Full text of the trance, with the time each section begins. Stage directions and pauses are left out.
Before we begin
Before we begin, a short note. This recording is for adults. Don’t listen while driving, or anywhere you need to pay attention to something else. Find a place where nobody needs you for a while. And if at any moment you need to be fully awake, you can be. Open your eyes, put your feet on the floor, say your name. You’ll be clear, alert, and free of everything in this recording. What we do here works on one thing only: your attention. Where it goes, and where it stays. It doesn’t work on anyone else. Nobody else agrees to anything because you listened to this. Keep that in your pocket. It will matter later. Here is the idea. When two people rub against each other, with words, with opinions, with a raised eyebrow across a table, heat appears. Most people treat that heat as a problem. They leave. They argue to win. Or they smooth it over until it’s gone. You’re going to learn to do something else. Stay. Hold it. Let it warm you. At the end, you’ll take one word with you. It stays awake for three days. After that, it fades, unless you choose otherwise.
The terms
I’m going to give you simple instructions. Follow them as well as you can. That’s all hypnosis is, really. Following instructions, one after another, until following becomes easier than not following. You already know this state. You know the moment in a conversation when the room seems to get smaller and warmer, and you can hear your own pulse. Everything else drops away. That’s a trance. You’ve been in it a hundred times without a name for it. Today it gets a name. So. Sit or lie down so your body doesn’t have to hold itself up. Let your hands rest wherever they want to rest. And take one slow breath in … and let it out, longer than it came in. Good. One more. In … and out, all the way down. Now look at a point slightly above eye level. A spot on the wall, the ceiling, anywhere. Keep your eyes on it.
Eyes
Keep looking at that spot. And as you look, let the small muscles around your eyes begin to relax. The ones at the corners. The ones under the brows. Now close your eyes. Let those muscles relax so completely that the lids feel like they could stay closed by themselves. You know they could open. That’s fine. You’re simply letting them rest, so deeply that opening them would feel like too much work right now. Some people feel the lids grow heavy. Some feel them light, almost floating. Some feel nothing special at all, just closed eyes. Every one of those is right. Take that relaxation you have in your eyes now, and let it spread. Up over the forehead. Into the scalp. Down the back of the head. Into the jaw. Let the teeth come apart a little. Let the tongue lie flat. Down the neck. Into the shoulders, and let them drop. One more centimetre than you thought they could.
Body
Send it down your arms now. Upper arms. Elbows. Forearms. Into the hands, the fingers, all the way to the tips. Down through the chest. Every breath out lets it go a little further. Into the stomach. Into the lower back, where you keep the things you don’t say. Let that soften too. Hips. Thighs. Knees. Calves. Down into the feet, the soles, the toes. Your whole body, from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet, resting. Heavy, or light, or simply still. In a moment I’ll ask you to open your eyes and close them again. When you close them, let the relaxation double. Open your eyes now … and close them. Double it. Let it go twice as deep. Once more. Open … and close. Double again. Sinking further with every breath out. Good. Leave the eyes closed now. Your body knows what to do. It’s the mind’s turn.
Numbers
Your body is relaxed. Now we relax the mind, and the mind relaxes with numbers. In a moment you’ll begin to count down from one hundred, slowly, silently, inside your head. After each number, say the words “deeper relaxed.” And as you do, let the numbers grow quieter. Smaller. Further away. So that by ninety-seven, or ninety-five, or somewhere along the way, they’ve grown so quiet they simply stop being worth saying. Begin now. One hundred … deeper relaxed. Ninety-nine … deeper relaxed. Let them fade. Ninety-eight … deeper relaxed. Keep going on your own. Let each number be smaller than the one before. Push them away if you like. Or just let them drift. Maybe they’re already gone. Maybe one or two are still floating around somewhere in the back. Either way, let them go now. Every number that leaves takes a little more noise with it.
