{"id":4703,"date":"2015-10-27T15:32:35","date_gmt":"2015-10-27T15:32:35","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blog.nielskunze.com\/?p=4703"},"modified":"2015-10-27T15:45:26","modified_gmt":"2015-10-27T15:45:26","slug":"the-transformation-of-what","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/blog.nielskunze.com\/?p=4703","title":{"rendered":"The Transformation of\u2026 What?"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"Leopard<\/a>

Leopard in Thistles<\/p><\/div>\n

http:\/\/blog.nielskunze.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/10\/Transformation-of\u2026-What.mp3<\/a><\/audio>(Author narration with musical accompaniment: Aga of the Ladies by Hellborg Lane & Selvaganesh)<\/p>\n

Dr. Mikhail Nostro stood a moment outside the door. His knock had gone unanswered. No matter. The quarters which housed his patient were functionally separate from the rest of the house where the son lived. Dr. Nostro had a key.<\/p>\n

He let himself in, as he had done many times before. The son– what was his name? Harold? Yes, Harold, was often out attending to life\u2019s niggly details; either that, or he was simply too busy with housework to answer the door. No matter.<\/p>\n

The patient, Harold\u2019s mother, was bedridden. The good doctor was the last of a dying breed. When he finally gave up these last few house-calls, the extinction event would be complete. Nowadays most people weren\u2019t even aware that doctors had ever made house-calls. But to Mikhail it had been his favourite part of doctoring; there was a certain advantage to knowing specifically how his patients lived, of observing them in their natural habitat, so to speak. Unfortunately, none of his colleagues concurred. No matter.<\/p>\n

He closed the door behind himself and slipped off his shoes. A coatrack stood by the door awaiting his hat, cane and coat… to which he obliged. Then, retrieving the old leather satchel, his medi-bag, from the floor beside him he shuffled off to the door at the end of the hall. At the intersecting corridor, which led to Harold\u2019s living quarters, he noticed, with a quick sideways glance, that indeed the son was home. Harold was engrossed in… something… which was none of the good doctor\u2019s damn business. No matter; he moved on to where his patient lay.<\/p>\n

Her condition was unchanged. Frankly, there was very little hope for recovery, but as long as she continued on the medication she remained relatively pain free. She was cogent and even cheerful– considering the circumstances. The doctor was committed to doing what little he could.<\/p>\n

As he exited the patient\u2019s room, he was startled by Harold who was coincidentally on his way in. They met outside in the hallway.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, Dr. Nostro, I hadn\u2019t realized you were here.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mikhail smiled and shook his head. \u201cPlease, just call me Mike.\u201d<\/p>\n

Harold nodded. \u201cHow is she?\u201d The obligatory question had been asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe same,\u201d affirmed the good doctor. \u201cBut tell me,\u201d he continued in the gentlest tone he could muster, \u201cwhen did the medication run out?\u201d<\/p>\n

Despite the ease with which the question had been asked, Harold looked panic-stricken. He glanced furtively toward the closed door behind which his mother\u2019s ears still functioned all too well. He grasped Dr. Mike by the elbow and whispered \u201cWon\u2019t you come join me for tea?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDelighted,\u201d answered the doctor, even as he was being dragged away.<\/p>\n

It was definitely his mother\u2019s sitting room, decided the doctor, as Harold busied himself in the kitchen. He guessed that the room had probably remained unchanged for the last forty years… except for a few oddities. The books on the coffee table were an eclectic jumble of philosophy, religion and ritual magick. There appeared to be what he could only imagine was a makeshift altar cobbled together and neatly arranged on the fireplace hearth. It was complete with candles, incense, an ornate chalice… and was that a scrying bowl? And then there was what appeared to be a faint chalk outline of a circle drawn upon the carpet. The good doctor awaited his tea inside the ritual circle… feeling quite safe and rather amused.<\/p>\n

Thankfully, Harold dove headlong into the pending conversation even before he set the tea service down… amidst the clutter of books. \u201cHow did you know about the sugar pills?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cHad you used icing sugar, I probably wouldn\u2019t have noticed a thing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cToo granular,\u201d concluded Harold.<\/p>\n

The doctor nodded and sipped his tea. \u201cNo matter.\u201d He took another sip. \u201cShe\u2019s fine. The placebo\u2019s working.\u201d<\/p>\n

Harold nodded in agreement, but then his demeanor soured somewhat. \u201cDr. Nostro– um, Dr. Mike– I simply can\u2019t afford the medication any longer. Our medical plan covers your expenses, but the prescription comes out of my pocket, and frankly, my pocket is empty, threadbare and full of holes!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThese are difficult times indeed.\u201d As awkward as this topic seemed, the doctor chose to pry into the deeper gawkiness of the books, the altar and the ritual circle instead. \u201cI see you have an interest in ritual magick.\u201d He raised an eyebrow for dramatic effect and to give the statement the inflection of a question.<\/p>\n

\u201cUm, yes… well,\u201d Harold began, reddening in the cheeks.<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing to be embarrassed about. I\u2019ve dabbled a bit myself. But if you don\u2019t mind my asking, what are you trying to accomplish?\u201d<\/p>\n

The utterly blank look on Harold\u2019s face was very telling. It was often thus with novice practitioners. Not only do they not know what they\u2019re doing; rarely are they sure of what they\u2019re even trying to do!<\/p>\n

