The Enlightened Sex Manual: Sexual Skills for the Superior Lover by David Deida Read Free Book Online

self-conscious to be in this mall, in this bookstore, standing paralyzed with my hand on this weirdo's shoulder, while all the supposedly normal people walked about in their shopping trance, not even noticing us. The whole situa• tion felt very unreal and dreamlike.
    "Now," the big-bellied old man said, more quietly, "push." I finally spoke up. "What do you mean?"
    "Try to push me backward."
    I was too scared to move. I was not about to push on a total stranger whom I didn't even want to be touching.
    He grabbed my arm and pulled it toward him, as if to demon• strate what I was supposed to do. Okay, I decided. I guess there is no harm in a little push. If this guy tried anything strange, I could

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    yell out; the mall was filled with people who would come to my rescue. Or so I hoped.
    I pushed. "Harder," he said.
    So I pushed harder. He didn't budge. "Push as hard as you can," he said.
    I pushed. I really pushed. As hard as I could. He didn't move an inch. He didn't move an eighth of an inch.
    "Now I'm going to stand on one leg. Push as hard as you can." Bending his knee, he lifted one leg off the ground, my hand still on his shoulder. I didn't want to push this guy over and hurt him, even if he was a pervert. So I gave just a little nudge. And then a harder nudge. Finally I pushed him with all my teenage
    might. His body didn't even wobble.
    He smiled and looked deep into my eyes. I realized something funny was going on.
    Still looking into my eyes, he took my other arm by the wrist and placed my free hand on his other shoulder. Now I had a hand on both shoulders as he continued to stand on one leg. Again, he asked me to try to push him over.
    By now I was less frightened, though still wary, and damned if I wasn't going to push this guy over. I planted my feet firmly on the floor, steadied myself, leaned into him, and pushed as hard as I could. It felt like pressing against a marble wall. I finally gave up and took my hands off his shoulders. After my friend tried pushing him over with the same results, the old man put both feet back on the ground and spoke to us matter-of-factly.
    'A few years ago, I had a heart attack and a stroke, and I lay paralyzed in a hospital bed. The doctors told me I would never walk again. But I was determined to recover. A friend of mine left

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    me a book on yoga at the hospital. It was the kind of book you boys have probably seen in this very bookstore. I had the nurse open the book and show me the pictures of yoga postures inside. Even though I couldn't move, I would imagine myself doing the exercises in the book. All day, every day, instead of watching TV or worrying about my recovery, I visualized myself practicing these exercises. Lying paralyzed in that hospital bed, I didn't have much else to do.
    "Eventually, after weeks of visualization, I could move an inch. Then two inches. Six months later, I was able to sit up by myself. Now, I can stand on one leg and you boys can't even push me over. It's all about knowing how to use your internal energy. You can do it too."
    Right there, in the bookstore, he taught my friend and me some basic exercises to direct our internal energy. Within ten min• utes, I was able to move so much energy through my arm that my friend couldn't bend it. Nor could I bend his. With a few more minutes of practice, we even gained a modicum of proficiency at the one-leg trick. It was all a matter of circulating internal energy correctly, something I had read about in books, but had never seen or felt directly. Now this strange man, whom I had taken for a pervert, had shown us how to consciously direct our internal energy. For real. And it worked.
    He smiled as my friend and I practiced what he had taught us, testing our newfound skills. Then I looked up to thank him, but he was gone. Neither of us ever saw him again.
    The practices this man taught us became a part of my daily life, like brushing my teeth. In the few years following the bookstore experience,