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Once
upon a time there was a youth who dreamed dreams
of adventure and goodness. He came
from average people who worked hard and made
sacrifices for their families. They came from
people who were farmers, who were primarily
hill people, who had a strong belief in what
was
fair and just and a stubborn propensity for
standing up for those beliefs. They had always
made
sacrifices, whether it be for their families
or the country in which they lived.
The youth was a sensitive and perceptive son,
who loved to sit and watch the hawks soaring
in
the sky, smell the fresh cut hay and listen
to the hounds running on cold nights.
One day, as was his habit, he stopped on the
way to school to sit on the roots of a large
Oak tree
and watch and listen. Down the road came two
men. One reflected the light of the sun like
a
knight errant. The other, who seemed to be almost
in rags had a dark, moody and sad affect.
Both strode with the air of purpose and had
a sense of adventure about them, although the
dark
one was scarred and walked with a limp.
They stopped before the youth, who was immediately
awed by the bright and shining one who
began to tell him stories of great adventure,
sacrifice and honor. On and on he talked and
the
youth became a part of the stories and when
the stranger left, he was full of wonderment
and
could not wait to make his life like this bright
and shining stranger. There was a slight hint
of a
shadow regarding the dark and silent one but
this was quickly pushed aside by the memory
of
indestructibility of the bright one.
The youth grew into a young man still dreaming
of challenges and adventure. When war came to
his country he quickly went to become a soldier,
ready to fulfill his destiny.
On the field of war he saw courage and sacrifice
but also cruelty and callousness, sometimes
present in the same individual. Remembering
the feeling of confidence and control of the
bright
and shining stranger of his youth he strove
to maintain this feeling for himself. And when
he was
struck down on that chaotic field, in his terror
and agony, he changed forever. Then began an
ordeal of struggling against the pain of so
much lost. The pain and suffering within the
body of
the youth became a tyrant. He returned to the
country of his youth and all was changed. Even
the
old Oak tree was gone. But the one of dark visage
was still there, his scars and appearance too
foreboding to even acknowledge.
The youth frantically searched and sought for
the bright one and the return of his dreams
but he
searched in vain.
In pain and confusion he walked the roads of
his youth and one day he came upon the dark
one
who blocked his path. He rushed forward and
a violent struggle began between them. From
all
around others came to intercede and help but
the two struggled on and on until finally the
youth,
fatigued by his pain, fell down.
The other stood over him and the youth recognized
something very familiar about him. The dark
one, who seemed to now reflect the light of
the sun, said, "I came to you as a youth
and spoke
with you, but you only heard what you could
hear. You now have the mark of pain and suffering
of your experience and you must tell others
for they too must face what is really real.
They may
not hear you but you must convince them to listen
differently."
The metaphor reflects a common theme in our
culture; the heroic archetype that represents
a
value system based on what is perceived as "right"
and doing what is "right." When the
"what is
right" is violated and the body and soul
is traumatized the person reacts with fear and
rage and
the body and soul suffers a deep sense of loss
of control. The youth experiences this loss
of
control, not only because of his trauma but
also because of what he thought was right now
seems
like an illusion. The cement that bonded him
to his culture and its sense of order crumbles
into
nothingness. He frantically tries to recapture
it as it was but eventually is confronted with
the
reality that he can not. The dark one reminds
him and issues a call to him regarding his
responsibility to his humanness to share his
story because all will sooner or later face
this crisis.
The personal narrative is extremely important
to the victim of posttraumatic stress disorder
(PTSD), the finding of one's voice and articulating
their story. Even if in the beginning the story
is chaotic, the validation allows for the rebuilding
of the illusions of control and that in a real
deep sense they are not illusions at all.
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