Jodorowsky, Alejandro - Psychomagic - The Transformative Power of Shamanic Psychotherapy

We searched for the material in a bit of haste—like the hour before the termination. I chose the same day as the termination—a Saturday at 6:15 p.m. The event took place at Michel’s house. I took the exact position that I had on the operating table, my legs in the air, naked, the mango fastened to my stomach with a bandage. Michel comes near. He is dressed in white, like a surgeon. He proceeds very fast, and I scream, yell. I again feel the effects in my stomach, I cry a lot, I hate, he mutilates me. Michel cuts the bandages and puts the mango in the box. Right away, I have a doubt: it should be equally necessary to cut the mango with the scissors. Michel wants to do it afterward, but I hurry him. I cry a lot. Michel tells me, “The mango cannot live anymore, anyway, once buried.” Then Michel sits next to me; he caresses my forehead. I feel that he hates me. He is a thousand leagues away. It is necessary to find a place to bury the box. We leave, by motorcycle, and go toward Saint-Germain-en-Laye, through beating rain. The box is in my backpack. I again feel bitterness and, at the same time, a deep relief. Finally, we stop at Marly-le-Roi in the park of the chateau that Louis XIV preferred. The place is absolutely magnificent. I cry a lot. Michel holds me, but he seems distant. We dig a hole with our bare hands, sheltering it from any glances. The evening is near. We kiss. I put the two little stone marbles in Michel’s mouth. Michel spits out one of the marbles, the red one, and it falls to the ground. I immediately sense a crisis; Michel responds and finds the red marble. I put it again in his mouth. As prescribed, he spits out the black marble, kisses me, and gives me back the red marble. I throw the black marble in the park’s fountain, and I feel very relieved. With the red marble, I go, as you advised me, to make a red ring. Psychosomatic reactions took place—intense redness in my cheeks—just like those that appeared after the operation. I felt very liberated from the guilt and my energy restored. I am calm, serene, accepting of what can happen. I found trust again in myself and in Michel. I choose life, whatever happens in it. My internal energies are restored. I do not feel any more morbid panic. Thank you.

What does the kiss with the two colored stones mean?

I employ the symbols of life and death (red and black) as well as chance. Giving him a kiss is a manifestation of love. Brigitte gives Michel the opportunity to give life or death. Spitting out, first, the red marble, Michel manifests his desire to kill the fetus, to not be a father. He, himself, collects the marble and, in introducing it again into her mouth, he gives it another try. And this time, he chooses to spit the red marble—life—which he deposes in his companion’s mouth. He thus manifests his acceptance of another child to come. In tossing the black marble into a fountain, Brigitte returns her urges for death to her unconscious, finds the trust again in Michel, and frees herself of her fears, such as her culpability. At present in her body, life circulates, not death anymore. From now on, her sex is a space for creation—not destruction anymore.

This act illustrates well the consistent technique of “employing the language of the unconscious.” That, if I understood correctly, is Psychomagic’s essential drive.

Yes, but I also give simple and logical advice that anyone can understand.

In this case, how does this advice work?

For it to be effective, I must seize or provoke the occasion, to find the right moment to dispense it. It is a question, so to speak, of “timing.” The same advice given at the wrong moment will not have the least effectiveness. This process is comparable to soccer: If I send the shot in the direction of the goal without there being an opening, my gesture, as precise as it may be, will be futile, because the ball will not penetrate the wall of the defense. However, if I profit from a moment of hesitation, the goalie’s weakness, my shot will hit the bull’s eye. Similarly, when a person lets down their guard a bit, I often try to kick a psychological goal. We understand well that anyone who is prey to a vice continually maintains a position of defense. The ego refuses to yield. I must then seize or provoke a moment of distraction so as to let an order pass through the line of defense, into the unconscious. In order for the client to adopt the advice, it is important to penetrate his stubborn “I” and to touch the much more impersonal zone of the self.

Is there a letter illustrating this principal?

Here, not exactly a letter, but a testimony drafted by someone you know, the celebrated cartoonist, Jean Giraud, a.k.a. Moebius:

I met Alejandro in the seventies. We worked on the film Dune . Every day for two months, he brought me a new surprise in his totally surreal way of approaching the creation of a work, or any thought or situation, for that matter . . . One of my most gnawing problems at the time was smoking—how to spend these long hours with this fascinating person without affirming my thoughts through big puffs of “fumoduction,” cheerfully conversing over some refreshments on the terrace at a café, once the magic was implemented. Silence around the table, all the attention turned toward what I had started. Alejandro contemplated me with a discreet and friendly mirth. I thought about this dear smoke, intangible chum, always available, effective, and reassuring, with the merry clacking of the lighter, the scratching sound of the matches . . . Was I ready to abandon these apparently indispensable pleasures? But I also thought of the gray ashes, which invade everything, of the shortness of breath, of the phlegm and pain in the mornings . . . I decided to take the step! And then, I was very curious. Not only was I going to see Alejandro perform a magic trick, but also I was going to be the object. One last thing incited me to jump: the others sitting around me, waiting for my response. Was I going to disappoint them and deprive them of magic in action? “Okay, I am ready!”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

“Give me your pack of cigarettes.”

I took out my pack of Gauloises, a third of the way gone. Was he going to cast a spell on them, transform them into a pumpkin? After some bizarre incantation, he whispered with seriousness: “My magic is very powerful but very simple. To quit smoking, it suffices to make the decision, and that you have already done. The problem is to remember your decision, and that is where magic takes place. Who has a pen?” I extended to him my ballpoint pen and gazed, fascinated, at the precise gestures of my friend who took apart the cellophane wrapping on the pack. He took the pen . . . I was finally going to see into what cabalistic sign, what powerful charm, he was going to transform my opened pack. “It is very simple. On this side, I write this little word—No, and on the other side this little phrase—I can.” Alejandro wrapped the cellophane back around the pack, and he returned it to me as if it were a bomb ready to explode or nothing less than the Holy Grail wrapped in a golden fleece. I should keep this pack a half-dozen weeks until, completely cleared of the least desire to smoke, I make it a gift to a friend in need—one had to wonder what this “no” and “I can” meant. I have not, since, had the least desire to touch a cigarette again.

Well, here again, one says it is faith that saves! And yet . . .

You know, it happens that an act that appears absurd heals an illness, because this act “speaks” to the unconscious, which takes symbols for reality. The illness is a symptom of a deficiency. If the unconscious feels that this lack was filled, it ceases complaining through the intermediary symptom. As an example, the following letter is from a woman named Sonia Silver: