Reporter dances on fair stage with hypnotist

I had never seen or spoken to him before, but when the salsa music started, his red hair and sculpted body were spinning and twirling me as if we were reunited as dance partners.

The empty look in his swimming pool eyes that matched his shirt reminded me he would be great at salsa. His arms wrapped and unraveled seamlessly around my spinning figure — then in a moment I was sleeping.

The next time I awoke, a very Hispanic-looking Justin Bieber was standing coolly in front of me. I tackled him.

We were on the ground, while I was simultaneously wrestling, pushing, elbowing other women to get a closer look at his face.

He left the stage with my lipstick on his cheek.

I’m sleeping again.

Now I’m dancing in a conga line?

Asleep.

I was guided by the whims of the most important voice — Michael Swenson’s voice, my leader, my hypnotist. Wearing a shiny black vest and faded denim, his muscles threatened to hypnotize me without another word. A five o’clock shadow adorned his masculine jawline. He wasn’t hard to listen to. I was saddened when he said I would have to keep my eyes closed most of the time.

Staring at the audience seated at the 3 Rivers Stage at the Montana State Fair, he told me and around 15 other audience members that he was not going to make us act like chickens. That was when I was mentally prepared and was unafraid of what was or was not about to happen.

Hypnosis, as described to me by others, is like a vivid dream or reliving a forgotten memory. More a skeptic than a believer, I was under the impression that anyone I saw on stage was not under the trance of hypnosis as much as they were succumbing to peer pressure and the stage fright that would come with breaking from the program.

The trance

Starry sounding music was spilling from the speakers and into my lap. He said I would feel calm and relaxed. My mind and eyelids falling, falling, falling until my mind hit that floaty head space that happens before one falls entirely asleep. I was fully aware, but I could not care less about where I was or who was watching. His voice was the only thing of importance to me.

My hands went limp and I dropped the mental responsibilities of working for the paper and looking composed and collected. The more I sunk, the more free I became. I was just listening to my hypnotist, taking extra care to do everything he said — it was the only thing I was interested in.

I was on pause, my intentions suspended, ready to do anything he suggested. Break dancing, sleeping, salsa dancing, resting, tackling and kissing Justin Bieber, then sleeping again. I felt at ease, while hoping to never be subject to another random conga line.

Coming to

I never lost awareness, and when he signed off and went backstage, I was sitting in my plastic chair in the front row feeling abandoned.

“He didn’t even say goodbye to me.” I thought. After the last half hour of pandering and being obedient to him, I was left with only a generic goodbye. He didn’t even look me in the eye. I floated out of my seat and over the warm pavement, across the street, and to my car. I felt groggy as if I had just been jerked awake from a nap. I did not know how to feel besides tired and confused.

“He said I would sleep really well tonight. Am I still under a trance?” I thought. “Is it going to be this way until tomorrow?”