I was living up in New Jersey with the notion of becoming a professional actor. I saw an advertisement in the newspaper about a hypnosis school in Irvington, NJ, which was just a few miles from where I lived. I decided to take the offered course that met a coupla nights a week for 18 weeks. It was operated by a guy named Harry Aarons. I was 24 years old.

Next month that will have been forty years ago. During the entire time I attended his classes I didn't think I was going into state. Typical... eh? The event of graduation was
significant. The guest speaker was Milton Erickson. I didn't know anything about him. I thought he had been invited to speak as a kindness to an old man who used to be somebody. I had the youthful impression that Harry was indulging him in recognition of
his being the founder of the Ethical Hypnosis Association, and that he had probably long since passed his usefulness. Stupid boy!

When he arrived at the Center he came in walking with two walking canes. It was obvious that his walking was a real struggle for him. I empathized with him immediately. He had the kindest eyes I thought I had ever seen. I associated him with my maternal grandfather. When he got to the front of the class they sat him in his wheelchair. Harry went through the opening ceremony with his usual aplomb. I didn't particularly like Harry. He was very forceful and that antagonized my problem with authority figures at that time of my life.

Dr. Erickson just sat there with a little smile on his face until he was introduced. Considering the obvious struggle he had walking I was surprised when he stood up to talk to us. He talked about ethics a lot. This irritated me somewhat. I was young, dumb, and full of cum, and definitely not in the mood for all this ethics jibberjabber. He talked like my father with his penchant for Ideals. I didn't wanna hear this ethics stuff from this half-dead old man, so I went through the motions of listening politely. Presently, I realize that I was deep in a somnambulistic state, but at the time I considered myself to be necessarily tolerant just to get through this ritual.

Harry had told us before hand that he was teaching us Ericksonian Hypnosis. This had no meaning to me. I didn't even connect Ericksonian Hypnosis with this old man standing, with great difficulty, before us. So, when he spoke of using his own brand of hypnosis, I didn't realize how concerned he was that we do so from an ethical point of view. Can you imagine his concern that this variegated group of 23 students was going to go out into the world in his nayme? We were all totally under his spell by this time.

In addition to his "talk", he called each of us up to the front of the class to give us our certificates of completion and a formal letter that made us associate members of the Ethical Hypnosis Association, and talked to each of us for three or four minutes individually. It appeared as if he knew us all. I figured Harry must have filled him in on us previously. I have no recall of what he said to me. I do remember he looked straight into my eyes as he talked to me.

I wrote earlier that he had the kindest eyes I had ever witnessed. While this impression has remained with me all these years later, he was not a particularly "nice" personality. He spoke softly, but very directly with absolute confidence in what he had to say. His word was unquestionable.

When we finished with the graduation ceremony, the graduating students and about twenty former students were invited into another room the visitors were not allowed to attend. Erickson spoke further for about 20 minutes. Afterwards, Harry and he gave a demonstration of non-verbal hypnosis. Then we went back into the main room and had
refreshments and chatted it up for a while and went our own separate ways.

It was years before I realized how drastically that one night changed my life. I came out of this encounter with more ethical consideration than I really felt I wanted or needed. The membership in the Association allowed us to open our own hypnosis business, and offered us protection if we got hassled by those who found such activity objectionable. I went through the motions of opening such a business later, but found I was not interested in or even very qualified to run a business. Except for using hypnosis with friends for non-therapuedic purposes hypnosis got put on the back burner until I read Frogs Into Princes.

I stumbled across this book in the local community college library while searching for books on hypnosis. I was fascinated by the notion of providing myself with the options for self-communication described in the book where it talked about "parts" having conversations with each other and the way NLP provided a negotiation stance in this regard.

Even more interesting was learning that Bandler and Grinder had modeled Erickson. It took me a while to recognize their descriptions were about this old man I thought I had pretty much ignored and figured I had long since put behind me. It was only upon reading Frogs that I realized what had happened in New Jersey all those years ago.
When I figured out that I had fooled myself about his competency, after all, Frogs came out twenty years after I met Erickson, all those episodes of moroseness and self doubt after the few hours I had spent with him became more clear. Things that had happened after our encounter revealed how deeply I had been moved by the power of his suggestions.

