A Story

“Every patient is different, every life is unique, all are extraordinary! »

 Descending from an impressive line of illustrious psychoanalysts, François Urubès wasvery well aware of that fact… At least as well aware as his grandfather, the venerableDr Urùbes-Lima, trained by Freud in Vienne, whose London office adjoined those of Ferenczi and Alice Miller. And at least as well aware as his father, Juan-Carlos, a celebrity in Buenos Aires, New York and even Sydney, thanks to his conferences on the“fantasy-based realisation of former lives during analytic therapy”.
The protagonists of this story are a “psychoanalyst with affluent clientele”at grips with his obsessions and an irresistible Shaman priestess from a foreign land.

Their encounter would have been unlikely had he not been wishing for it forever, for all eternity and for the day after…

In his adolescence, the future Don Juan had suffered greatly from the absences of his father, constantly occupied with his Conventions, and the open indifference of his mother, too concerned with her innumerable lovers. Left to his own devices, the young François had spent his time in front of the Living Room TV, gorging himself on idiotic programmes.

The most incongruous images fascinated him, especially when it came to world’s records: the man capable of suspending a 32-kg chair from each end of his moustache, the woman who climbed 9,895 steps of a stairway in less than four hours, or the man who managed to smash 22 watermelons with his head in less than a minute.

 In that Universe, which simultaneous reassured him and filled him with anxiety, our hero’s personality gradually took shape. Young François became a collector, showing a predilection for decks of cards, which allowed him to escape into parallel Universes on the cheap, without ever arousing the suspicions of his entourage. He was soon to amass several hundred Tarot decks of Marseille, Rider-Waite, and Wirth. Gypsy fortune-telling cards. Oracle Tao, Oracle Ge, Messages Lumière, Flower Tarot, Spirit World Tarot, Samurai Tarot. Reïki cards. Féminitude…

In that period of his life, which was also the time when he felt the first stirrings of love, François was therefore free to navigate among the imagesof the The Creative Woman, the Sorceress, the Welcoming Woman, the Huntress, the Player, The Goddess, The She-Fox, The Luminous Woman, and the Mysterious Woman…

His life plan was all set: to the collect the Women… of his Tarot fetish:

• the most… intelligent, because true beauty is internal;

• the most… rich, because handsome men’s women are rich;

• the most… passionate, because life isn’t life without passion;

• the most… beautiful, because beauty invokes the truth;

• the most… talented, because nature imitates art

• the most… dreamy, because calm often comes before the storm;

• the most… free, because we all love freedom;

• the most… loving, because it’s so comfortable;

• the most… cheerful, because laughing is contagious;

• the most… mysterious, because no man can resist it…

To “accumulate” them, just by drawing cards and… by waiting. To become a psychoanalyst, like his father and grandfather, would be HIS solution!And his Office would be our Collector’s trap.

One after another those archetypes of the eternal feminine would find François in his baroque Office: besides the customary furniture, it contained a multicoloured hammock and a replica of the Dali’s famous red sofa. Nevertheless, none of the encounters with such femmes fatales would go beyond their first meeting…

Several times, it was François himself who decided to put an end to what was threatening to become a stable and enduring union: such was the case with The Intelligent Woman, The Talented Woman, and the Dreamy Woman. In the case of the Rich Woman, as well as the Passionate Womanand the Loving Woman, it was François’ Supervisor who intervened, like the statue of Il Commendatore. Three times, it was the woman who put an end to the relationship: The Beautiful Woman, the Free Woman, and the Laughing Woman.

Finally, The Mysterious Woman came on scene, for a series of seven session that would forever transform François. Carole represented feminine power in all its splendour. She is all a man hopes for and fears at once. Eccentric, exotic, ecstatic, exuberant. Extenuating, extravagant andexciting. So extraordinary and so brilliant. So moving…

There’s Carole face, so hieratic and multiracial, her laughing eyes and wild hair. Her ideal forehead and arched eyebrows.

Her mouth, splendid and iridescent when she laughs heartily or in silence, or else in roars, and also when she laughs very softly.

François loved her long sleeveless dresses, colourful and swirling. He cherished her sensitive hands and the old silver ring that adorned her left middle finger, a double serpent set with enormous gems, cut in the antique fashion. He loved the colour of her skin, which seemed powdered with old gold, and the enigmatic wheel tattooed on her right shoulder. He was even fond of her big bizarre necklace, with its innumerable skillfully carved and amazingly realistic figurines.

