October 7, 2006--Saturday Story: "I Married Lydia"--Part Three

In Part Two, Lloyd encounters the great Orgonomist, Dr. Arthur Luven. He learns from him the ideas that shaped the field of Bioenergetic Analysis—from Freud to Wilhelm Reich to Dr. Luven himself. A living patrimony of theory and treatment. Treatment, in Lloyd’s case, will be three sessions with Luven that was required by Lydia if she was to agree to send out their wedding invitations, much less show up for the affair. And so he made his way to the analyst’s leather-sheathed chambers. Standing before him, stripped to his underwear, Lloyd learns that he is a mass of psychosomatic emotional blockages—he pants rather than breathes and shambles rather than walks. But Dr. Luven assures him that he can cure him, which Lloyd dutifully reports to Lydia, who promptly hangs up on him since she needs to complete a term paper on somatic conditions just like his.

So in Part Three, we find Lloyd about to begin his second session and . . . .

Even before asking me to undress, Dr. Luven told me a little more about Bioenergetic Analysis. He was wearing the same clothes as the day before except that for the second session his shirt was red, not brown. It still, though, was embossed with the Ying and the Yang. And all of his hair remained as it had been, welded in place. “We spoke yesterday about repressions and how they express and reveal themselves in the body. Through our work together these repressed emotions will emerge. You will begin to realize that your blockages are inhibiting your capacity to express spontaneity and creativity.” I was balanced on the stool again and made a conscious attempt to sit up straight and to breathe. I also remembered to nod my head so he would know I was understanding and agreeing. “Because of these defenses,” he went on, acknowledging my nodding by nodding reciprocally, “you are restricting your capacity to feel and to have fulfilling relationships. You are not free enough in your body yet to feel joy or anger, happiness or sadness, love or sensuality. That above all—sensuality.” At the latter I nodded so vigorously that I felt myself beginning to slip off the leather stool.

“And neither are you unblocked sufficiently to bring full satisfaction to another.” With this pronouncement he looked straight at me; and I knew from this that he had had full reports from Lydia!

“For that reason, today, you will sit for five minutes in the Orgone Energy Accumulator.” Just as Lydia had predicted. “I do not want you to feel any anxiety about this.” He could feel some beginning to emanate from me. “I will keep very strict track of the time. I assure you that it will not be for a second more than five minutes.” I resumed my nodding.

“But before we do that, we must talk about the Orgasm.” I knew we would get to that and now bobbed my head weakly. “Reich of course will be our guide.” I did not need to be told that. Dr. Luven gestured toward that section of his bookshelves where he kept his German texts. “He taught that feeling sexual love depended on the ability to have intercourse with ‘orgastic potency.’ He was a true scientist, not just a theorist, and he therefore measured the orgasm itself. He found that it proceeds in four distinct phases--first, the psychosexual build-up of tension; second, the tumescence of the penis or clitoris, which occurs with an accompanying electrical charge that he was actually able to measure. Think of that.” I indeed was. As was he as he instinctually touched the crotch of his leather pants as if indicating where the electrodes had been attached. I was doing more or less all right up to that point but felt myself cringing at the thought of Reich measuring the electrical charge of my tumescence.

“And of course,” Dr. Luven checked his watch and raced ahead, “he discovered an electrical discharge at the moment of orgasm itself—a considerable discharge.” He grinned at that. “And then finally he noted something with which you are already familiar, the relaxation of the penis and clitoris.” It was true that I was at least familiar with the former anatomical part and thus could nod at him convincingly.

“He believed the force that he measured during sexual intercourse was a distinctive type of energy that is found in all life forms. Reich called it ‘orgone’—from ‘orgasm’ and ‘hormone.’ This is sexual energy, blue primordial energy that he discovered permeating the entire universe. Everything. Everywhere.”

He sprang from his chair, clapping his hands energetically, and said, “It is now time to bring out the Accumulator. It is right there behind that curtain.” He pointed toward the far corner which was so dark that I had not until then noticed the curtain made up of hanging leather straps. “Please help me with it. It is quite heavy.” He leapt across the room and, gathering a handful of the straps in his hand, held them to one side to reveal it.

I had gotten up off the stool and turned to it as if transfixed. And there it was at last—the Orgone Box! In the flesh so to speak.

“You can see,” Dr. Luven said with a hint of pride, “it is a six-sided box, a hexagonal, a universal form fraught with cosmic meaning, constructed of alternating layers of organic materials, such as wood and leather,” he smiled when he said ‘leather,’ “to attract the orgone energy, and metallic materials—steel wool and aluminum are preferred--to radiate that energy in toward the center of the Accumulator. Toward where you will be placed.”

