Hypnotherapy: Richard the Lion-Heart

Note: before the session, the therapist and I had a brief conversation about the tension I feel about having no contact with my parents. I have a vague, but very strong sense that I should reconcile with my parents, that I had no right to just leave their lives without an explanation, that nobody would understand, that I could never have a ministry or a voice if I did not reconcile to them, and similar thoughts. On the other hand, my body (or my inner child) seemed to be screaming at me in the most emphatic way that it did not want anything to do with my parents, ever again. This was the very explicit content of several recent symbolic dreams. I don’t know how to explain it exactly, but I am learning to speak to and listen to my inner child (see previous post). This is the emotional side of my mind, which is more connected to my body (what we call one’s “heart”, but older civilizations called their “bowels” or “guts”). And my inner child has told me in the most uncertain terms that it does. not. trust. them, and it does not want anything to do with them, and my body will hurt if I let them close to us. This message also lines up with things I am learning about narcissism, and seems confirmed by healthy therapists, and by healthy voices in my life. Yet part of me still feels like I should reconcile. It is a vague message, but persistent and powerful.

We discussed this before the session, then, began the real content of the session:

A few weeks ago, I saw an image on social media (insert here). Something about it really jumped out to me. But before I could think more about it, I felt like, “No, not right now. There’s too much here.” It was the same as when I had been sorting through my old box of keep-sakes. I have a doll in there that was my teddy when I was 2-4. When I put it up against my face and smelled it, I felt a panic inside, and a voice like, “not right now. It’s too much!”

However, the pressure seems to have been rising these past few days. I am on a journey. My inner child is taking me on a journey. And this is the next thing. But I don’t want to go there because I know it will be painful.

So I began talking about this to my therapist. She said that there is a type of therapy that sees the mental landscape as three parts: the welcomed, the exiled, and the protectors. Sometimes, the protector parts of our minds protect us from the exiles, because they don’t want the system to be overwhelmed.

“Do you think that’s fair? That part of you is protecting you?”

Yes.

“If you could visualize this, what would it look like?”

I saw a large stone. Like the stone that rolled over the tomb at Jesus’ burial.

“What is its name?”

Protector is fine. (But I was thinking, his name is “no”)

“What does the protector do?”

Sometimes he shuts things off. Because there is too much darkness there.

“Could we ask him to move aside, so that the inner child can speak?”

It is not the inner child he is protecting us from. It is the darkness.

“What darkness is there?”

There is so much pain. So much loneliness. And hopelessness.

“Do you think that we could go in there to talk to the inner child?”

I realized that the darkness was there, but also the child. The two were separate. 

The protector rolled aside, and there was a dark tunnel. I entered into it. It was not so dark once I came in, although the walls were all charred black. There had been much smoke here once.

The child was lying on the rocks. He had been there a long time.

“Would you like to take what you need, to comfort the child?”

I wrapped him in blankets. So many blankets. But it did not seem to help. It seemed like too little, too late. The child was still trembling cold inside the blankets. 

I think that the child wants to speak. 

“OK then, let him speak.”

I was alone. So alone. And nobody was helping me. 

They were asking me for so much, and nobody was helping me.

Nobody cared for me. 

I had no friends. I was so alone.

They picked favourites, so my siblings would fight and pick on me.

I cried until my tears made my pillow stick to my cheek. 

So. many. nights. 

Sooo many dark nights. I was so lonely.

I felt deep sorrow as he spoke. My guts were tied up in knots, and I sobbed quietly.

“Is there anything else he wants to say?”

Mostly, it just felt really good to speak. Also, he wants to say that Jesus met him there. Jesus was his friend. Also, God sent a beautiful dog to be a comforter. And there were some friends along the way.

I took the little boy by the hand, and lead him out of the cave. Behind us, the cave shrank and disappeared.

“There is a large round table, with various parts of your mind sitting around the table. Would you like to invite the child to sit here with you?”

I invited the boy to sit. He came to the table and pounded it with his fist.

You will listen to me.

He was not mad, but he spoke with great authority. I suddenly realized he had become a strong and mature king. He was dressed in regal garments, and had become old — old, but not feeble. Very strong, and with a commanding presence. 

You will listen to me, he repeated, and then you will live well. 

He meant that I would have physical health. It was not good for me when he was locked in the cave, and I was not listening to him.

“How does that feel inside of you?”

It felt like a reunion. Like my guts were happy to have my mind, and my mind was happy to have my guts. Like there was love meeting itself in my body.

