"Freud based his studies on hysterical, frustrated Victorian women. He was a man of his age and not relevant today. I agree he changed our thinking but we've progressed since then," Margaret countered.
"I agree, but did he maneuver psychology in the wrong direction?" Marvin asked.
Margaret shrugged her shoulders. She was a geologist graduate, not a psychology student like him. Besides, she was thirty-two and hadn't opened a text book in years.
Margaret and her ex-husband had a group of intellectual friends, often having discussions over a glass of wine, on every sort of topic. Of course, there had been arguments between the analysts and the behaviorists, though, she was no expert. Since the divorce there hadn't been many parties; none at all over the last few months.
"Hypnosis," he said. She shrugged her shoulders, so he continued. "As a student in Paris he used it. Returning to Vienna he had success when treating patients. Why don't we use it now?" he asked.
"I seem to remember he abandoned it because the results were poor," she answered.
"Yes. That was because he wasn't very good at it. Hypnosis had a bad name with the psychoanalysts, due to stage magicians misusing it. He dissociated himself from it to keep his wealthy patients. As you said, he was a man of his time. I think it's about time we researched the subject fully and used it in therapy," he enthused.
"It doesn't work, otherwise it would be used," she said.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Yes, of course. A friend tried it to quit smoking and it was useless," she asserted.
"You said yourself the stage charlatans gave it a bad name. Subjects, hypnotized on stage, just use the excuse to behave like fools. They are probably exhibitionists, wanting to lark about and entertain their friends," Margaret added.
"I could prove it to you. It does work," he stated.
"I'm not a hysterical woman or a simpleton, young man. I can't be hypnotized. Besides, what do I want to be hypnotized for?" she asked.
"You practice yoga and meditation, it could help with that," Marvin suggested.
"I'm not sure. There are similarities, perhaps an overlap between the two. Eastern methods approach it from the inner-self, inward meditation. Whereas, the western approach is from the outside, with drugs, alcohol or, yes, even hypnosis," she mused.
"You can't be hypnotized, yet you've been hypnotizing yourself for years, and calling it meditation," he countered.
She poured another glass of wine and pointed the bottle toward his glass, which he covered with a hand.
"What would be the point? I mean, there must be a certain task to aim for and a measurement of the results. Freud just used subjective experience, whereas today, we use scientific methods, empirical evidence," she replied.
"What about a yoga position you haven't been able to achieve?" he asked.
"There's lots of those positions," she laughed.
He looked away in case his eyes gave him away. She had a good figure for a woman of thirty. It was probably kept slim through the yoga exercises.
"We could aim for a deeper level of meditation. Difficult to measure, but you could score that. Then through a deeper meditative state, you could achieve one of the difficult yoga positions. That could be easily measured," he suggested.
Thinking it couldn't be done, she contemplated indulging the young man. His enthusiasm, and the wine, had worked on her sensibilities. It had been refreshing taking in a student as a lodger. She had missed these intellectual discussions, and it helped with the mortgage - her ex-husband had inconveniently left it for her to pay.
She wanted to keep the house and didn't want to lose Marvin's stimulating company. He was just nineteen and full of life and enthusiasm. He would soon learn that life wasn't so easy, and was full of knocks along the way.
She looked at him sympathetically. It was no wonder he didn't have a girlfriend, he was too serious. He was a nerd, and bound to become a reclusive professor one day.
"Alright, let's give it a go," she announced. "Have you got a watch to dangle before my eyes?" she teased.
Sitting on the sofa she took a series of deep breaths while holding an arm out straight. She helped the process, by relaxing, and achieving a deep level of meditation.
"Your arm is becoming heavy, you are drowsy, and your eyelids are becoming heavy. You are completely relaxed," Marvin told her.
There was no need to say it, for she was already tired and relaxed, though that was the wine's influence. She had been working hard to keep the house on, make new friends, and coping with the divorce; all these things and more, conspired to make her feel washed out.
"Listen to me and I will remove all those complicated, troublesome thoughts," Marvin continued to sooth her into a reliant and susceptible state of mind. "You are under my command now and will follow my instructions," he finally told her.
The subtle instructions would be easy for her to carry out. He got her to repeat them in different ways, to make sure they were embedded. "You will not remember the instructions as my commands, rather, you will think of them as your own wishes. You will score the meditation highly. You will feel relaxed and pleased with the session," he told her.
"So, what do you think?" Marvin asked.
"I. I don't feel as though I was hypnotized, though, yes, I feel good. I did reach a deeper meditative state. It's difficult to score. I think it might be easier to score a yoga position, perhaps, I'm not sure how, but maybe we could try that?" she asked.
It was disconcerting, offering to practice yoga in front of him. She wondered why she had. The frown on her face was lifted, when he smiled at her, as though she had come to the correct solution to a problem.
"Yes, we should do this properly. It's no good doing things half heartedly, let's go for it," she smiled back at him.
"Tomorrow then, we can make a start when I get back from classes?" Marvin asked.
Margaret looked disappointed. "Well, I guess so," she agreed.
Marvin stood up and wished her sweet dreams, leaving her sitting on the sofa, looking as though she wanted to say something. Not giving her a chance to back out of the promise, he quickly went to his room, to write up the notes on her progress.
He had a good idea what he wanted to achieve with this subject. At least a start had been made, toward accomplishing the plan.
***
The next day Margaret was busy with chores. It was a surprise to hear the front door open and close. She looked at the clock to see her lodger was home early.