It was not very large, no more than four feet high, about the size and appearance of a small refrigerator, and I worried that I would not be able to be fitted into it. But as I was wondering about this practical matter, I caught myself and thought about more existential issues—What if I am able to be squeezed into it, what then will happen to me? When I emerge, what kind of person, more to the point, what kind of creature will I have been transformed into after absorbing five minutes of that cosmic energy? Would I be capable of finishing my courses, graduating, and going on to graduate school? And what about the wedding?

But just as I was about to seek a pretext to leave, to claim I had forgotten another appointment and needed immediately to go, Dr. Luven, as he did the day before, grabbed hold of me, by my bicep again, and took me ceremoniously to the Accumulator. “Here, help me pull it more into the room.” Putting my concerns aside, I did as I was told. “You will sit in it—see there is a bench inside--and absorb the energy through your skin and, as you breathe, your lungs. This will bring energy to your blood and to all your bodily tissue and by so doing will improve the flow of your life-energy and help you begin to overcome all of those many, many energy blockages we encountered yesterday. And all of this in just five minutes. As I promised, not a second more.” I was glad to have him reiterate the “not-a-second-more” promise.

“Of course, the Accumulator is just a tool, an essential tool to be sure, but you will still very much need me to work with you. To lead you to feel.” In truth I was calmed to receive that assurance—that I would not be left to be cured on my own by just sitting cramped in that box. And, most important, that he would be there to open the door to extract me from it. To free me if I required it.

“Now get out of those clothes,” he clapped his hands again. “All of them today.” I obeyed that command as well and began hurriedly to strip.

“And when you are seated, I will then close the door and keep the time.”

It took me less than a minute to become naked. I did not bother to fold my clothing. I simply tossed everything onto the cot, covering the tennis racket. “Very good,” he said, peering for the first time at my penis. I of course hoped he found it to be acceptable or, minimally, promising.

“It is a small space,” I jumped at the word small, “Intentionally so, to help with the energy gathering; but if you contract yourself a bit, you will find that you will fit. I have had patients even longer than you.” I glanced at him to see where his eyes were focused, wondering if he was making a pun. And then with Dr. Luven assisting by pushing on my back and shoulders, I utilized to good effect what Lydia had taught me about Martha Graham’s contractions; and by applying that experience to this circumstance was able to contort myself sufficiently so that with less difficulty than I had anticipated found myself packed somewhat painfully into the Box.

As he was about to close and latch the door, Dr. Luven said, for the first time in a gentle voice, “It will be pitch black in there. And totally silent. That is by design. If you are fortunate and the energy finds you today, and it may not, you will feel very little, but the chamber itself will be filled with blue orgone light. And when you emerge we will immediately begin to attack the blockages.”

And with that he swung the door closed on me. And just as he had said, it was so silent in there that I did not even hear the click of the latch. And it was so dark in there that I could not see my hand held right before my eyes. That is, if I had been able to raise it—I was so stuffed in and folded upon myself that there wasn’t room enough to blink my eyes much less raise a hand or scratch my neck, which, confoundedly, immediately began to itch.

Crunched that way, with nothing to see or hear much less do, I tried to keep the time by counting seconds, both to occupy myself as well as a check on Dr. Luven’s time-keeping--“One, one-thousand; two, two-thousand, three, three-thousand . . . .” And when I got to what I thought was ninety seconds, an interminable time with still an endless three-and-a-half minutes to go, I began to hear, more accurately to experience the hint of a faint melody. So soft it was that it felt as if its source was from far away, from a place beyond both the Orgone Box and Dr. Luven’s chambers.

I stopped my counting in an attempt to listen as it modulated into what I can only describe as unearthly music since it was such a unique, such an ethereal sound. If I had been a skeptic, I would have thought he had it piped in, just as false mediums faked the appearance of ghosts during séances. Or if I had been living in an earlier era, I would have thought I had tuned in to the Music of the Spheres. But then, if I had been a believer, I would have been convinced it was coming from another world, perhaps even from a place beyond time, or from a time after all has ended.

I was clearly being propelled beyond time and place and was ironically hoping that Dr. Luven had had to take an emergency call or needed to respond to a patient’s nervous breakdown and was on his way to Bellevue and had thus lost track of time, and me. Five minutes now hardly felt like enough, even if I was “baking” in that box as Lydia had derisively joked. Especially since, in what had heretofore been utter darkness, I began to experience light!

As I am colorblind I was not sure if it was blue—the true Orgone Blue—but there was certain evidence of luminosity. Blue, white, ultra violet, infra red, it mattered not to me. In that opacity there was now miraculously light! With the sounds of Heaven playing in my ears and these bursts of cosmic radiance ricocheting off the inner aluminum liner, I was converted into a Reichian, a Luvian, even a Lydia Liebhabian! I couldn’t wait to take up my life, what promised to be a truly different life, a radically new life, once I got out of that Box.