It is really strange, I said. All this time that boy was looking for somebody to be his friend…and not I am that friend. 

It was the most profound thought: to love one’s self is the end of loneliness. At least, the end of a certain kind of loneliness.

“Is there anybody else at the table that is drawing your attention?”

Well, there is a cynical looking man leaning against a beam of the wall. I suddenly realized that everyone was clapping to welcome the new king, but not this cynical man. He was not at all sure that this was a good thing. More of a step in the wrong direction, as far as he was concerned.

He was very pale, this man, and had already been pushed out of the circle. Yet he was still there in my mind.

“What is his name?”

His name is religion. (Shallow, man-made religion I mean)

“What does he want?”

The man sneered. You have always known what I want. Simple, straight-forward obedience. 

“What does he need?”

All you heart, soul, mind, and strength. 

“What will it feel like when he gets it?”

I will be stronger! The man laughed. Then caught himself and regained his cynical pose. I mean, nothing. Absolutely nothing will change. I don’t even need you. It’s just the right thing to do.

“And do you think that this religion is the one who has been trying to get you to reconcile with your parents?” 

“Imagine your body dissolving into liquid strength. Then, feed it to him in any way that you find appropriate.” 

I saw my body dissolving into a golden liquid, like in a previous session. But he wasn’t thirsty. And so I made it into a golden book on a pulpit. His eyes lit up and he greedily flipped the pages. Faster and faster. A golden energy went from the book to his eyes, and mind. He kept flipping faster and faster. Then I made another book, and another. 

“Give him all of your strength, and your mind and body.”

I felt the strength in my shoulders, and with a shudder gave him all of my strength. I could see his feet (he was sitting on a pedestal or chair) turn into the tail of a snake, and slowly begin to uncoil. But he was not uncoiling to strike, but unwinding. The more he read, the more he unwound. Finally, there was just enough of him to flip the pages. 

As he was doing this, I thought of my mad desire to learn more and more and more. How much of this was due to this shadowy figure of religion?

He kept flipping until there was nothing left of him. No books, no reader.

“Would you like to call on something in his place?”

A strong, very stalwart man came striding in, wearing a knights armour. He knelt behind his massive sword. He did not ride a horse, but a great beast (which could have been part dog, part bear, but was in the shadows so I could not see. It was very massive and brown and hairy, and powerful, but a submissive and gentle creature. But not a creature to be trifled with.

I am sir Richard, the Lion-Heart.

“What is his promise to you?”

I will be strong, without cutting out your heart.

“What will you do for you?”

I will not let them get close to your heart.

“What is his promise to you?”

I will not get between you and your Lord.

“What do you need to summon him?”

Pray. 

“OK, that is great. Would you like to invite him to the table?”

He was a good deal larger than Religion had been. Others had to scoot out of his way. But there was enough room. He sat down, and his deep laughter filled the hall.

“Is there anyone else that you would like to speak to?”

I have just a word…passivity.

“OK, and do you have a mental image of passivity?”

I saw a young man sprawled across a chair. The picture of passiveness. He was flicking a yo-yo back and forth. Every fibre of his being was relaxed, and passive — from his droopy eyes to his oversized t-shirt to his legs sprawled all over the lazy-boy.

“And why do you think he is here?”

Because how I was raised…

You had to obey, or you would be punished.

And you had to agree, or you would be punished.

And you had to feel what they felt, or else you would be punished.

And if you tried something and it didn’t work, you would be punished (laughed at, shamed at the least)

If you made a mess, you would be punished

If something when wrong, and you were nearby, you were punished.

If they were in a bad mood and you were nearby, and looking in any way happy, strong, or “better” than them, you were punished (“what are you smiling about?!” “Wipe that stupid grin off your face.” “Oh, you think it’s funny, do you!?” “Oh yeah, I bet you’re real happy about this…”)

…and so often, it was best to just do nothing. To go passive. Blank-face. No expression, no ideas, no plans, no hopes, no dreams. Just passive. Like a deer in the headlights. Then, we might still receive some disapproval. But at least, not be punished.

“And do you feel grateful towards passivity?”

It is hard to feel grateful towards him. I feel like I could have made better use of many of those years. 

But then I thought of some of the real beatings that my brother had received. Times when he dared to defy our father when he was angry. When his anger demanded complete submission…and my brother dared to defy him. And was beaten or thrown or cursed at or had his most precious possessions smashed to pieces in front of him. 

