By Atom Bergstrom
Marty and Linda introduced me to a couple who were house-sitting.
It was a sunny Sedona morning, and we all had coffee together.
The wife (let’s call her June) was a recent caregiver to a well-known Sedona guru before he died.
June asked me what I did for a living, and I told her I traveled around the country teaching body language.
“What kind of body language?” June asked.
I explained the concepts of MIND HACKING, though it was more than two decades before I gave it that name.
I told her a pain is always associated with a shock in the mind, and so forth.
“What if you have a pain from playing a musical instrument? My left arm often hurts because I play the bass fiddle.”
I was duly caffeinated, so I was intently observing her body language. “It’s possible, but in your case it’s not. If you give me permission, I’ll tell you what your trauma is.”
“Sure, tell me,” she said. By that time, June’s husband thought I was a kook and left the room.
“Let me ask you a crazy question. What color do you think of when you think of the pain in your arm?” I asked.
“Black,” she said.
“You have a death imprint from the death of your father.”
“Oh, my God!” she said. “I can’t move my arm. It’s paralyzed!”
I realized I’d pushed her too far, so I offered to work with her.
June lay on her back on the carpet, and I did figure-eights with her feet.
“I know what the trauma is!” she exclaimed.
“It’s not the trauma,” I said.
“How do you know?” she asked.
“There’s no reaction. It can’t be the reason.”
“Now I know what the trauma is,” June said after another few minutes.
“This is not it either. There’s no movement whatsoever.”
A few minutes later, her LEFT leg stiffened up like a two-by-four. Before she could say anything, I said, “THIS is the trauma.”
“Yes, it is,” she said with anger, “My Dad didn’t take care of himself. The [bleep] ate, drank, and smoked himself to death, and I had to be there for all that time to take care of him!”
June’s arm came back to life immediately.