And it was sure to be a life suffused with “orgastic potency” since, as I sat there, still folded in a fetal ball, amazingly finding a space in those cramped quarters to grow, my penis began to stiffen and expand, to tumesce, into the longest, hardest, thickest boner of my life! I couldn’t wait to tell, better, to show it to Lydia.

Thus excited—with the Spheres still singing, the light still crackling, and my penis still expanding—the door snapped open and in the by-contrast blinding light of his office, I saw the diminutive Dr. Luven bending in half to retrieve me from that tiny box.

It was not surprising that the first thing he spotted, which because of its size and color—I had color vision enough to know it was a blazing scarlet—and of course because it was the subject of his life’s work and devotion, the first thing he noticed and commented upon was my erection, “As Dr. Reich, would say,” he winked “Zehr gut, very good indeed.” I could not help but share his enthusiasm.

He reached out to me and I took hold of both his hands because I needed literally to be pulled from the Accumulator. As I stood unashamedly before him, he continued to hold on to me, taking me in, all of me, pausing with evident pride at what was most prominent. “Excellent,” he reiterated. “We are now beginning to make progress. You are already longer.” I moved to try to cover myself. “I should have said ‘taller,’” he smiled. “Look at you! Look at the posture. Not so much anymore a schlump.” I squared my shoulders further, taking pleasure in towering over him, even in my bare feet.

“Lean forward,” he said, “I think I see something.” I was pleased to comply and bent toward him as he backed away a bit to get a better look at me. “Yes, I see them there—more blockages. I did not notice them before because you are so tall. They are in your shoulders. Here let me have them.” At that, with me still leaning forward, he reached up to take hold of the flesh and sinews above my clavicles, between my neck and shoulder sockets. He simultaneously clenched both sides in vise-like grips so powerful that I let out a series of yelps and cries that would easily have been audible in the waiting room if the door had not been padded.

I began to sob and, I need to reveal, ejaculate. Both at once, all over his leather shorts.

“Zehr gut,” he said again,” not even noticing that I had ruined his pants. I on the other hand cringed in embarrassment. “Do not be concerned,” he said, “this form of therapy is very messy work. But the first blockage is overcome,” I wasn’t in truth sure which one he was referring to since the two gushers had erupted at the same time.

“Next Tuesday when you come again to see me, we will really begin to get to work.”

Though I could not begin to imagine what more could happen to me, I was glad to be able to wipe myself off, get dressed, and leave because after this session I was eager to share it, and hopefully me, with Lydia.
But when I called to see if she could come over to the College Residence Hotel to hear and witness, she rebuffed me, even though I promised to tell her about the session, that it might help her with her paper, which she reminded me was due in a couple of days. As a further enticement, I promised that I might also be able to give her a demonstration of what I had happened to me in the Orgone Box, thinking she might “get there” and thus be able to write about that as well. I was feeling that good about myself. And that shameless. But still she put me off, agreeing, though, to talk with me, a sort of date on the phone, at 8:00 that evening.

* * *

At precisely 8:00 I called. Her roommate Helga answered, which was a disappointment because in anticipation of an intimate call, I had darkened my room, gotten undressed, and lay stretched out on my bed. “She went out for a sandwich,” Helga said, “She’s been working so hard on her Psych paper that she forgot to eat anything.” This broke the mood and I snapped on the bedside lamp. “She told me, though, that you had your second session with Dr. Luven and that you wanted to tell her about it.” I was upset that Lydia had shared that with her, particularly since Helga was a Neo-Freudian. “She asked me to take notes about what happened so maybe she could use some of it in her paper.”

With that I jumped up. Lydia this time had gone too far. “She what?” I yelled into the phone.

“She thought you could tell me about being in the Orgone Accumulator and what happened to you after you got out.” I was trembling with rage and should have hung up. “That I would write it down for her. She said you wouldn’t mind. I’m taking Psych courses too.” I heard her muffled voice—she had covered the phone and was talking to someone else who was in the room.

I shouted at her, “Who’s there with you? Is it Lydia? Put her on. This is just crazy.”

“No, it’s not her. It’s my boyfriend Carl. Do you know him? Carl Horowitz. He’s also a senior at Columbia. I thought he also might like to hear about Orgone Therapy. He’s pre-med and just got accepted by NYU Med School and is thinking about becoming a psychiatrist.” I continued to shake with anger at having been turned into a living exhibit of Bioenergetic Analysis. I had been expected, hoping for something very different that evening after what I had experienced, but rather found myself stamping around my room, stark naked, with half of Barnard and Columbia poking at me!

