One of the problems of describing therapeutic techniques is that they can seem dry and remote. It occurred to me that writing a folk tale would be a good way to talk about the Identity Healing process in a way that spoke to the metaphorical part of ourselves that delights in a story. This tale is one way of telling you about it without talking about it. I hope you enjoy the story and see its potential. – Andy
In a land far away and long ago there lies a village remote and beautiful.
A scattering of rough stone houses and tangled gardens surrounded by high hills and deep forest.
The villagers lived the simple lives of villagers everywhere.
They worked, slept, laughed, cried, were born and gave birth, grew up, grew old and died in all the ancient and familiar rhythms of the world.
To their occasional visitors they looked the same as villagers everywhere and anywhere.
To those visitors who stayed a while they seemed happier than villagers ought to be.
In spite of the hard work in the daily and yearly struggle for survival these villagers had found a way to be contented with themselves.
The villagers had an easiness of being. A deep contentment with themselves and the world. And although they had all the familiar vexations in their lives, they lived them to the full without struggle.
Children growing here suffered all the usual knocks and blows of life.
If you saw such a moment in a child’s life here you would see all the things you would expect to see anywhere. The shock, hurt, anger or fear would run through their bodies and over their faces.
What you wouldn’t see, what you couldn’t see, if you were not from this village, is the secret way each child protected themselves from their pain.
If you could see it you might doubt your eyes.