Under the dizzying spell of Carole, the young man literally collapsed. Without putting up any resistance. Permanently and primitively. Involuntarily and irremediably. Against his will, like a scientist who, after devoting his whole life into the study of earthquakes, finds himself suddenly trapped beneath the rubble. Without a seismograph…

At first, François, who couldn’t take his eyes off his new patient, tried to get the situation under control. “It’s just a patient. It’s an attractive young lady! She was referred to me by a colleague. It’s a very attractive young lady! Now, it’s my patient. It’s an extremely attractive young lady!”

Yet nothing could keep the dividing walls of his mind from bursting to pieces, dynamited by an interrupted series of mute explosions. First, he felt his solar plexus give way, then his throat dilating and cheeks turning crimson. Finally, his eyes filled with tears. “Magical, she’s magical!”

Of that first session of analysis, François could remember only one sentence, which almost seemed grandiloquent but were pronounced quite natural manner and with total sincerity. ‘With her head tilted slightly back, misty-eyed and smiling, Carole breathed to him in a deep, melodious voice:

“The blood of seven mothers flows through my veins.”

“One of my grandmothers was Indian and my great-grandmother was Yemeni. I have some Jewish blood and Incan blood as well. I have Spanish and Corsican ancestors. I was born in the Ukraine. A long, long time ago, I lived in Greece, on the Isle of Lesbos, where I was initiated, for the first time around 600 B.C., by Pythagoras, in sacred geometry and the keys of the Cabbala. My elder sister is an Atlantean.”

François was stunned – and fell in love for life. He cancelled the rest of the day’s appointments. With a vacuous smile on his lips, he was lost in a daydream for what seemed to him to be an infinite length of time.

In the following sessions, he tried to step back into his role as a physician of the human soul and to put his thoughts, if not his emotions, in order. He therefore decided to classify Carole’s words, and to organise his own notes around three themes:

1. Carole tells me about life (or, more precisely, “her lives”);

2. She evokes her powers and tells me of her “experiences”;

3. Carole addresses me directly!

Over the next five sessions, François gradually became capable of reconstituting his new patient’s eventful life.

She was born in a remote village of the Ukraine. Raised by her mother, a bonesetter whose fame spread as far as Kiev, the child very soon learned to distinguish miraculous herbs from inoffensive or poisonous plants. At the age of five, she could relieve a mare who was struggling to give birth but she also knew that by placing a load of properly prepared vegetal elements under the threshold of a stable it was possible to poison the animals inside it. Of course, if you wanted to stop a cow from eating, it took more courage, because in that case you had to rub its tongue with raw onion. On the other hand, to make cattle swell up so that people would think them pregnant, it sufficed to give them a blend of euphorbia seeds and ant sperm.

Along the same line of thought, a preparation of wild anemones would make animals sleep, while belladonna would start them dancing. She could instantly calm the pains of dogs wounded in combat and spent her days in the forest. She gathered mistletoe and verbena barefoot, since those two plants are sacred. She gathered digitalis while walking backwards, to foil its bad influence.

She used a dog to uproot mandrakes, drawing a circle around the plant to prevent the escape of any vegetal spirits. She prepared secret potions that her mother ordered her to make.

At the age of sixteen, some drunken villagers almost drowned her in order to see, they said, “whether she could also walk on water”. Caroleswam to her escape and, after a nearly week-long journey, managed to reach Moscow. She had no possessions but an old ring and strange necklace, which her mother had confided to her a year earlier, just before dying.

Noticed in the street while begging in front of cinema downtown, Carole was offered a trip to France, all expenses paid, provided that she accept a little audition and photo shoot for the famous Agence Elite. In Paris, the girl quite soon joined the hoards of “occasional models”;nevertheless, she earned enough to move into a small flat near Place des Abbesses, in Montmartre.

She had abundant free time and spent most of it reading and listening to music. Carole also strolled a lot. She met dozens of conceptual painters, numerous visionary physical therapists, several musicians who hadn’t yet made a name for themselves, and a good number of inspired clairvoyants.

One autumn, at the End-of-Summer Zen Exposition, Carole discovered a familiar universe in commercial wrappings. People spoke to her of Osho and tantric massages, the raising of Kundalini and Reiki masters. She discovered rebirth, shamanism, Carlos Castaneda and hallucinogenic mushrooms. She ran across some Atlanteans and Caycedian sophrologists. She experimented with Ayurvedic massage, Qi Gong and voodoo acupuncture.