Quiet
That’s it. Numbers gone, or nearly gone. Mind quiet, or quieter than it was. Check for a moment what’s already different. Maybe your body feels heavier. Maybe lighter. Maybe your breathing has slowed without you asking it to. Maybe there’s simply a little more space between your thoughts. Whatever you notice, that’s the trance. You’re in it. And it deepens by itself now, every time you breathe out. I want you to know one more thing before we go further. In this state you’re not asleep. You’re more awake in a certain way. Focused, the way a lens focuses light into one point. And that’s the kind of state we’re building today. Not a drowsy one. A sharp one. Calm on the surface, and very much alive underneath. Breathe out. And go one step further down.
Flint
There’s a stone called flint. Grey, plain. You could hold it in your hand all day and nothing would happen. It’s cool. It’s quiet. And then you strike it against steel. Not gently. One sharp strike. And a spark jumps out, hotter than either of them. Neither the stone nor the steel makes that spark alone. It lives in the place where they meet. In the friction. For as long as there have been people, they’ve carried flint with them because of that. Not to avoid the strike. For the strike. You know people who avoid every strike. They agree. They nod. They keep everything smooth and cool, and nothing ever catches fire. And you know the other kind, who strike so hard and so often that everything breaks. There’s a third way. Strike. Feel the spark. And stay right there, in the place where it happened, long enough to let it catch.
The moment
Now go back to a moment. Any moment when you were with someone you found attractive, and something rubbed. A disagreement. A tease. They said you were wrong about something. They laughed at your choice of drink. They looked at you and said no, that’s not how it is. It doesn’t have to be a big moment. Small ones work best. Let one come. Whichever comes first is the right one. See the place. The light. Where they were sitting or standing. And feel what happened in you. Maybe heat in the face. Maybe a tightness in the chest or the throat. Maybe your eyes wanted to look somewhere else. Maybe some part of you got ready to leave, or to win, or to make a joke so it would all go away. All of that is the spark. You just didn’t know what to do with it yet. Stay in the scene. Don’t change anything. Simply be there again, with that heat in you.
Stay
Now, in that scene, do one thing differently. Stay. Feel your feet. Wherever they were, feel them under you now. Heavy, on the ground. Let your breath drop lower. Out of the chest. Down into the belly. Slow. And keep your eyes where they are. On them. Not hard. Not staring. Simply not leaving. And feel what the heat does when you don’t run from it. It doesn’t explode. It doesn’t take over. It rises, slowly, like warm water filling a bowl. Into the chest. Into the stomach. Lower. It’s allowed to be there. You don’t have to fix it. You don’t have to say anything clever. You don’t have to win. Just stay. Feet down. Breath low. Eyes steady. And let the warmth grow, as much as it wants to, as slowly as it wants to. This is what you came here to practise. Holding heat without spilling it.
Read it right
Now listen to what they said in that moment. The no. The you’re wrong. The little laugh. Here’s something most people never notice. Someone who doesn’t care about you doesn’t push back. They nod and drift away. When someone contradicts you, they’ve leaned in. They’re paying attention to you. Their words are reaching for you. It’s a kind of touch, made out of words. So when the contradiction comes, you can feel it land, the way a hand lands on your arm. And you can enjoy it. Let a slow smile come, if it wants to. Let the pause before your answer be long. And keep one thing very clear, clearer than anything else in here. A no about an opinion is friction. A no about their body, or yours, or about getting closer, is a door closing. When a door closes, you step back. With the same calm. The same warmth. Nothing lost. Friction you keep. Closed doors you leave closed. That’s what makes the heat safe to hold.
The other side
Now, just for a moment, change seats. Sit where they sat. Look across at yourself. You’ve just said, no, you’re wrong. You’ve pushed a little. And you watch to see what happens. Most people, when you push, either fold or push back harder. Both are disappointing in their own way. One is too soft to lean on. The other turns a game into a fight. But the person across from you now does neither. They stay. Their feet are planted. Their breathing is slow. Their eyes stay on yours, warm, a little amused. They let your words land, and you can see that they landed. Feel what that does in you, sitting on that side. Something relaxes. Something else wakes up. You can push here, and nothing breaks. You can be fully yourself, sharp edges included, and you’re still met. That’s what you’re giving them when you stay. Not agreement. Something better. Somewhere to lean. Now come back to your own seat.