I have always been pretty much of an empath and seemed to "gnow" things I couldn't consciously access the source for. Previous to Erickson I was fairly belligerent and defensive when people questioned my sources for saying some of the things I said. Besides that, I was an inveterate liar. My "lying" was not really all that harmful to others, it was mostly a tendency to exaggerate my experiences in life to give the impression that I was far more knowing and much more experienced and wise than I really was, and it was me that suffered the humiliation of my own translucency. This isn't all that unusual for a young man, but I took it to unbelievable extremes and it was obvious that no such experience existed. I came by it fairly naturally, my mother and father did the same thing during my formative years. They were both school teachers, and I was constantly exposed to the way they treated others with deference to their face, and then I heard what they really thought about those people at home. I thought that creating a false image of self-esteem for other people's eyes for my own benefit was just what people in general did in public.

In all of my life there are not very many
who would give all they have
just to love me a while,
and those who have given
have just taken my misery,
and later they found out
they did so in vain.
Because the memories they started
didn't go when they parted and
I felt like I wasn't to blame.
But the answer don't matter
despite all the questions,
their loving still hoped me'
to conquer my pain.

Suddenly, after my confrontation with Erickson, with all his strong suggestions about ethics, I was not comfortable in the least with my tendency to exaggerate... to lie... and I eventually suffered a lot of humiliation in excising this habit from my daily affairs. I didn't know why I was confronting myself in this way. After all, a little white lie never hurt anybody, right?

The only way I knew how to stop lying and start telling the truth or refrain from making
overly exaggerated claims was to stop myself in the middle of one of my grandiose stories, and admit to my listeners that I had gone over the top, and to offer them a more accurate accessment of what really did or did not happen. Generally, this act of contrition was not what people wanted to hear. They seem to have preferred the lies even though it appeared obvious to them that I was not being straight with them. For reasons I could not fathom it was extremely important to me.

I was possessed of other personality attributes that come into conflict with Erickson's ethical considerations that left me conflicted. Since I couldn't figure out why I kept betraying myself in these areas I didn't know how to deal with what was happening. I became very depressed for a good number of years. I literally thought I was going crazy, and I received a lot of support for that notion from others. They appeared to rather enjoy me making a fool of myself.

I began therapy after I got out of the Navy and went back to school. I remained in therapy for years. I felt as if I got the most benefit from the psychologist I was seeing, but in typical fashion arrogantly suspected that a person of my depth needed to see a full-blown psychiatrist to really get to the bottom of my problems. I saw a psychiatrist at Duke University Hospital for a while, and then saw the error of my ways. I went back to the psychologist who didn't really care about his prestige or the money he was getting.

When I read Frogs, I began to understand what had happened or what might have happened during my encounter with Harry Aarons and Milton Erickson. I became intensely desirous of getting involved with NLP to explore how this earlier event with those two might have been responsible for not knowing why I was in conflict with the way I was raised and own own personality quirks. I seemed quite aware that the "high ideals" my father beat me into submission to was certainly a contributing factor. I read Frogs just furing the year after my father died.

I had moved in with my mother to help her with his dying. My father was nearly 88 years old, and my mother was 84, and she simply couldn't handle his situation physically. He was
bedridden and had been for a few years. He had to be rolled over to prevent bed sores every two hours and my old mother simply could not make it happen. He died early one morning, and although we had reached some degree of peace between us during the last year of his life, especially during my stay there in the last three weeks, when he died of pneumonia I reached to feel his forehead to see if he was really dead for sure. There was not a moment of his life that I did not live in fear of him, even when he got old and feeble and I was a strapping six foot tall and boxed at two hundred fifteen pounds. I thought I hated him. At his funeral I was the only one who openly wept including my mother. It amazes me how my attitude has changed since his death. The man had beaten me with regularity and severely enough for doctor's visits until I got big enough to stop him. Presently, I feel and experience deep remorse for the way I treated him. Despite the farce that my life has been, he was always there for me, and supported me in any way he could despite the fact that I sometimes publically ridiculed him in front of those who held him in deep respect. I have let a lot of people down who have been foolish enough to love me. No mas. I don't let people love me anymore. It's just too dangerous for their own sake. The ones who are already stuck there know fully well the price they have paid, and many regret the fact that they can't stop themselves from loving me anyway. Geez! Where did that come from? Writing! I never know what's gonna come from my fingers. I hope they don't read this blog. I visited my father's grave just yesterday. He's still in there. I'm pretty sure he won't read it.