She started travelling and went to Greece, Germany and Jerusalem, where she was offered a therapy to be reborn after passing through a long tunnel made up of men and women clad in multicoloured robes. In India, she spent several months in the Osho Meditation Centre, in Pune…

Now, Carole was there, in the luxurious office of François, talking to him incessantly: of herself and of her powers, of him and of them, together, united.

As the sessions progressed, Carole revealed the details of her Vedic, spiritual and energetic powers through a very simple yet extremely powerful game of “Who are you?”: François had to ask Carole that question at least three times during each appointment, and Carolepromised to respond without hesitation. Completely. And sincerely Totally. For ever and a day..

 – Who are you? Carole, who are you?

– I am she who can leave her body at will and traverse a thousand plains and a thousand forests, to become, beyond the rivers and clouds, a tigress capable of gleefully tearing to shreds the incomparable antelope.

– Carole, who are you?

– I am she who creates darkness by incessantly reciting the mantra “NO”. She who shouts, who howls, who swears, and who bites. I am she who refuses, she who often remembers past sufferings. I am negativity.

– Who are you?

– I am she who has no regrets; she who has no fears. I am she who enjoys the present. I am she who says “YES”. I am the prodigal daughter. Prodigal with her love. For her friends and for strangers. I am she who loves trees and stones. I am she who has less power but greater feelings. I am she who sees the lie and tells the truth. I am the she-wolf, I am her cubs and I am the forest. I am the winter. I am the hail, the wind, the fire and the rainbow.

– Who are you?

– I am she who is there. She who is here before you. I am she wholoves you and will love you. I am she who will carry you to the beyond. I am she who makes love potions. A miraculous potion to make us inseparable, an unfathomable potion that will bind you to me forever.

Session after session, Carole extracted the essence of her truth, gradually enveloping François in the baroque perfume of her multiple personalities. She exuded a mythic sensuality that staggered him, while he listened enraptured as she proposed that they travel together beyond whatever a living being could desire. He listened to her words, gasping for breath. Fascinated.

“François, if you look at a flower for a long time, you gradually become that flower. Fill yourself with my perfume, feel, inhale, and absorb my pearly, poignant sap.


The purpose of philosophy is to regret the past a bit less, to fear the future less, and to love the present more. Look at me, François, look at me. My head is afraid, Francois, but my heart is brave. Think of me with your heart.

From the other end of the rainbow that unites us, receive this wave of love and energy.

François, I can caress one by one all the meridians that traverse your astral body, to make you experience the supreme vibration and fill your heart with light.

I can harmonise your body and your spirit at will, thanks to an incomparably gentle, infinitely slow massage. I can restore you to the man, the woman, the animal or flower that you no longer are.

I can touch your physical, energetic, and spiritual planes by murmuring into your ear sacred formulas known to me alone. If you lie down beside me, I will be your phallic woman, dressed in animal skins and covered with blood. My embrace will be so terrifying that you can rediscover the ultimate ecstasy of the hanged man.

I can guide you through the alchemical wedding, so that you can finally become one with yourself.

I can make a thousand Suns evaporate and paint the Moon the colour of my eyes. I will be the energy and you the channel. I will be the sacred wine and you the Holy Grail.

François, I can fall at your feet like the rain, pour down on your like a fountain of light. I can lead you to the bottom of yourself, where you can lament your sorrows of man.

With me, you can repair the past and live in several worlds at once. I will make you an indestructible pylon connecting the centre of the Earth with the Pole Star. I can open your plexus with a single movement and place

burning kisses on your liver to appease your anger forever. I can teach you to fly again if you let me touch your wings.

François, my beloved, I know how to make a potion that will make us inseparable and bind you to me forever.

I can dance standing on your eyelids and give you the form of my hands.

I will take you to Atlantis, so that you can meet my ancestors. I will be the maiden without hands and you can kiss my subtle body until you make me a woman warhead.

François, to be intelligent means to function without concluding. Life isn’t a problem, François. Don’t try to understand it. Live-it! Love isn’t a problem, François. Discover it! With me. Then you will know. Studying love is like studying the Himalayas with a map. The map is not the mountain. If you want to experience mysteries, I will show you the other door. It will be a long journey. You will have to cross through your doubts. But I will stand facing you at the other end. Have confidence, François. If you have confidence, one day you will be able to be rich even while being a beggar.

