I received a phone call from a friend of mine from Utah. It was four years after I had moved to California and she was desperate for help. Her son, age nine, had been admitted to the State Mental Hospital.She explained he had been diagnosed “antisocial psychopath with schizophrenia tendencies.” This meant they were planning on keeping him in the mental hospital for a long time. I knew her and had met the young boy and I asked what had caused him to be admitted to the hospital. “He has been taking knives, putting them to the throat of little girls and raping them” she cried.I agreed to fly in and see the boy as soon as possible.

I was traveling a lot so I changed my flight plans, phoned ahead to the hospital, and made arrangements to visit with the boy.As I approached the building, one of a large complex situated at the base of the mountains in Provo, Utah, near where I raised my family, I was met at the door by the psychiatrist. He knew me from my work with families of schizophrenics and other patients from a few years earlier. “You have one hour!” he exclaimed in a harsh and authoritative voice. I understood what he meant. It was only a few years ago that over 80% of the hospital population was “pulled out” from the hospital because of my efforts and I would likely have emptied the entire hospital if the psychiatrists had not persuaded the political powers to request we stop our programs.I was on “enemy ground” according to them and was given a very tight leash. At the same time, my credentials were impeccable and there was no legal reason they could limit my access to the boy since I am a licensed psychotherapist in the state.

I walked the three flights of worn stairs, went down the dark hallway painted ugly green, and entered the small and barren visitor’s room. The boy was sitting on an old green couch, much worn over the years. I sat on the other end. He remembered me and I him. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I been bad,” he sighed and he picked up the couch’s middle cushion, put it between us and peeked over the top. It was plain he felt guilty and I knew he was not in a psychotic state. “Did it feel good?” I beamed at him. “Oh yeah!” he beamed back and the pillow dropped a little.

“When did you first begin to be bad?” I queried. The pillow came back up and he ducked his head a little. “When I pushed the button.”

“What button?” “The one on my friend’s dad’s VCR” - he whispered as though it was some kind of secret.

“What did you see?”“I saw a man put a knife to a lady’s neck and do things that looked like more fun than I ever had in my whole life. It felt gooood!” “So you wanted to have fun and feel good?”“Yeh,” he said.“So you did bad things so you could feel good?” “Yeh.”

“Can you feel that good feeling now?”“Oh yeah,” he said. “Does it have a color?”

He squinched up his nose and looked away a little as he concentrated.“Its black and brown.” “Does it have a shape?”

“It’s like a big dog. More like a beasty dog. It’s big and it has a collar and a big chain.”The way he referred to the collar and chain made me ask, “Where does the chain go? ”His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open as he looked upward toward the ceiling. He gasped and before I knew what was happening he had crawled under the cushion and was shaking so hard the entire couch was rocking.

I climbed down to his level and poked my head under the cushion. “What is it?” “It’s the devil!” he wailed. “Oh good!” I beamed back. He paused at the implication and I responded, “Do you want to know a secret about the devil? ”The pillow raised a little and he said, “What secret?”

“If you love him he has no power.” “Really?” “Yep. It’s a fact.Try giving him a big hug and see for yourself. ”I watched as this courageous little boy pulled himself out from under his protective pillow and looked cautiously upward toward the devil. He half closed his eyes, slowly put out his arms and gave the devil a hug .As he was doing it, I said, “Ask him what he wants.” “He says he wants to have fun.” “Tell him thanks for answering and ask him and his beast if they will wait for a minute. “Yep.They will.”

“OK. Great! Now let’s do something else. Can you imagine what it would be like to have fun in a more normal way, without doing all this “bad” stuff?” “Oh sure.” “What would you do for real fun but not bad fun?”

“Play ball, go swimming, play games and stuff.” “How does it feel to have good fun?” “Well it feels gooood. It feels like it’s normal stuff.” “Does it have a color?” “Yep, it’s like sunshine.” “Does it have a shape?”

“Well yeah. It’s like an angel. It’s my very own angel with flippers.” “With flippers?” “Yeh. It’s not a serious angel. It has flippers?” “Flippers?” “Yeh. For swimming and it reminds me it’s a fun angel!”

“OK. We got one more thing to do.” “OK. What?”

“Well, can you invite the devil and his beast to meet your angel?” “Sure.The devil says he’s tired and so is his dog. They want to rest and stop doing bad things.” “Really? Can you ask him if he and his dog would like to be able to have fun in a good way?” He scrunched up his face and had a little inner dialogue with his devil and then said, “He says he wants to be like the angel.”

“Ask the angel if it’s OK.” “She says sure it is.”“Can you ask the devil if it would be OK for him and his dog to change. Maybe they could change forever into the angel so they could always have good fun?” “Well they just changed.”

“What happened?”“They are gone.Only my angel’s there now.” “Will the angel help you have all the good fun you want?” “Oh yes.She’s great!” “Will you ask her whenever you want fun so she always helps you to know what to do?” “Oh yeah.It’s great!”

“Can you draw your mother a picture of your angel?” “Sure!”

And he did. It was an angel with wings and flippers. There was still about 10 minutes left and we sort of joked around and I asked him questions about his mom and how she would be very interested in his angel. He promised to talk to his angel every day and tell his mom everything.

I made arrangements to return and had no contact until I walked up the path toward the building three weeks later.The psychiatrist met me outside of the building. “What did you do to that boy!” he exclaimed pointing a very authoritative finger in my face and waggling it back and forth. He was very frustrated. “Why?” I asked. “What happened?”

“You were only there for an hour. He was rapping little girls, slapping people in the halls, attacking other children without cause and a real sociopath. From the time he talked to you, his behavior changed entirely.” “What do you mean?”

“He’s been a perfect angel!”

“Of course!” I exclaimed, realizing he had been following the advice of his angel with flippers.“How did you do it?” the psychiatrist asked. Seeing he was somewhat perplexed and seemed sincere, I put my arm around his shoulder as we walked together into the building. I took a few minutes, explained about the VCR incident and how it triggered a situational response which took over the boy’s fun loving patterns. I explained about tracking the holodyne of the beast and the devil and transforming them into the angel so the boy could have “good fun” instead of “bad fun.” “Can I watch?” the psychiatrist asked. “I am sure it will be fine but really, there’s not much left to do. Just observe the boy for awhile and let him go. He should be fine.” “I can’t believe it” he was saying as we walked into the reception room.

The boy ran to me and jumped up and gave me a hug. The perfect angel was released four weeks later.

This is an excerpt from “The Dance of Life: Transform your World NOW!” by V. Vernon Woolf.

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