After the usual twenty minutes dancing we formed our circle again, and Vismaya stared at all of us intensely, looking for a sign. She would hesitate now and then, looking very intensely and then continue to look further around the circle. She stopped this time with Sonja, who seemed to be sobbing slightly.
“It hurts so much”, sobbed Sonja. We all waited silently for her to go on.
“What is it that hurts, Sonja?”, asked Vismaya.
“It’s been so difficult”, said Sonja, “The abortions, the first one, then the second.” She began to cry. “Then the third”, she said, as she began crying more openly now. “And the boy, he cries and he cries.”
Sonja shook her head back and forth, crying:
“It’s been so difficult for me”, she said, shaking.
She was normally a very restrained person, even a little stiff, so this was all a little unexpected.
Vismaya looked at Sonja very coolly and said:
“It’s not the abortions, Sonja.”
Sonja continued crying. Then Vismaya said:
“Look here Sonja! Take your pillow and come out into the center and face me.”
Sonja struggled to her feet, took her cushion out to the center, and sat facing Vismaya, who repeated what she had just said:
“It’s not the abortions, is it?”
“The crying, it’s the crying”, said Sonja. “Why can’t he stop crying”, she said as she hit the pillow.
There was a tremendous intensity in her voice, a tremendous depth of feeling. I could feel the energies moving in my own body, as I felt empathy with her. My youngest boy was about the same age as hers.
“What do you feel, Sonja?”, asked Vismaya. “Tell us what you feel.”
“I hate it”, said Sonja. “The screaming – I hate it.”
“Now imagine your boy on the cushion, Sonja”, said Vismaya. “Tell him how you feel.”
Sonja hesitated. Then hit the pillow hard and said:
“I hate you, I hate you.”
“More”, said Vismaya.
“I hate you, I hate you”, said Sonja with increasing intensity.
I felt like a knife had cut through my heart. The tears welled up in my eyes, and the energy began to rise like a volcano from my stomach. I could not stop myself. I rose and walked towards the center of the room, reached down and took the pillow from Sonja, and threw it down firmly on the ground a couple of yards away and said directly to Vismaya:
“You’re wrong, your technique is wrong.” Then I knelt beside Sonja and put my arm around her shoulder, and said:
“You don’t hate your son. Don’t say you hate your son.” Then I began crying too as we clung together in the middle of the floor.