For a singer who was always unsuccessful in auditions, who felt that she had no talent, I advised putting ten gold coins inside a condom and inserting it into her vagina. Thus equipped, she should show up for an audition. She sang like never before and got the part.
Sometimes in order to solve problems I do not hesitate to recommend acts that a prejudiced person might consider pornographic. However, if one intends to heal suffering spiritually, it is necessary to understand that the sex organs are sanctuaries where what we call God can be found. The client must also learn to value his or her body, not disdaining its secretions. Feces, saliva, urine, sweat, menstrual blood, or semen can be used as elements that liberate us from inhibited feelings. One client, a lesbian, felt unable to begin the book that she intended to write. As soon as she turned on her computer, she just started playing games. I explained to her that she had remained a child, that is to say sexless, because when she reached adulthood she knew that she was lacking phallic power. I advised her to go to a sex shop, buy a strap-on dildo, put it on, tape up a large white piece of paper at waist level, dip the dildo in ink, and write the first two sentences of her book with it. After this, the rest would be easy to write on the computer.
In Guadalajara, a pathologically shy man came to see me because he could not settle on projects or finish what he started. I advised him to go to the busy Plaza de la Liberación, naked under a big coat, sit on a bench, put a hand through a cut-out pocket and masturbate to the point of ejaculation. He should keep the semen inside an oval medallion with a picture of his mother, wearing it around his neck as a talisman.
A young French woman had never felt any sexual desires. Her father had died of prostate cancer, and she irrationally blamed this on her mother, accumulating fierce anger toward her. I explained to her that she was afraid that experiencing desire and having sexual relations would cause her to become pregnant and transform her into a mother, that is to say, her mother. I advised her to place two ostrich eggs, a symbol of maternal ovaries, on a photograph of her mother. By smashing the eggs with a hammer, she would make her anger come out. Then with another two ostrich eggs, representing her own ovaries, she should make a huge omelet and serve it at dinner to a group of seven friends. “While you watch them eat, allow yourself to imagine what they would be like in bed, and you will see that desires emerge. As for the remains of the eggs you break with a hammer and the picture of your mother, bury them and plant a white flower there. Then go to your father’s grave and wash it with water, soap, and a brush.”
A married man with two children, who loved his wife, came to see me because he had premature ejaculation. I asked how long the sexual act lasted. “Just twenty seconds,” he answered. I advised him to make love to his wife that night with a stopwatch by the bedside, promising her that he would ejaculate more quickly than ever, in exactly ten seconds. He did so. He came back to see me, happy, and told me with a big smile, “I failed. As much as I tried, I could not. I lasted half an hour.”
A young man who had no father felt that he had no authority. He asked me for advice on how to develop his ability to give orders. I suggested that he start by giving orders for things that were already happening. If he saw that it was starting to rain, he should say, “I order it to rain!” If his dog was lying down, he should say, “I order you to lie down!” If he saw cars passing, he should say, “I order the cars to pass!” And so on. In this manner he would overcome his timidity and get used to commanding.
A woman who was abandoned by her father at the age of six always got into relationships with men who abandoned her. She did not want to continue living alone like her mother, who used to tell her, “Better alone than in bad company.” She wanted to form a stable partnership. I explained, in light of the Tarot, “Because you’ve had a lack of communication with your father and you’ve listened only to your mother, you do not know how to accept men. You must learn to hear male words. I advise you to buy a Walkman and for forty days, listen to the voices of male poets and wise men as you walk around and work.”
Not wanting to be seen as a charlatan, I gave up trying to cure physical illnesses. However, I made a few exceptions. A scuba diving instructor had suffered for years from sores in his mouth. No doctor had been able to cure these ulcers. I saw in the Tarot that this illness came from the powerlessness that he felt from being unable to speak with his mother, who was deceased. She had been a divorced, narcissistic woman; she had no husband and spent whole days in front of the mirror preoccupied with herself, fighting against wrinkles. I asked him how tall his mother was. “A hundred and sixty centimeters,” he replied. I advised him to get a plaster statue of the Virgin Mary a hundred and sixty centimeters tall. Then, he should dive with this idol down into the ocean until he reached the bottom. Once there he should make holes in the ears of the saint with a drill, then he should put his mouth to each ear hole for a moment. Later, back on land, he should yell everything that he could never say to his mother at the sculpture. Finally, he should bury this virgin with a little of his semen in each ear hole, and plant a tree there. The client followed my advice. His sores disappeared.
My Chilean friend Martin Bakero, a psychiatrist and poet, found it painful to walk because a wart had grown between the fourth and fifth toes of his left foot, reaching down to the bone. The dermatologist, seeing that the ointments he had given him were not taking effect, had begun to burn the wart off in layers and said that this treatment could last between one and two years. I asked Bakero how long he had lived in Paris. “Four years,” he replied.
“Did you have a good relationship with your parents during childhood?”
“My father was an absent man. My mother treated me like royalty. I was an only child, and in a way I was her partner. I recognize that we have a deep Oedipal relationship.”
“What’s happening is that you feel guilty for having left her in Chile. Take a picture of your mother and make ten photocopies. Take one every morning, stick it to your afflicted foot with green clay, and walk with it on your foot all day long.”
In a letter, the poet told me about his act: “At first, I was reluctant to carry out what you advised: a sick person’s symptoms are always accompanied by an unconscious enjoyment. I told you, ‘I have no pictures of my mother,’ and you answered, ‘Draw one.’ ‘I cannot draw,’ I grumbled, and you replied, ‘You’re resisting the cure.’ The next day I summoned all my strength and found a picture of my mother, performed the act, and upon completion of the ten applications, the wart had disappeared, leaving behind new, clean skin. I have not had any more problems.”
A woman with a limp, who needed to support herself with a cane, wanted me to help her walk properly. I explained that I did not work miracles. I was not Pachita, who would have put in a new leg bone and stretched out her leg for her, but I could make her better able to accept her limp. I asked her where she had gotten such an ugly stick, unvarnished and made out of ordinary wood. “It belonged to my paternal grandfather,” she said.
“And what became of that grandfather?”
“He never communicated with anyone. He lived as a hermit, holed up in his apartment.”
I advised her to burn the cane, take a handful of the ashes, and rub them on her short leg. After that, she should buy the most beautiful cane she could find, made of ebony with a silver handle. She did so. She regained her enjoyment of walking. From prescribing this act, I learned that the places where the body is affected, such as a scar or a hump, should be exalted.