the key to eternal happiness…

The human mind is an awesome—sometimes frightening—thing. Exploring it is like sticking your head into a dark cave. You want to see what’s in there, but you realize that, whatever it is, it may not want to see you. Nonetheless, those of us who are incurably curious, who never want to stop learning and growing, can’t help ourselves; we continue sticking our heads in that cave.

If you’re curious about Nature, you have to be curious about your own mind. You want to know how it works, how it gives rise to your feelings and actions, why it changes, and where its blind spots are. By the same token, if you’re too busy, too self-obsessed, too encumbered by stress to notice what’s going on around you, you’ll almost surely fail to notice and appreciate what’s going on in you.

PRIVATE PRACTICE
One of the most compelling glimpses into the mind I’ve ever seen seemed, on its surface, just a frivolous prank. I was at Fort Devens in north-central Massachusetts, training to be an army communications security analyst. I learned that Jim, one of my barracks mates and a fellow student in Morse code class, was a recreational hypnotist.

The human mind is like a dark cave. You want to see what’s in there, but whatever it is, it may not want to see you.

Jim had been asking around our unit for guys who’d be willing to let him put them out—not just willing subjects, he admitted, but good, easy, gullible ones. He didn’t have to look far. Jack Smith, a regular Army private from Detroit, eagerly volunteered. Jack was a nice young man, tall and, though somewhat doughy, reasonably trim. I suspected he hadn’t had access to much education.

Jim hypnotized Jack several times, putting him through hilarious routines, some of which went so well that I suspected, at first, they’d been rehearsed. He created imaginary "force fields" around things that would make Jack unable to touch them, no matter how hard he tried. He'd make Jack shiver and sweat simply by telling him the room was getting colder or hotter.

Seeing Jack’s actions completely taken over by someone he hardly knew was simultaneously hilarious and chilling. Perhaps the most amazing demonstration was Jim’s planting a knockout “trigger” word in Jack’s mind. Just before we went on Christmas leave, Jim hypnotized Jack and told him that, even after he was out of his trance, whenever he heard Jim say the word biflop, he’d immediately fall into a deep sleep and do whatever Jim told him to do.

Jim had Jack wrapping his arms around himself and shivering, and then, a minute later, he was turning red and sweating.

MONSTERS AT THE MARGINS
When we returned from leave, Jim got everyone together, ostensibly to share stories of our trips home. He made sure Jack was sitting down on a bunk with guys on either side of him.

Jim started talking about his Christmas with his family, and then decided to tease poor, gullible Jack. He needed a word that sounded like it was going to be biflop, but wasn’t. We all had a corner of our eyes on Jack. “So,” Jim continued, “I was anxious to get back ‘cause I couldn’t wait to go out on… biv-v-v-ouac.”
 
As that very deliberate, emphasized first syllable passed Jim’s lips, Jack’s eyelids fluttered and his chin started to slump. Quickly recovering from the false start, Jack couldn’t figure out why everyone was in stitches.

Jim continued his monologue for another half minute and then dropped the bomb right in the middle of another innocent-sounding sentence. “…It was an amazing dinner: turkey, dressing, squash, you know, all the biflop…” Jack collapsed, saved from falling to the floor only by the men sitting next to him.

UNWITTING SUBJECTS
I never let Jim hypnotize me. First of all, I was pretty sure it wouldn’t work. I wasn’t suggestible enough, not to mention trusting enough. Secondly, I’ve never much liked being embarrassed.

Finally, I must admit to fearing such a profound loss of control, and the possibility of being exposed—especially without the presence of a professional psychologist—to whatever monsters might unwittingly have been provoked from the margins of my consciousness.

How about you? Ever been hypnotized? How has it helped—or hurt—you? Has it helped you be more aware? More curious? Are we, in some ways, hypnotized unconsciously by our daily routines, our schedules, our gadgets, the media? How might this affect our children and grandchildren as they inherit stewardship of this amazing, fragile planet?

WHAT GORILLA? – The Power and Peril of Focus

Imagine someone holding up an item, something very large and very tangible, right in front of your eyes. Can you imagine any way they could do it so you wouldn’t even notice it?

This is the sort of challenge put to me and other viewers of a TV news magazine segment some years ago. Hey, I thought, I’m a really good observer. In fact, I've been in the business of noticing and controlling visual details. Let's see ‘em try to fool me!

