The bedroom door is shut. I hear voices, recognize my parents’ and hear another unfamiliar voice. I stand in front of the keyhole, covering one eye with my hand; another eye is wide open close to the keyhole trying to catch what is happening behind the closed door. I feel the tension in the air. I don’t dare leave my room, so instead I’m hiding behind the door and checking what is happening through the keyhole.
She says, “If only I could say everything I want”, and tells us that lately she has begun writing a diary, despite her inner struggles. When she talks about her writing she diverges and tells how sometimes a style of writing can change and turn the most secret thoughts in her diary into what she calls “real writing”, and gradually the energy in the room changes and we all feel that we are marching “into the real” with her. From the universal pain that pounds the room sprout new buds, her pale face becomes pink once again; her hands that previously froze over her mouth awaken and begin to move seemingly of their own accord in excitement, in order to add additional dimensions to the pouring words. Her body straightens up and starts swaying to the rhythm of her words, and she no longer needs support for her back, which was previously aching, and it seems that the strength of her vitality serves her and is like an internal support invisible to the naked eye, enabling her to sit straight and at the same to develop new dimensions. Gottfried, my co-facilitator for the group “Attending to the Silence” says, “Look how the energy in the room has changed”. And this new recognition in transformation beyond the old standpoints is molded; another option beyond the painful dynamics of victim-aggressor-collaborator.