Dr. Naught's CE5 Contact Therapy

Or, The Salvation of Arnold June

That Jacques Vallee was right about the nature of UAPs would have been more of a shock to humanity, had they not been gradually prepared for disclosure.  A series of technologies and world events objectively demonstrated the material nature of the vast weirdness which had always existed in the soul of humanity. The decades of social media had inoculated human society from their need for control. After all, who could really realize utopia, or avoid dystopia, when no two people could really agree what those words actually meant? Advances in neurotech had networked all the minds of humanity, revealing that the inconsistencies which existed between people were also reflected within the individual as well. Infinite universes of contradicting thoughts, emotions, and impulses swarmed before the perception of all. It wasn’t a surprise then, that we shared the psychic territory of Earth with innumerable non-local intelligences, having maintained relationships for millenia with those physically incarnate beings whose minds so closely resembled theirs.  

Autism ceased to exist as a diagnostic category, since humanity had adapted to take each others’ words at face value. Sensory sensitivities could be manually increased or decreased by the neural implants which were installed in every person at birth. Not all brains adapted to the new cognitive environment easily. A new pathology developed, known as Chronic Allism. Its symptoms were characterized by restrictive patterns of behavior where the patient cannot help but focus on trying to detect consistent patterns in other people’s inner states.  This overwhelms the sufferer with unbearable levels of constant anxiety, due the inconsistency of their impressions of other people’s minds. 

Arnold June had this condition, and almost never left his room as a result, a gloomy cupboard in a transient hotel, nestled in the city’s desperate heart. The communal showers represented intolerable torture, and so he marinated in the rank, aging fluids which secreted from his body. Self-conscious and aware of his distinctive perfume-aura, he’d look at someone on the street, experience them rapidly cycling between extreme hostility, extreme vulnerability, and extreme apathy.

If he could introspect, he’d see the same cycles playing out in the fractals and arabesques of his own intrinsic brain activity. Instead, he lived in a reality where anyone and everyone could ignore him, fall in love, or murder him right then and there. This was his experience while he traveled down the sidewalk, with his heart pounding, his eyes to the ground, avoiding the gaze of the people around him. He watched his feet, the cracks in the asphalt, and the little blades of grass growing between them.

He was on his way to a new therapist, to undergo an experimental treatment which was developed in cooperation with several transdimensional beings whose primary concern was with the healing of the body, the mind, and the soul. The therapist worked in tandem with the intelligences, transporting the patient's awareness to the realities in which they reside. Initial trials had indicated an extremely high success rate, and the therapy had been hailed a breakthrough treatment for the disorder which so hindered Arnold June’s life. 

The medical building looked more like a temple than a hospital, with columns in the old Corinthian style, and inscriptions in the Angelic language from the Liber Loagaeth on either side of the giant double doors at the entrance. He approached the doors, and pushed open the small wicket gate on their right side. A tall corridor, made out of grey and white marble, flanked by giant stained glass windows, each featuring images of the immortal transdimensional healers. 

Aesclipius, Hermes Trismegistus, Siddartha Gautama Buddha, Christ, Krishna, and others who he didn’t recognize, looked down on him. Arnold felt great and pure love emanating from the images. They themselves were windows to other planes of existence, through which the intelligences they represented could perceive the patients and their troubles, then construct a personalized therapy for them by the time they entered the therapist’s office. 

As he entered, the first thing he noticed was the strong scent of frankincense billowing from several censers which were placed along the walls of the office. Its floor was divided into four multicolored 16x16 foot squares, with a letter in each one-foot square. The walls, also multicolored, resembled checkerboards with an astrological symbol in each space, drawn in the opposing color of that square. A chair sat in the center of the room, at the intersection of the four coded tables. 

The therapist stood beside it and wore a white robe with a navy blue apron containing a complex set of symbols which Arnold was unable to interpret. At first, he reflexively avoided the gaze of the therapist, but realized that the overwhelming sensation of wheels within wheels was absent. Barely anything came from him at all. The only impression Arnold June received was a small, burning coal of awareness within the center of a space whose outer limits surpassed our own physical universe.

Arnold hesitated for a moment, then mumbled in the direction of his therapist, “I’m here for my appointment.” 

The therapist smiled and said, “Yes, you’re right on time. Please, have a seat and relax.” Arnold approached the chair and sat down, per the therapist’s instruction. “There we go. Are we good? Alright. I’m Dr. Chris Naught, and I will be your medical theurgist for today’s session. All I need you to do for me is some rhythmic breathing. It’s very easy. Just inhale to the count of four, then hold the breath - without closing your throat - for another four-count, exhale to another four-count, then hold yourself at the bottom of the bottom of your exhalation for one last four-count. Just do this until it feels comfortable, and gradually slow the rhythm to the extent which your ability allows.” 

Arnold nodded his head and complied. Dr. Naught pulled a stick of chalk from a pocket on his apron. Then, slowly and reverently, he traced a path through each of the four tables, deriving names and sigils from the letters in the squares, and from their spatial relationships to one another. After finishing this task, he moved to a spot which was four feet directly in front of his patient. Then, he stomped with his left foot while bringing his right hand’s index finger to his lips. 

Instantly, the space which Dr. Naught occupied opened up, revealing stable architectures of indescribable complexity. Arnold June’s own body felt insubstantial in comparison, even spectral. The memories which were seared into his mind became like dreams which faded at sunrise. It was living, intelligent, and it was looking directly at him, into him, and beyond him at the same time. 

“Arnold June, be not afraid. I am the archangel, Raphael. I am here to guide you upon the path of your own healing.”