The demonstration began with a short piece of video. Viewers were asked to closely observe a group of six people in a small room passing around two basketballs. Three of the people wore black shirts; the other three, white shirts. The charge to viewers was to count the number of times any white-shirted person passed a ball to anyone else.

     Hey, I thought, I’m a really good observer...
     Let's see ‘em try to fool me!

      

IN AND OUT OF THE TUNNEL
The people started moving around, turning and intermingling, all the while passing, catching and dribbling the balls. After about 30 seconds, they and the video clip stopped. No problem, I thought. I was sure I hadn't  fallen for a single one of those black-shirts’ passes. Yes sir, I saw right through that and all their other tricks to distract me! Fifteen passes*—no doubt about it.

The host promised to give the correct answer, but first he begged our indulgence. He’d show the same film clip again, only this time he instructed viewers not to focus on anything in particular. "Just take in the whole scene," he instructed. Okay, I’m thinking, maybe I did miss a pass or two.

Again the video rolls. The people start passing balls and milling around. It’s obviously the exact same clip. Halfway through the scene, though, a person in a gorilla suit emerges stage left, walks deliberately into the middle of the group, stops, faces the camera, outrageously beats his chest with both arms and then walks out of the scene stage right.

Huh?!!

INATTENTIONAL BLINDNESS
The film is part of an exercise developed by Daniel Simons, a Harvard psychologist who's studying blind spots—our failure to notice presumably obvious things when our thoughts (though not necessarily our vision) are focused elsewhere. He calls it inattentional blindness. He suggests that such a phenomenon might explain a number of otherwise baffling accidents, including one several years before in which a U.S. submarine collided with a Japanese fishing trawler, even though the latter was in plain sight of the sub.

Simons's research showed that more than half of subjects do not notice the gorilla in their first viewing of the film. I’d have bet the farm that I’d be in the other half. I would have lost.

      In this visual black hole, I always sail right
      past our exit, and God knows what else.

Come to think of it, I know from my own experience that this kind of blind spot can happen, not just when visual stimuli compete, but also when the other senses are involved. Just ask my wife. Now I know I’m about the farthest thing there could possibly be from a multi-tasker. So, with much “coaching” over the years, I’ve learned that when she and I are talking I need to really pay attention to what she’s saying.

      

Occasionally, this has proven a problem when we’re headed somewhere in the car and I’m also trying to navigate. Apparently, the way my mind deals with serious listening is to turn off all my other senses. In this visual black hole, I always sail right past our exit, and God knows what else. When I think about it, that’s pretty scary. I’m just glad I haven’t missed any “Bridge Out!” signs!

Do these events show how powerful our senses can be when narrowly focused, or how fickle they are when they’re not?

Do these events show how powerful our senses can be when narrowly focused, or how fickle they are when they’re not? If it’s power, it can surely be harnessed for a great deal of good. (Think medical research, the arts or even hypnosis.) Or it can be used for evil. (Think bait-and-switch scams or governments fostering fear to divert attention from their abuses.)

Either way, the lesson is, while appreciating our senses and our minds for all they can do, we can ill afford not be aware of their limitations.

* The correct answer for the number of basketball passes was 15. 
Some consolation!

For more about inattentional blindness here's a link to Simons's book on the topic, The Invisible Gorilla.

TYLER'S TOUCH – A Child's Peaceful Presence

Last month, my wife and I attended a wonderful Christmas concert at a local church. It was nearly two hours of music, ranging from choral to hand bells to orchestral; from traditional Christmas fare to some gorgeous pieces we'd never heard.

Since my daughter-in-law was performing in the hand bell choir, we'd volunteered to take care of three-year-old Tyler during the concert.

I've never met a three-year-old who'd sit quietly through two hours of anything.



I've never met a three-year-old who'd sit quietly through two hours of anything. Still, Tyler was doing better than we'd expected, sitting in Grandma's lap, playing with his book and looking around at all the bright decorations. He was especially quiet when the brass section of the orchestra chimed in—seems he's transfixed by horns.

Then, about half-way through the program, it became clear we'd pushed his attention span to the limit—horns notwithstanding. I suppose if there had been other kids running up and down the aisles we wouldn't have reigned him in, but we decided his choice was between sitting more or less still, or heading out to the hall.

For the rest of the concert, he tested our resolve, squirming to get down, sometimes throwing his arms up and inadvertently slamming the book into Grandma's face.

It was as if an electric circuit had been broken.