The word
Go back into the scene once more. Feet down. Breath low. Eyes steady. Their contradiction landing on you like a hand. And the heat rising in you, slowly, filling the bowl. Let it rise more now. A little more. And as it reaches its strongest point, bring the thumb and first finger of your right hand together. Press them. Gently, firmly. And inside your head, say one word. Flint. Feel that. The press of the fingers, the word, the warmth, the steady eyes. From now on, for the next three days, these belong together. When you press thumb and finger and think the word flint, in a moment of friction with someone who draws you in, the stillness comes back, and the heat with it. Let the fingers go now. Let your hand rest. And go down with that feeling. Twice as deep as before. All the way down to where it’s quiet.
Deeper
Good. You’re halfway now, and you’re deeper than you were at the start. Let’s take you further. Breathe in, and as you breathe out, let your whole body sink another layer. Again. In … and out. Another layer. Feel the weight of your hands. The weight of your head. Let the floor or the chair carry all of it, so there’s nothing left for you to hold. And while the body sinks, notice that the mind stays bright. Like a single lamp in a dark house. Small, clear, steady. That’s the state you’ll take with you. Body loose and heavy. Attention bright and awake. Most people think you have to choose between relaxed and alert. You don’t. Some of the most alive moments of your life happened exactly here, loose and lit at the same time. One more breath. In … and out. And let the next part go in by itself.
A table for two
Now let me take you somewhere new. An evening. Some days from now, maybe sooner. A table for two somewhere, a bar, a kitchen, a bench outside. Someone across from you. And the conversation catches on something. A film. A city. A small opinion of yours. And they say, with a look, no. Absolutely not. And there it is. The little jolt. The spark. You press thumb and finger, almost too small to see. The word, flint, inside. Feet down. Breath low. Eyes on theirs. You don’t rush. You let the pause stretch. Maybe you smile. Maybe you say, tell me why I’m wrong, and you actually want to hear it. And you see what happens in them when you stay. When you don’t flinch and don’t fight. They lean in a little further. Their voice changes. Something between you gets warmer, quieter, thicker. Stay with it. Let it build.
The band
Imagine the space between you as an elastic band. You hold one end, they hold the other. When you both lean back into easy agreement, the band goes slack. Nothing pulls. Nothing happens. When one of you lets go, it snaps, and stings, and it’s over. But when you both hold your ends, and lean away a little, the band stretches. And that stretch is the feeling you’ve been looking for. Pull. Tension. Something that wants to be closed. Your job is simple. Don’t drop your end. Don’t yank it toward you. Hold it. Lean back into your own opinion, warmly. Let them lean back into theirs. And feel the stretch. In the stomach. In the hands. A low hum that goes on underneath the words. The longer you hold it, calmly, the more it hums. You don’t have to resolve anything tonight. Some bands are better held than closed.
When both move
And sometimes, the band closes by itself. Somewhere in the middle of the friction, the voices get lower. The laughs get shorter. The pauses get longer. The eyes stay a beat longer than they need to. You catch it, because you’re still there. Feet down. Breath low. Eyes steady. You didn’t leave, so you’re present for the moment when the argument turns into something else. A hand that stays on an arm. A face that comes a little closer. The heat you’ve been holding finds somewhere to go. And you let it move only when it’s moving in both of you. When they come toward you as much as you go toward them. That’s the whole secret. Hold the heat alone. Share it only together. Where it goes from there, a kiss, a night, something longer, is for the two of you to find out. Slowly, or fast. With every yes being a real one.
On the screen
And friction doesn’t only happen across a table. Sometimes it arrives as a message. A phone lights up on the counter. A tease. A challenge. You’re wrong about that, and you know it. And the old reflex wants to answer at once. To explain. To defend. Or to send a laughing face and make it go away. Feel the phone in your hand now. Feel the spark arrive, right there in the hand, in the chest. And do what you’d do across a table. Feet down. Breath low. Press thumb and finger, if you like. Flint. And let the message sit there for a moment, unanswered. Not to play games. Just long enough to enjoy that it reached you. Then answer from the stillness, not the jolt. A little slower. A little shorter. Holding your end of the band. You’ll notice the conversation changes temperature. The words on the screen get warmer. The spaces between them, more interesting.