There was another factor that come into play with this. I got a herniated disk from an auto accident up in Nebraska that had to be operated on during this same time. I was in extreme pain myself. The operation was totally successful and my recouperation was complete, but at that time, it was the only extended pain I have ever experienced. Good genes. My father never experienced any pain during his demise. He finally died from what the Home Nurse called "the old people's friend". I was the person who decided not to stop the pneumonia. He had informed me earlier to let him go. I obeyed him.

When my father died, my mother did not fare well. She fell on the church steps and ended up in the hospital herself, and her physician would not tolerate her living alone. I was already living there, even though I owned my own house, and I was the only single sibling, so I stayed with her for another two and a half years so she would not have to go to a rest home. It was like living with an Alzheimer's patient. The situation just about drove me really crazy. During one of her moments of forgetfulness she mistook me for her husband. She called me Bill, and told me exactly what she thought of their wayward son. I could not abide staying with her for very long after that. My youngest brother got me a job as an engineer where he was working. My older sister, the responsible one, found a companion to live with her, and I moved back in my house and joyfully went back to work. I avoid seeing my mother if at all possible. I have not been back to her house to visit in a long time now. She even lied to me. My father tried to tell me about her. I call HIM a liar. Much regret. He always told me I just wouldn't listen. Even in death he proved himself to be correct. Why could I have not known when he was alive so that I could tell him and ask his forgiveness. Why could he have not asked for mine? I guess we just didn't have it in ourselves to be open with each other.

I saved the money from my unemployment check to take Practitioner's training. I went to Wisconsin to study with Rex and Carol Sykes. I learned a lot from them, but I did not particularly care for Rex personally. He didn't do anything out of the way to merit my discomfort, and it did not interfere with the studies. I have always felt an unwavering need when I'm through with a teacher to kill the Buddha, and I found ways to kill Rex and Carol's influence with me by the by. Over the next few years I studied with Carmine down in Atlanta by attending three or four of his weekend seminars. After I thought I had gotten as much from him as was possessed growth potential, I killed his influence off too. I attended Bandler's DHE course, and never had any desire to return after that. However, I did not kill his influence for some reason, so I guess I figure he still has something to teach me. I was invited to attend a couple of other seminars for free while paying my own expenses by a couple of trainers I met and grew to respect due to my participation on NLPtalk, and for some reason I'm still open to those folks too. I doubt very seriousl if they remember me during the interim. Humility has come hard for me. even while gnowing through painful experience that modesty is the art of power.

I doubt if I will return to more NLP training sessions. I retired at sixty two to get a small check to live on. It's very difficult for me to tolerate the presence of others. By choice, I keep very few friends who I let visit. I'm not using NLP for any other purpose than my own personal life now. I move into my patter during normal conversation and do what I think will help without resorting to formalities or asking for recompense. I would rather do without or even die unwisely than to enter the public domain for any reason. I am retired from public work now, and have settled into a rigidly reclusive lifestyle except for what
communicating I do over the internet. One friend I have learned to feel comfortable around visited me briefly last night, we seem to fall into some very animated and interesting conversations every time we find ourselves in each other's company. He is the only real for sure genius of great, seemingly unlimited intellectual reach I have had the privilege of being friends with for over a few years, he is even more brilliant than he realizes, I think, and when he left my house we shook hands. His hand was the only other human I have touched for weeks. I have an old friend I've known for thirty years that is much more intelligent than I, especially in regard to personal insight and practicality, I have no idea why he doesn't ignore me and go his own way after spitting in my face. We lead totally different lives, and I am sure it has been embarrassing more than once to openly claim me as his dear friend. But, he's steady as the good earth, and I feel fairly sure he would welcome me in his house if I found myself in dire straits.

I have another friend who is Native American. It's taken a good twenty years to convince him of his inborn leadership and profound quickness. In the hypnosis sessions we have shared together he has met his true warrior nature by nayme, and he has carried me to meet his eternal teacher who sits in the cave with the blue stone light in a totally foreign universe light years away. He went from working in a factory on the assembly line to teaching at a couple of community colleges and owning a growing collection of rental units.

I have another friend who doesn't know we are friends yet. It's inevitable though. He has no where else to turn. He is not a youngush man. He has tried to let others inside only for them to find them fearful of such astounding profundity. His depth of understanding is such that even trying to meet them halfway puts their minds in shadowy places they are unable to bear.