After one such assault, I reached over and simply took firm hold of Tyler's hand. I expected a little struggle. Instead, it was as if an electric circuit had been broken. Right away, without even looking at me, he stopped squirming. All that impatience, all that energy, seemed suddenly channeled toward that little hand. I felt it and responded by relaxing my grip, resting my open hand, palm up, on my thigh.

Instead of pulling away, Tyler kept his hand where it was. For the next 20 minutes, he unconsciously explored the contours of my palm, thumb and each finger. His hand was warm and dry; it felt good in mine. I experienced a flow of something powerful through that curious touch, a sensation that simultaneously opened and centered me.

What was it about Tyler's touch that quieted both him and me so suddenly, so completely?

I knew I was connected with something pure and timeless. The slight anxiety I'd been feeling about his possibly disrupting the service just melted away. Now the music seemed to touch me more deeply than it had a few minutes before. The aura of strangers sitting nearby seemed to wrap snugly around us. I felt closer than ever to my wife.

I was calmly, silently happy.

What was it about Tyler's touch that quieted both him and me so suddenly, so completely? What was the unconscious message he spoke so softly, yet so articulately? I decided not to ruin its magic by asking.

CRIES AND WHISPERS – Carried By Sound

Helen Keller, when asked which of her senses she missed most, chose hearing.
She said it was because she so missed the gentle, reassuring sound of her mother’s voice.

Hearing is an amazing sense—different from all the others in several important ways. First off, unlike the other senses, the perception of sound starts out as a purely mechanical process. Sound enters the ear as fluctuations in air pressure and those waves physically move the surface of the eardrum.

So, technically, our ears feel sounds before we hear them. This is why we can experience certain sounds—like music with a solid bass—in the rest of our bodies as well as our ears, and why even deaf people can enjoy music.

              What sounds transport you? 
              Where do they take you?

THE SEDUCTION OF SOUND
Sound has the power to transport us to another place, another time. This effect is pretty obvious when you're listening to music from a bygone era. Not only are those tunes—and often the way they were recorded—dated in their own right, they’re also full of associations with movies, plays and other cultural representations of the time.

But I’m also carried away by other, more timeless sounds: a dog barking or children laughing in the distance on a still summer night; the “sizzle” of insects and wind-rustled grasses in a hot August meadow; the congenial snapping of a campfire.

 

These sounds may not remind me of one specific time or place, but they transport me nonetheless—to a place of peace, contemplation and vague yearning. Is their seduction a call back to my childhood, or just to the idea of a simpler, purer life?

The otherworldly little clicks, glugs and whines of life underwater in a lake or river; the gregarious chatter of a high "V" of Canada geese cutting its way south through an October evening’s sky. What sounds transport you? Where do they take you?

I HEAR YOU
There is hearing—as in simply noticing sounds—and then there is listening. Even though I’m a highly visual person, I find myself listening with every nerve in my body. It completely commands my attention, effectively turning off my other senses. This can be unnerving.

For example, when my wife and I go somewhere in the car, if I listen to her (I don’t mean just nod and say “Yes, dear” once in a while; I mean really listen) I cannot see. Let me say that again: when I listen, my eyes don’t work. We could pass our exit, miss a detour, or fly haplessly into a speed trap; I wouldn’t have a clue.

      We need to turn off that interference, 
      allowing beauty and wonder to begin their 
      quiet, compelling conversation with us.

KINDER, GENTLER SOUNDS
Things we hear, like those we see and touch, have layers. And sound, like those other senses, lets us approach a curiosity in various ways. Sometimes it's not the most obvious sounds that are the most interesting.

We’re used to enduring so much man-made noise that Nature’s whispers—wave lap, ruffed grouse thump, wind breath through crispy leaves—get shouted down. Sometimes the only reason for one obnoxious racket is to snatch our attention away from another: TV, radio, cell phones, that breaking and entering of automated pitchmen on our answering machines. Why do we put up with it?

 

And then there’s the “noise” of our own thoughts and concerns. These, too, like static over an old recording, can stifle our ability to hear other kinder, gentler sounds. As we do with our other senses, we need to turn off that interference, allowing beauty and wonder to begin their quiet, compelling conversation with us.

When Nature speaks, it’s for a reason; we should listen. She may be speaking to our minds, letting us know of something we should either interact with or avoid. Sometimes the message is for our bodies, reminding us of our physical limits.

But she also speaks, as Helen Keller’s mother did to her, to our hearts and our spirits, reminding us of our belonging to her.