As I sat, in countless sessions, listening to the deep voices from the fractures of my clients’ lives, I felt the itchy urge to break through the shell of my rigid world, jump out of the detritus of my theories, and tightly embrace them – to let them know that I felt like them many times, that I was no ‘better’ than they were, and that they were beautiful in their imperfections.
Today, as I recover from my conditioning and education, I realize that I can no longer fix anyone. I refuse to. People aren’t tools to be employed by mercantile systems. In the stead of fixing them up, making them amenable for industrial occupation, I choose to dance with ‘them’. What most of us need are wounded healers and sacred spaces, wherein the distance between the healer and the healed is ironically shortened and paradoxically non-existent, wherein the master becomes poetically entangled in the playfulness of healing, wherein we finally see ourselves as part of a magical, indeterminate world of performance that understands our fractures as the treasured places through which new light comes.