“Here, Lloyd, here’s Carl, he wants to say hello.”

And with that Carl was on the phone, saying, “Hey, Lloyd. Did we take Organic together? I seem to remember you. Tall, poor posture, already losing your hair? That’s you, right?”

“That’s not me,” I shot back at him, though how he described me was unfortunately accurate enough.

“It’s OK, man. Be cool. I just wanting to be friendly. I can’t wait to hear what happened to you in that contraption. I’m thinking about studying to be a shrink myself. I got into NYU you know. . . . Hey, Helga, what’s that friggin box called? . . . The Origami Box? . . . No? Sorry--the Organic Box. . . . I know, Helga. . . . She says I’m such a jerk. Anyway, let me put her back on. If OK with you, man, I’ll pick up the extension so I can hear all about it direct from the horse’s mouth so to speak.” He dropped the phone on the floor, but between the echoing sounds it made as it rattled around I could hear him roaring with laughter.

Helga was back on the line, “OK, so he had you take off your clothes right? Talk slowly, OK, so I can write it all down”

I don’t know what impelled me to answer; that probably would take a fourth session with Dr. Luven to figure out. “Yes I did.”

“Everything? I mean last time you kept your underwear on, right?”

I whispered, “Yes.”

“Yes what? Underwear on or everything off? Lydia said to press you about that. She feels that’s very important.”

“Everything.”

“Good, everything. So you were naked? . . . Will you please stop that Carl.”


“Yes. That too.”

“So you weren’t wearing anything at all when you got into the box?”

“That’s correct.”

“And what did Arthur, I mean Dr. Luven tell you would happen to you in the Box?”

“That I might see some blue light.”

“Even though it’s pitch black in there?”

“Yes. He said that it might or might not happen.”

“And did it?”

“Yes.”

“Was it blue? . . . Will you stop giggling,” she barked at Carl, “and take you hands off me! . . . What color was it? Lydia says that’s very important.”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure.” Somehow Helga was pulling me along against what I thought to be my will.

“You’re not sure? Lydia will kill me if I don’t find out. Try to remember.”

“It could have been. I’m colorblind.”

“Of course, you would be wouldn’t you.” She sounded exasperated. “OK, I’ll make a note of that . . . . ‘He’s colorblind,’” she repeated to herself. “And what else? What else happened? And can you maybe speed it up? I only have a few more minutes. I also have a paper due.”

“Well, I think I also heard music. Or something that sounded like music.”

“Uhmm,” she neutrally said. It sounded as if she was already acquiring the skills needed to be a good therapist.

“It wasn’t piped in as far as I know though that would be easy to fake. The light too. But I think, considering what else happened, that both could have been from the orgone energy.”

“Will you please get away from me,” she hollered, “I not playing games here. Leave. And I mean now!” I heard him stomping across the floor and then the sound of the door slamming. “He’s such an animal. I don’t know why I put up with him. He’s a moron. But he did get into NYU. Though how I’ll never know.” And without missing a beat, she said to only me, we were alone now, quoting me back to myself, “‘Considering what else happened?’ Lydia will want to know all about that. And so do I, I should add.”

I realized I had said too much. But still I did not hang up and continued as if under Helga’s spell. “I sat in the Accumulator, rather I was so packed into it I could hardly breathe, but as I experienced the music and saw the light throbbing I began, incredibly, to . . . I don’t know how to put it.”

“You’re doing fine,” she said, in an uncharacteristically gentle voice. I felt her right there with me, in my ear, almost in my room. I lay back down on my bed again and switched off the light. “I think I know what happened. Lydia prepared me for this. She told me about some of her own experiences in the Accumulator. . . . You can tell me. I’m right here. Right there with you.”

“I began to get hard.”

I said it so softly that Helga said, “You what? I couldn’t hear you. It must be the connection.”

“I got hard,” I said again. Much louder.

“As we suspected,” Lydia responded, sounding professional. “I mean,” she adjusted her tone, almost whispering, “I understand. It’s natural. And beautiful.”

It was beginning to happen to me again as I lay there looking out toward New Jersey with the siren-soft sound of Helga’s voice coming through the phone. “Well, it was different. I never experienced anything like that before. Anything that powerful. Some force had taken over my entire body.”

I took a chance, “And it’s happening again. While I’m talking to you about it. I probably shouldn’t be telling you that.” I felt my breathing intensify at this confession. “But it feels good. Almost as good as this afternoon. Amost as . . . .”

But, before I could say another word or take another shortened breath, Olga interrupted, Lydia’s assistant again, “And did you come all over him?”

To be continued . . . .