Although I'm fairly sure I am playing the fool with myself, and probably it's some sort of hold-over from the days of my youthful exaggerations, I have the distinct impression that no one can come to my house without my tacit agreement. The front door is wide open whether I am at home or no. I have a telephone, but it's unplugged. I use the connection for the internet. I have made exactly three telephone calls n the last two years. I don't need either medium to communicate instantly with anyone I choose, but they do. Why would they not?

Finally, I think I have resolved the mystery of what happened during my encounter with Erickson. I feel like I understand what happened. I am not unhappy about running into him, on the contrary, he probably affected my life in those two hours we were in each other's company with others than any other person I've met. I was just way too young and too naive to understand the implications of my actions. I do feel that I could have been better informed about the possible consequences of what might transpire from that time, and yet it seems consistent with the rest of my life such that he saying "Fools rush in where angels fear to tread." might aptly stand as the perfect description of how I conduct my affairs. Act first, then try to figure out what happened. I expect death to result from doing things this way, and then I'll have eternity to figure out my final act of defiance. No
blame.

I looked up the term "fool" in my unabridged. One of the definitions is that of a court jester. Many of us have seen movies or plays where this careactor appears dressed in a classical uniform with the multicolored clothing and the hat with the top that droops.

Usually it is someone who is hired to break the monotony of formal proceedings and who allows the assemblage to see the ridiculousness of attempting to solve problems with the same old formulae that have worked in the past. Hopefully without the Queen drawing herself up into a solemn-faced majestic posture and declaring "We are not amused. Off with his head!"

During the last few years of television it appears that stand-up comedians seem to be prolific in getting jobs as serious actors. Many sit-coms use comedians as actors for leading roles. The comedians themselves suggest that when they are not onstage they are tragic figures who have learned to play the fool.

That's an interesting expression, "Playing the fool."

Just now I went downstairs to make my morning coffee and get on my exercise machine for a while. While I was working away counting repetitions I suddenly saw an image of my father from a long time ago when I was a little boy. He was participating in a student-faculty game, and he had stuffed a pillow under his shirt and was "cutting the fool" out on the basketball court. The crowd went wild to see this normally serious, very dignified man playing the part of a buffoon. In those moments he became endearing to them.

Of course, the court jester is imitating someone his audience recognizes all too well. Both in the people around them and in themselves. Have we all not taken ourselves too seriously on some occasion without recognizing what other people readily see?

If on such occasions a person points out our behavior as caricature to everyone present, do we not feel humiliated to the point of despair when they laugh uproariously at our expense? In a best case scenario we recognize we have gone over the top of believability and laugh with them. At worst, we take offense and stalk off in some indignant fashion to plot the offender's murder most foul.

They made us look like an idiot when we sought to be seen as wise. Idiotic behavior does exist or there would be nothing to compare such behavior with. There are people who constantly take themselves seriously without realizing the inappropriateness of their grandioso posturing.

I have done this. I have done that. Within the context of the surroundings I have found myself throughout my life I have played every role possible. Sometime deliberately, and other times without a clue.

Once, many years ago, when I was living in Key West, Florida a group of New York City emigres decided to put together an amateur theater. They were for the most part homosexual men who had been active in that cities theater crowd, and the plays they wanted to present had a gay theme. To me this was a direct challenge to my image of myself as an actor. I decided to audition for a part that was very "Nelly". That is, the role required an effeminate careactor. The directors of the group actually let me read for the part. I'm pretty sure they knew beforehand what they were in store for. I do not exhibit this type of behavior very well, but I had been around such people a lot, and I thought I would be able to pull it off. They laughed their heads off! It was the silliest thing I had ever tried to do in the theater. I slithered out of there feeling deeply disgusted with myself for ever thinking I could fool the professionals.

I seem sure there have been times I didn't even catch on that I was being mocked for acting foolish. On these occasions, the laughter and ridicule would suddenly die down, and be replaced with an awkward silence, and yet, there I stood, still yammering on, as if something I had not witnessed was the cause of their laughter. Why would they not then begin to entertain serious doubts of my intellectual competence? No blame. I can be a very gullible person.

My gullibility appears to exist as the bottom line of how I learn things. With some unfamiliar activities where I have never witnessed the actual performance of some rarely demonstrated, incredibly intricate routines, I may play the fool over and over again. Whatever humility I may possess springs directly from humiliation. Modesty is the art of power.

Yes, I am a fool. Praise God from whom all blessings flow. ;-)