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from chapter 2...The Sleeping Boy
After you’re relaxed in bed I want you to
visualize, she said.
Visualize?
Yes, I want you to let images come into your
head. You’re a visual person, remember? When some people access their
feelings they hear things. Some people have to move their bodies to act
out their feelings. You’re a visual person. You see things. I want you
to visualize.
What should I look for?
Don’t look for anything. Let whatever comes
come.
That very night I discovered the sleeping boy.
He was asleep on his side, his blond head on a pillow, a blanket drawn
up almost to his shoulders. One hand with curving fingers rested near
his face. I conjured up the sleeping boy several more times before our
next session.
What does he look like? Mrs. Jorgensen asked.
Just a little blond boy…peaceful. He looks
peaceful.
Peaceful?
Yeah, like he’s happy to be sleeping. Why am
I seeing him? Who is he?
Maybe he’s you.
Me?
Yes, maybe he’s you. Why don’t you try to
wake him.
I began trying to wake the sleeping boy. I had
no trouble invoking his image before going to sleep. A part of me felt
foolish as I visualized the sleeping boy and tried to wake him with a
gentle, internal voice, “Johnny, it’s time to wake up. Come on,
Johnny, time to wake up.”
I failed. And failed. And failed. For weeks my
sleeping boy slept peacefully on, as innocent as a little angel.
Finally, like an endlessly repeating loop of
slow motion film that shows Michael Jordan going skyborne from the foul
line to slam dunk a basketball, the sleeping boy rose from his bed and
rose from his bed and rose from his bed.
He was older than I thought. Perhaps an
8-year-old. Khaki shorts and
a white T-shirt. Lanky.
Did he say anything? Mrs. Jorgensen asked
No, he just stood up and stretched and smiled
at me, the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen! I couldn’t help smiling
back even though I knew it was a dream. I smiled back at him in my sleep
even though I knew it was a dream.
So you were happy?
Happy?
Yes, happy. Well, why do you look so
bewildered?
My God, I just realized I haven’t been happy
for a long time. Years maybe. Yeah, I guess I was happy, really happy.
I want you to talk to him, Mrs. Jorgensen said.
I want you to ask this boy why he was sleeping. Write it down so you can
tell me.
So I began to talk with the sleeping boy.
The first thing he told me was that he had
polio when he was six years old.
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