Shaking The Holiday Blues Away

an excerpt



Wednesday, October 28, 2015

For all his swagger, swath and swashbuckling, Indiana Jones, I believe, would envy me--at least, he would covet the breadth, depth and scope of adventure in my career. That is, he would, if Indy were a real man, and not simply a fictional amalgam of the square-jawed archeologist, modeled after early twentieth-century movie serials heroes, and created by George Lucas.

But the filmmaker's flamboyant fabrication would not envy the fact that I haven't been able to pitch him from my mind since last night when Clancy O'Toole and I went to the Indiana Jones double bill at the Aero in Santa Monica.

Indy trots the globe, risking life and limb, making archeology and anthropology look glamorous and kick-ass to moviegoers worldwide. They are neither glamorous nor kick-ass.

On the other hand, unlimited by space, time, dimension, and so-called "reality," my career adventures span the entirety and vastness of God's Creation. My profession is sometimes glamorous, but always kick-ass.

My work, last Thursday, illustrates nicely this truth.

My morning patient was a woman with a phobia of smokers. After regressing her to a past life in the seventeenth century, I discovered that her irrational fear was not based upon any present-life health concern; it was rooted in a previous existence. She had been burned as a witch in 1692, Salem, Massachusetts. Quite simply she had carried her sensitivity to smoke into her current life.

That very afternoon, the day's second patient had a morbid fear of technology. Under my hypnotic guidance, he went forward in time to a future life--one in the faraway year of 2215. Once there, we discovered that his technophobia was rooted in a precognition of his twenty-third-century life in which technology had severely compromised humanity, and ended his life prematurely. You see, by the twenty-third century, human beings will become technological-biological hybrids--more nuts and bolts than flesh and blood.

In his twenty-third-century life, my patient had been assassinated by an enemy who attacked his technological vulnerabilities.

I ended his fear of mechanical things by breaking the precognitive ties that bound him to that future hybrid self.

As last week's examples illustrate, their present versions are insufficient to contain the answers to life's greatest present-day challenges. Pretty damn kick-ass, right? Of course.

What's more, unlike Indiana Jones, my profession is limited only by the breadth, scope, and variety of Everything That Is. I may not risk life and limb--I'm not globetrotting, like Indy. I work from the comfort and safety of my Hermosa Beach, California office. But I get the job done, even if it means going back into a patient's long-defunct physical life, or one, that in Earth's faulty belief in past, present and future, has yet to unfold.

Indiana Jones is make believe--the product of a filmmaker's vivid imagination, but I'm flesh and blood--the real deal. That's why I believe that my life as a metaphysical adventurer would make Indy blush envy green.

Allow me to introduce myself. Dr. Minnow Saint James is my name, and, as you may have guessed, Past Life Hypnotic Regression therapy is my game.

At forty-one, I'm a fit and fabulous single gay man--six feet tall, lean of physique, with a coarse mane of chestnut hair, complimented by pure hazel eyes. When I want to appear wiser than I feel, I cast my eyes heavenward and stroke my goatee thoughtfully. When I'm looking to disarm someone, or ingratiate myself, running a hand jauntily through my hair usually does the trick.

If you subscribe to the belief that life begins at forty, then, as you can see, I've barely left infancy behind.

Working from a smart office suite with a spectacular Pacific Ocean View, I'm at the top of my career game.