One of the more fascinating models of the physiology of the traumatic experience had been developed by Peter Levine, PhD.,  based on the ethological model of the fight/flight/freeze response seen in animals in response to life-threatening experiences. In the wild, the preyed-upon animal will flee or attempt to fight, but if trapped, will enter a freeze response where it assumes a state of immobility while physiologically still manifesting high levels of activity of both parasympathetic and sympathetic nervous systems...

Should an animal endure a predator's assault, it typically undergoes a phase where it instinctively expels the intense nervous energy that has built up. This is seen in physical reactions such as shivering, spurts of sprinting, quivering, sweating, and deep, rhythmic breaths. Once this process of release is complete, the creature often reverts to a state of vigilant tranquility. Notably, wildlife handlers in Africa, as observed by Levine, consistently report that animals which fail to exhibit this tremor and respiratory reaction following their liberation seldom survive once they return to the wild. This could be due to their compromised ability to engage in essential defensive behaviors. 

We react to trauma in ways that are uniquely human, shaped by the complex layers of our upbringing and the intricate workings of our brains. Unlike animals, who shake off the stress of a narrow escape naturally, we humans have a tendency to bottle it up. This clamped-down state of alert can linger in the deeper reaches of our minds, kind of like how a song gets stuck on repeat in your head.

Take the memories that come with trauma—they're not just the things you can put into words but also the ones that live in the actions you do without thinking, like riding a bike or playing the piano. Those memories find cozy corners to settle in, from the folds of the brain dealing with decision-making to the bits handling balance and rhythm.

Traumatic memories appear to be stored in both explicit (conscious) and implicit (unconscious) memory systems. Procedural memory, an implicit form, involves synchronized motor sequences like those used in sports or arts. These sequences, once embedded, are highly recoverable and are thought to be stored within the orbitofrontal cortex, limbic structures, cerebellum, vestibular systems, and the basal ganglia.

Evidence suggests that traumatic experiences are encoded in these procedural memories. Through therapeutic practices that tap into the "felt sense," individuals can reactivate the movement patterns associated with past trauma. This activation of the sympathetic nervous system can potentially facilitate the discharge of pent-up autonomic energy, akin to the resolution seen in animals. Such therapeutic interventions may help desensitize the autonomic nervous system, alleviating the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.

The method

Now, there’s a way to tap into these memories, through a process that nudges the body to re-experience and release these stored patterns. It's like retracing steps in the snow, but instead of snow, it's the pathways of your past traumas. This can give your nervous system a much-needed reset, much like how animals shake it out after a scare.

Franz Mesmer, a name that's been through the wringer over the centuries, might have been onto something after all. His old-school method of locking eyes, guiding his hands over the body, and pinpointing the pain, was his way of stirring up healing. He didn't need to touch you to make a difference; his "mesmeric rods" were all about directing a mysterious healing energy. These moves of his set the stage for what we know as hypnotherapy today, and now, they’re getting a nod from science, confirming there’s more to his methods than meets the eye.

Dr. Paret's digging into Mesmer's forgotten treasure trove shows us that these old tricks could be more than just a footnote in history. They're like a hidden map to the complex highways of our nervous system, showing us new ways to navigate the aftermath of trauma. It turns out Mesmer's finger-waving might have been ahead of the curve, tapping into the body's own wisdom in ways we're just starting to get.