Again
Now another moment. Real or imagined, past or future. Someone else, or the same person. Another table, another street, another message on a screen. Another small no. Another tease. Another spark. Feet down. Breath low. Eyes steady. Feel the heat rise and fill. And at the strongest point, press thumb and first finger together. And think the word. Flint. There. It stacks. Each time you do it, the press and the word and the warmth grow closer together. Like a path that gets clearer every time someone walks it. Let the fingers go. One more time, quickly now. Any moment. Any face. A spark. Feet, breath, eyes. Press. Flint. And release. Maybe the feeling came right away. Maybe it’ll take two or three tries over the next days. Both are normal. Both work.
Awake and charged
Now something important about how this travels. This isn’t a trance you leave here on the floor. When you open your eyes in a few minutes, a part of this state comes with you. The calm surface. The live current underneath. For the next three days you’ll be awake, clear, doing everything you normally do, and somewhere in the back there’s a pilot light. Small. Steady. It burns only where it belongs. In moments of flirting, of dating, of friction with someone who draws you in. At work, in traffic, at the shop, it’s just a word, just your fingers, nothing more. And when the right moment comes, a tease, a contradiction, a look that pushes back, the pilot light turns up by itself. Or you turn it up. Press. Flint. Feet down. Breath low. Eyes steady. You’ll find yourself staying in moments you used to leave, and enjoying moments you used to smooth away.
What others notice
And others may notice before you do. Your voice, a little lower, a little slower. Not on purpose. It just comes from further down, where the breath is. Your shoulders, a little wider, because you’ve stopped bracing for impact. Your eyes, staying one beat longer when someone teases you, instead of dropping to the table. You won’t need to do any of this deliberately. The feet, the breath, the eyes, they’ve been practised now, here, many times in a row. They know the way. And every time you stay in a spark instead of leaving it, it gets a little easier. The second time easier than the first. The third time almost natural. And you may find that people argue with you more. That’s not a problem. That’s the sound of people leaning in. Enjoy it. Hold your end. Let it hum.
Three days, then your choice
Here are the rules of the word. Simple, and yours. For the next three days and three nights, seventy-two hours from now, the word is awake. After that, it begins to fade on its own. Like a smell in a room after the window opens. When the three days are over, you have three choices. You can listen to this recording again, and the word wakes up for another three days. You can let it fade, and it fades, and what you’ve learned stays without the signal. Or you can keep it running. Press thumb and finger, think flint, and decide: one more day. Each time, one day. Never longer than you choose. And at any moment, if you want it gone, think this once, clearly: flint is just a stone. And it’s just a stone again. And if ever you need to be fully awake at once, you can be, and you’ll feel good, and completely free of everything said here.
Coming up
Now see the next three days in front of you, briefly. Tonight. Tomorrow. The day after. Somewhere in them there’s a moment you don’t know yet. A message that teases. A conversation that tilts. A person across a table who says, no, you’re wrong, with that look. And see yourself there. Not doing anything special. Just staying. Feet on the ground. Breath low. Eyes steady. Thumb and finger, barely touching. Feel how it changes the air between you. Feel the spark not go out. Maybe it happens once. Maybe several times. Maybe not until the second or third day, when you’ve almost forgotten. Any of those is how it was meant to be. And each time, you’ll know a little better how to hold heat without spilling it. Good. Now let’s bring you back. Awake, sharp, and charged.
Up
I’ll count from one to five. With each number you come up, clearer and more awake. At five your eyes open and you’re fully here. One. Feel the weight of your body again. Where it touches the floor, the chair, the bed. Two. Breath getting fuller, quicker. Energy coming back into your arms and legs. Three. Move your fingers. Move your toes. Feel the warmth still there, low and steady. Four. Your name. The room around you. Today’s date. Your head clear, light, and wide awake. Five. Eyes open. Fully awake, fully alert. Feeling good. Stretch, if you want. Look around the room. Find one thing in it you hadn’t seen before.
Out
You’re here. Clear and awake. The word is yours for three days. Flint. Go strike something.