Passivity had saved me from that. It had had its place. I was grateful.

“Do you think you should ask passivity to leave?”

Well, passivity may have saved my life when I was kidnapped in Africa. There is a time for passivity.

“So do you think passivity may be another protector?”

Yes, it may be. 

“Do you think maybe you could ask it to move places? Like, maybe it is in a central seat, and it could move to more of a background seat?”

I realized that in the past, passivity may have played more of a role than I had thought. Maybe he sat too often in the “chief” seat. Not as a person that I accessed, but as the one which ruled the others. 

Part of the problem, I confessed to my therapist, is that most of my content is created online, and it is the sort of content that gets people talking about real issues. But that leads to controversy. And it can be hard to know when more controversy is too much controversy. 

But it is important for me to note that there is not a white wall of terror following me. When I was a child, very terrifying things could happen to me. When I was kidnapped in Africa, very terrifying things could have happened to me. And so passivity was necessary. But most of the time online…all that can really happen is for someone, somewhere in the world to be mad and me. And this is not really a reason for me to shut down all operations, and tell everyone at the table to be silent. 

“Do you think you need to tell passivity something?”

I need to tell it that it should not tell all the others to be silent, and also suggested that he move from the primary seat to a seat more in the back.

I discussed this with passivity, who sat up sharply, laughed (in the high-pitched nasally tone of a teenager whose voice is changing) Oh, it was all an act anyway. Where would you like me to sit? I’ll be there when you need me. He quickly and graciously got up and sat at the end of the table, behind me.

“Is there something else that you would like to talk about?”

There is…kind of…a big mouth in the middle of the table. And…this may be something that my conscious mind is wrestling with. But I am a content-creator, and an aspiring author. I have several projects on the go. But just when I get one started, I quit. And I’m not sure if it’s because I go passive, or I lose interest, or what. I don’t know why I can’t get the big mouth at the centre of the table to just “speak.” I seem to start and stop, start and stop. But I can’t stick with something long enough.

“Do you think that you are procrastinating?”

I don’t really think so.

“Is it because maybe there is nobody in charge? Why don’t you appoint someone to be in charge?”

There was a comical scene where all of the members of the table got up and started jabbering to one another. “You be in charge.” “Who, me? Why should I be in charge? No, you be in charge!” And so on.

Nobody came forth as a clear winner, except that Richard the Lion-Heart was fresh on my mind.

What about him?

“Do you think that he is creative? That seems to be something you are trying to unlock right now.”

No, he’s not especially creative. (That was another person at the table, but she was in the shadows)

“Do you think he’s a great communicator?”

Not especially. (He can be rather direct, and an over abundance of honesty can at times be perceived as immodesty of speech, arrogance, or mistruths. He is not the best of communicators, when speaking directly)

“Do you think that maybe you should sit at the chief seat? And rule over all of the others?”

I saw that I went to the throne before the round table. The table would spin on an axes in the middle, and I could access whomever I needed for the task at hand.

“Is there anyone else that you would like to access?”

Agression.

“OK, tell me more.”

In a previous session, I saw a defender represented as a golden retriever. This defender replaced shame. It promised to give me unconditional love, to be angry when my rights were violated, and to never bite my children. And this has been true! I have been standing up for myself. I have actually surprised myself with how I have been standing up for myself. And there have been some very disturbing and really wrong things that have happened lately, and this sense of anger has really responded to that.

But sometimes, I have been angry about a legitimate thing, but was not really calmed down from that when a second thing came, and then a third thing. And the third thing was not really that big of a deal, and I found myself over-reacting. Kind of a buildup of cortisol, I suppose.

“OK, do you think you could call on other resources to help with this?”

I am seeing an ill-defined form. There is lavender, and the colour purple.

“OK, that sounds good. So that is calmness. When you are feeling overly stimulated by anger, you can call on calmness to soothe you and remove the anger.”

At this point, our time was nearly up. 

I did not have any other pressing matters to speak about. I was curious as to whether the dark cave had really closed up, and was surprised to find that it had. It turns out that once I let the child speak, and felt sad for him, the darkness evaporated. 

I feel that I am becoming more whole, healthy, and integrated. 

I look forward to meeting more people at this table, and seeing how they can become allies, and learn their proper place at the table. 

Chantelle Neufeld is a registered hypnotherapist. Her services are reasonably priced and available online. To book an appointment, click here.