\u201cI suppose I\u2019m trying to affect a change… a transformation of circumstance… of fortune.\u201d Harold too answered with the inflection of a question, wondering whether he\u2019d gotten it right.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you\u2019re not trying to magickally cure her or any such thing?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh no! Nothing quite so ambitious. I\u2019m really just attempting to conjure a bit of luck for myself.\u201d The doctor nodded in understanding. \u201cIt seems that I\u2019ve been in a rut for… well, for as long as I can remember. Certainly for as long as mother\u2019s been ill. Something HAS to change!\u201d<\/p>\n

Dr. Mike tipped his chin toward the scattered tomes on the coffee table. \u201cIt\u2019s easy to think that there\u2019s some procedure, a secret formula, some exotic incantation or obscure ritual that can transmute everything bad into something good. After all, isn\u2019t that why we have things like philosophy and religion in the first place?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes!\u201d said Harold eagerly. \u201cIf only I could learn it.\u201d There was such earnestness in his eyes. \u201cWould you teach me?\u201d he asked the good doctor sheepishly.<\/p>\n

\u201cI will,\u201d affirmed the doctor. \u201cAnd before I leave here today.\u201d<\/p>\n

Harold looked on confusedly, expecting there to be more to the sentence… and so he asked \u201cBefore you leave here today… what?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBefore I leave here today, I\u2019ll teach you the secret formula of transmutation, how to transform your life\u2019s circumstances.\u201d<\/p>\n

Harold was dumbfounded.<\/p>\n

The good doctor winked.<\/p>\n

\u201cNow, this one here catches my eye,\u201d he began, reaching for a specific book from the haphazard pile. Its title was Butterfly Dreams: The Nectar of Transformation<\/a>. \u201cHave you read it?\u201d Harold nodded. \u201cAnd so, what is the nectar of transformation?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve read it three times,\u201d explained Harold. \u201cAs near as I can tell, the nectar of transformation is awareness.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAh, I see.\u201d Dr. Mike seemed pleased with the answer. \u201cAwareness is assuredly a good thing, essential really… But awareness of what?\u201d<\/p>\n

Harold shook his head… dumbfounded again.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen let me ask you this,\u201d continued the doctor undaunted. \u201cWhen is the placebo effect in effect?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOr to put it more bluntly, when is the placebo effect NOT in effect?\u201d<\/p>\n

Harold was still obviously confused, but he ventured an answer anyway. \u201cWhen the medicine\u2019s real…?\u201d<\/p>\n

The doctor stroked his goatee. \u201cI like that answer, but let\u2019s examine it.\u201d He took a sip of tea. \u201cWhen we\u2019re dealing with an illusion– the sugar pill, the placebo effect kicks in. But when the medicine is real, there\u2019s no placebo effect; it\u2019s the physical action of the substance itself… providing the very same desired result. How do we know when we\u2019re dealing with an illusion and when we\u2019re dealing with a proven causality?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d answered Harold quite honestly. \u201cSo, is that it? I need to develop the awareness to know what\u2019s real and what\u2019s not? How on earth do I do that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve jumped ahead,\u201d admonished the doctor ever-so-gently. \u201cLet\u2019s return to the placebo effect for a moment. Allow me to tell you of one of my patients from many years ago. He was a young man, the nervous type. I honestly never liked him as a patient. Anyway, he arrived one day at my office looking for a diagnosis. He was quite convinced that he was dying. His symptoms were odd– and a bit frightening to any layman– but I was sure I knew what it was that he had. I told him my suspicion, procured a blood sample, and provided him with the appropriate prescription. I told him that he\u2019d be fine in a few weeks; all he needed to do was get the prescription filled and follow the protocol for ten days. Two weeks later, he was dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

Harold was aghast! \u201cYou\u2019d made a mistake!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. My diagnosis was right on the money; the blood sample confirmed it. The prescription had been filled, and all indications were that he\u2019d taken the medicine as intended.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo why did he die then?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe placebo effect,\u201d said the doctor casually between sips. \u201cOr if you prefer, the reverse placebo effect.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe was taking the real medicine–\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cProven to work unfailingly,\u201d interjected the doctor.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd he died anyway…\u201d Harold seemed to be catching on.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, returning to my earlier question: when is the placebo effect in effect?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUm… always…?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cExactly! It\u2019s very much like gravity; it\u2019s always in effect. There\u2019s nothing selective about it. One could almost say that it\u2019s universal law.\u201d<\/p>\n

Harold was nodding enthusiastically now. Something of import had gotten through.<\/p>\n

\u201cNow all we need to do is to return to the original question: awareness of what?\u201d The good doctor drained the remainder of his tea and declined a refill with a dismissive wave. \u201cSo what do you suppose is the fulcrum upon which all of your leverage to affect change, to transform your life, to transmute all of the bad to good– what do you suppose it all teeters upon?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI believe I know,\u201d whispered Harold. And then with utter conviction \u201cI BELIEVE I know!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, I believe you do.\u201d<\/p>\n

And with that the good doctor took his leave.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

(Author narration with musical accompaniment: Aga of the Ladies by Hellborg Lane & Selvaganesh) Dr. Mikhail Nostro stood a moment outside the door. His knock had gone unanswered. No matter. The quarters which housed his patient were functionally separate from (…)<\/p>\n

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