Be Mindful

I take my eyes off the bare nail stuck in the wall of the practice and look over to her. But she is no longer sitting across from me. She must have gotten up, because she is on the other side of the tube-like room, rummaging around on the desk.

“Huh?” I ask, trying to ignore the nail.

“We’re doing the so-called Raisin-Exercise today.”

“Yes … ” I answer as she returns to the seating-area. She puts a bowl of raisins on the table and asks me to take one.

“Gladly.” I like raisins. I reach into the bowl, grab a handful, stuff them into my mouth and gobble them up, smacking my lips. The therapist’s gaze does not leave a doubt that I have just done something wrong. I swallow. She notes something down, looks up again.

“Please take ONE raisin and KEEP it in your hand.”

Our eyes don’t separate as I carefully reach into the bowl and finger out a single raisin.

“Very good. Now please look at the raisin and describe it.”

I look down at the lone dried grape resting in my palm. It almost appears cute, so shriveled and brown. I pity it a little that it is lying there all alone, about to be devoured.

“Take in the shape, the texture.”

Yes, the shape is raisiny, the surface is ridged and oily. I turn the raisin over. It looks exactly the same on this side. Perhaps the wrinkles’ pattern is slightly different. A few tiny bumps are at one end, four to be precise. Apart from that, I conclude proudly that it looks like a raisin. One of the bumps is black, no two, no one… all the bumps are shiny black, and in a row and… is it blinking at me? Very unraisiny. It is almost like it is staring at me. An image of a shriveled spider haunts my mind. The raisin blinks again.

“Now please feel it.”

I hesitate for a moment but stretch out the index finger and gently stroke the raisin. At first, I think it enjoys it, until a hot, stabbing pain pierces my skin, as if a tarantula had bitten me. I scream and jump but forget about the pain and the dried fruit when I see the therapist’s sternly raised eyebrow. I sit back down, trying to find my composure. In an emphatically casual manner and with a practiced smile, I scratch the raisin twice more. The hind left of its eight legs taps on my palm in enjoyment.

“Please pick it up and hold it to your ear to listen for sounds.”

Sounds? I swallow, feeling sweat forming on my forehead. “What noise is a raisin supposed to make?” I murmur and lift the shrunken grape to my ear with pointed fingers. Silence.

“You can press it,” says the therapist without looking up from her pad.

I obey and listen. Silence. I press a little harder. The raisin makes a smacking sound. A noise that makes me grin, it’s so unexpectedly logical. Of course, a raisin smacks when pressed. I try again. Smack. Smack. Smack. This exercise is silly, but fun. Smack. Smack. Squeak.

Squeak? Did the raisin squeak? I look at the therapist, but she is engrossed in her notes.

“Psst,” it says next to my ear. I flinch and involuntarily push my chair aside. The floorboards creak, causing the therapist to look up. I smile insecurely, and she turns back to her pad.

“Hey!” whispers the raisin between my fingers. It is very quiet and unclear, so I hold it closer to my ear. “Hey,” it repeats, “It’s me.”

“We know each other?” I whisper back.

“Very good,” says the therapist. “Please smell the raisin now. What does it smell like?”

Raisiny, I think as I hold the little shriveled grape under my right nostril and inhale deeply. The raisin briefly pokes my nostril, grabs a tuft of nose-hair, and pulls at it. It hurts as it drags itself up and crawls up my nose. I gasp, clinging to the armrests of the chair. My breathing becomes heavy and sweat pours down my back. I narrow my eyes and widen them again, I cannot take it anymore. I scream. Blood shoots from my nose and squirts across the seating-area. The therapist looks up, startled. She stares and screams, throws her arms in the air. The pad and pen arc through the room. She jumps up, spins around and dashes out of the office, losing her shoes in the process.

“Hey,” a deep voice says in my head. Oh God, I have a raisin in my brain! I want to jump up and flee, but an invisible hand pushes me back into the chair. I feel eight thin legs crawling through my head, right behind my forehead. My left eye blinks. The legs gallop backwards and my right eye rolls back. My field of vision shifts, I wheeze and drool. Something is knocking on my skull from the inside, no, kicking. I fly, am catapulted out of the chair and hit my face on the coffee table. I bounce off and roll to the side. Pain paralyzes me, and it takes a moment before I can open my eyes again. I blink and see… me?

I sit in the armchair and lie on the floor. Had the raisin kicked me out of my own body? It doesn’t look healthy. It sits upright, the face is blue, mouth wide open, eyes rolled back. The head, arms and legs twitch spastically and all its mouth can produce is a gasp and a groan. Suddenly it sits up. I slide back on my elbows to put a safe distance between myself and… me. My body jerks into motion. It approaches me with a stiff step and unnatural movements. I try to get up and escape when I hear the voice again. It is no longer in my head, it is behind me, where my body is, and it rolls across the room like thunder.

“I’ve come to take over.”

“What?” I whimper, but receive no answer. My body stalks past me and through the door through which the therapist had disappeared. As it is out of sight, I hear clatter and crashing. The doctor is screaming somewhere. She dives back into the treatment-room and slams the door behind her, collapsing in front of it, sobbing. I want to say something, but I’m paralyzed, out of breath, and pinned to the floor in pain. She lifts her head and looks at me, her mascara smeared.

“Mr. Kaiser?” Her voice is calm and doesn’t match her frightened expression. “Mr. Kaiser? You may eat the raisin now.” I let go of the armrests I was gripping and stare at the spot where I thought I was lying. I look at the therapist. Who sits across from me with neat make-up. I take a deep breath. My right nostril whistles quietly, my left is blocked. “Mr. Kaiser, the raisin.” She gestures with her pen that causes me to feel my left nostril. A raisin is sticking halfway in it. I take it out and put it in my mouth. It is rough and wrinkled, but sweet with a hint of salt, and soft when you chew it… Hey, look, there is a nail in the wall.