In my countless voyages, I have seen that people marked their names on benches in squares, on trees, and even in public restrooms. If you like, François, you can engrave your name on my skin and even at the heart of the heart of my heart, of the heart of my heart, of my heart…

What can you gain in the world? What can you take with you? Your name, your prestige, your responsibility? Your money, your power, what? Your erudition? You can’t take anything with you. But if you really want, you can stay close to me. Forever. I will be your energy double and subtle sister, your wild lover. For you alone. If you have faith in me.

When you cross the frontier of the familiar you won’t know what to do or not to do anymore, you will no longer be sure of yourself. You may make mistakes. You may go astray.

Unless you cling to my neck. Unless have faith in me. Life can be experienced only dangerously, that is to say with the heart, not the intellect.

François, you are not an island. You may have forgotten the beyond, but the beyond has not forgotten you. With me, you will be all the continents and all the oceans, you will be the whole Universe. You will be dewdrop, as well, and will be fresh and young for all eternity and for the day after. With me, you will experience the resurrection without the suffering that precedes it. If you love me deeply, you will you forget your fears. The darkness will vanish and you will blossom like a rainbow after the rain. On stormy nights, I will lead you to the bottom of the cave so that, lying on bear skins, we can consume ourselves shouting together, whispering together, crying, laughing, like the eternal flame.”

François’s attraction to Carole was a mixture of ideal love, fascination with the mystery of life, and carnal desire. A tension that soon waxed intolerable took hold of the young man, so much so that by the end of the sixth session, François told Carole in a moved, solemn voice:

“Carole, my dear, very dear Carole, I believe that I’m ready. Next Thursday we have an appointment at 7:45 and I don’t have any patient after you. Bring along whatever you need, and I’ll try the love potion. I believe in you, don’t forget. See you next Thursday, then.”

That day it was raining cats and dogs and lightning flashes streaked the sky.

Carole was wearing the same multicoloured dress as when they first met. Her ring of solid silver still adorned her left middle finger and her breast proudly displayed her fabulous necklace. She was wearing her favourite perfume, Réminiscence Patchouli and the tattoo on her right shoulder seemed to palpitate. Carole was laughing all the time and seemed very relaxed. François, on the other hand, felt very agitated. The atmosphere was electric, but François was ready to undergo whatever trials his capricious patient chose to force upon him. She took a bottle of Demoiselle champagne out of her handbag and told him:

“Put it in the fridge, François, that’s the potion we’re going to share at the end of the session.”

Two hours later, François came back with the bottle and two fine cups made of Bohemian crystal. It was Carole who filled them; taking a deep breath, she said in a resounding voice that had suddenly grown deeper:

“François, I salute and honour the man and the god in you.”

In imitation, François improvised:

“Carole, I respect and salute the woman and goddess in you.”

Then, they gazed at one another with intensity, clinked their glasses, and finally drank. Almost instantly, François had to sit down. Then, everything happened very quickly. François froze motionless, his eyes open, a slight smile on his lips. Carole came up behind him and, placing her arms under his armpits, picked him up effortlessly. With infinite care, she brought him into the middle of the room and, slowly, laid him down on the carpet. Then, the young lady turned off the lights, removed her dress and, naked, sat down close by François’s head. She had nothing on but her ring and a strange necklace. With her long tousled hair caressing François’s face, Carole murmured a soft melopoeia. Then her body began to quake, then shook convulsively for a long, very long time.

It must have been close to midnight and the moon bathed the room in a silvery red light. Regaining consciousness, Carole snapped her fingers one time, and then another. Then, very calmly, she stood up and turned the lights back on. Returning to the centre of the room, from which François’s body had disappeared, she knelt down to pick up, from the carpet, a figurine so expressive that it looked alive. Carole pulled a long hairpin from her bag and, holding François between her left thumb and index finger, she set about running it through him at the precisely at the tip of the collarbone. A tiny drop of blood fell onto the desk. Carole leaned over to lick it away quickly. Opening the clasp carefully, she took off her necklace.Then, with a very steady hand, she threaded the figurine onto the heavy golden chain, where François joined twenty-two other amulets, which seemed to have been expecting him.

Carole put her necklace back on, then her dress, which she adjusted carefully, turned off the lights again before leaving the office, closing the door quietly behind her.

An hour later, Carole was home again, comfortably seated in a large armchair, with a laptop on her knees. Just like three months before, the night before her first meeting with François. The search she had just run on her favourite search engine contained, once again, a single word: this time, Lawyer.

 

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