As Harold sits across from me, the rains are once again pummeling the windows, the skies re rumbling, and the old ironwood tree rattles against the stucco wall. It is now that Harold can fully tell his story; he's finally able to explain the shame that was born of his traumatic wounding. He has gained the insight that led to the discovery of his truth. And this is when, automatically, he begins to cut loose the bondage of shame.
"I finally feel free," he explains. "That secret has dragged down my heart for so long," he says with a slight smile.
Again his look is distant, and his shoulders are slumped... except this time, the distant look and slumped are not from carrying his burdensome shame. Rather, they are from his road-weary travels, a journey that has allowed him to return to a feeling of well-being.
As so, as always at the end of a fierce storm, the rain begins to cease, the winds settle into quiet slumber, and Harold gently sighs, whispering, "I finally feel free. I'm finally free." As he says this, it is as if, in simultaneous union, the proverbial blue, sunny sky breaks through, allowing a sliver of light to filter through the blinds. Perhaps this is a light of hope, a light a promise, or simply the light after a good storm that allows us to feel cleansed, renewed, and restored.
End of chapter two.