Free Life's Golden Ticket by Brendon Burchard Page B

delight.
    â€œIt’s me, old friend.”
    Harsh jumped from his seat and wrapped Henry in his arms. He towered over a foot above Henry but was much skinnier. “Old friend!” he shouted. “What are you doing here?” Then he abruptly pulled away, looking at me, then back at Henry. Concern was written all over his face.
    â€œHenry, now just what are you doing here?”
    â€œI’ve brought the kid in, to help him out.”
    Harsh seemed almost panicked. “Goodness, Henry! Do you know what that means? Is it time? Are you sure?”
    Suddenly I remembered what big Betty had said at the entranceway, that it was a big deal that Henry was helping me out. Henry, too, had said it was a big deal, though he never told me why.
    â€œWhat does that mean?” I asked. “What does it mean that you’re helping me out, Henry?”
    The two men just looked at each other as if I hadn’t spoken.
    â€œGeez,” Harsh breathed, staring at Henry in disbelief. “You are sure.”
    Henry nodded.
    Harsh looked at the ground and kicked the earth.
    An awkward few moments passed. I felt as though I were on the outside of a big secret.
    â€œOkay,” Harsh said. “How can I help?”

    T he show started. After a brief introduction, Harsh bounded onto the stage like a teenager. The crowd of about a hundred clapped politely, the way crowds do when they’re interested but have no clue who the performer is.
    Harsh launched into his act: “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight you’re going to be stunned by the power of your subconscious mind. You’re going to laugh at your friends; you’re going to learn to control your thoughts and actions; you’re going to be hypnotized! ”
    The crowd clapped, harder this time, and a few people whistled. Standing to the right of the stage, I chuckled at the crowd. They were excited about being hypnotized?
    Harsh asked the crowd to close their eyes and start counting back from fifty. He told them he was not hypnotizing them but just testing to see if they were able to be hypnotized. While they were counting down, he explained what hypnosis was, stressing the word control several times. “. . . You are the one in control of your mind. . . . If hypnotized, you will still be in control of yourself.” At the end of the fifty seconds, Harsh asked who in the crowd absolutely believed they could not be hypnotized. “Who among you believes you are in complete control of your mind?”
    About half the crowd raised their hands.
    â€œGreat!” Harsh said. “We’ve found our pool of volunteers!”
    Harsh chose ten people—five men and five women—and asked them to come to the stage.
    As they arrived, I told them to stand shoulder to shoulder, facing the crowd, just as Harsh had instructed me to do before the show.
    Harsh looked at the ten people and asked, “Now, how many of you are shy? How many of you are truly embarrassed to be standing in front of the crowd right now?”
    A skinny, short woman in a black skirt raised her hand. So did a heavyset woman in a red sweater and a tall man in a white jersey.
    The hypnotist asked those three people to come to the front of the stage. “Now, everyone give a hand to these three brave souls.”
    The crowd clapped, and Harsh scanned all the volunteers’ faces.
    â€œNow, the truth is, I know that all ten of you are a little nervous right now,” he said. “So tell you what: I want all ten of you to just close your eyes for a second and take a deep breath. . . . Good. . . . Now let it go. Good. Breathe in deep again and hold it: one, two, three, four. Now exhale slowly: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Now, just calm yourselves down. Tune out all the nervous thoughts and just tune in to my voice. . . . Tune out all the thoughts running through your head. . . . Turn off your thoughts. . . . That’s it . . . just listen to my