The Professional Human Being -- A Session

On the floor of the Heart, a young lady greets you and requests that you fill out a form that asks for your name, address, contact numbers, eye color (?), what language you want to have your session in, and asks if you could give up a sense, which would it be and why.
You fill out the form, sit politely (we are in a waiting room, after all). Then you are informed that the Professor/Professional will see you now. You go into the Artist Holding Area, up a spiral staircase to the balcony and face a tent/makeshift room made out of muslim. There you are greeted by Mr.Komlosi, who requests that you remove your shoes and put on blue plastic hospital booties so as not to ruin his mother's Persian carpet. You do so and enter.
Mr. Komlosi, a charming young man who invites you to sit in one of three chairs. You wonder, will he analyze you according to your chair choice? It does feel a bit like going to a therapist. I sit in one, he sits in a comfy chair with a hassock in the corner of the room. Next to him is a small table with a lamp,two photos, a mini Buddha, and some other tchotches. He takes your form.
You are put at ease immediately, as Mr. K. explains what he does-as a professional human being, his job is to enable others to achieve their human beingness. He apologizes for the noise from the Heart (you are used to it by now, it is not disturbing). He gives you a short history of how he became a PFH--at his birth, a mysterious man visited his mother in the hospital and predicted/commanded that this would be his mission in life - to human beingize others.
The questions begin: Do I consider myself a human being. Yes, I answer (he takes a note). When did you first realize that you were a human being? (quick memory flash to being an infant). Why? (I explain-this is private). When else? Quick memory flash to childhood and putting caterpillars in jars. Mr. K shows me a photo of his cat, who died 2 years ago from feline leukemia. I am sad; I miss my cats. His cat suffered. I ask if he feels guilty? No, he says. I still feel bad about my old cats who died. He mentions Buddha. Shows me a tiny staute of a laughing Buddha. I love laughing Buddha. I was Laughing Buddha in a theatre piece many years ago. When else, he asks? I remember time of terror sailing on a lake. Feeling afraid and human.
Mr. K takes notes--what is he writing? What will he do with this? Am I being spied on? What does he think?
The sound of a rooster crowing. Time is up. My 15 minutes are up. Yes, this is therapy. Mr. K explains that the first consultation is free; subsequent sessions require giving Mr. K a gift. I offer a cookie. He does not want the cookie (No one here seems to want a cookie; actors in New York eat cookies like they breathe).
I thank Professional HB Mr. K for giving me a chance to visit my memories. I'm not sure if this is what he intends, nor what happens with other people, but it was a sweet little trip we took through my sense of being human.
- Marcy Arlin