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Two women enter a room. One of them is obviously in
control, some kind of therapist maybe. She is carrying a
pad on which to write and invites the other one to sit
down. The other one is obviously a guest or an interviewee
or in a weaker position in some way. She sits down
hesitantly and waits for the interview to begin.
The interviewee, whose name is SARAH, betrays a kind of
shyness in her gestures but there is nothing fundamentally
weak about her.
Take a seat, Sarah.
As Sarah is about to sit down the therapist starts
rearranging the chairs and Sarah has to wait a moment.
Sarah then sits down and waits for the interview to begin.
(sitting down on a chair
Right Sarah, before we start, I'd
like you to close your eyes and
think, silently, for a few
seconds about what brought you
here. Before you say anything, I
want you to be clear in your mind
about what it is that is
Sarah gives a half smile and closes her eyes.
That's right. I want you to
recover the emotions that you
were feeling at the very moment
you decided you needed my help.
Picture in your mind where you
were and what you were doing at
the very moment you thought to
yourself, "I need help".
Sarah opens her eyes and starts to object to the
therapist's assumption but the therapist stops her with a
No, no, no. You must keep your
eyes closed until I tell you.
This will only work if you do
what I ask you. That's right,
keep your eyes closed and think
back. I'll leave you to your
thoughts now, and next time I
speak, I want you to open your
eyes and tell me what it is that
is troubling you. Okay...
While Sarah's eyes are closed, the therapist cradles her
own head in her hands and rocks it between her legs as if
she's in distress. She messes up her hair. When she lifts
her head up she grabs a vanity mirror from her handbag on
the floor next to her and looks closely at herself in it,
alarmed. She strokes her hair back into place, replaces the
mirror, composes herself and says:
O-kay. Open your eyes and tell me
what it is.
(opening her eyes)
Bees? As in pollen?
Sarah nods assent.
You came to me because of bees?
The therapist gets out of her chair and walks around as if
suppressing her anger.
That is so - I don't know how to
express it - trivial. You have a
phobia about bees and you expect
me to cure you? A doctor could do
that, a psychiatrist even. I am
much more than that. Don't you
understand? I'm a spiritual
counsellor! I deal with the soul
and all its side-effects...
(with scorn, pointing at
the side of her head)
I don't deal with the mind. I
don't deal with the brain.
(the therapist walks
right up to her and
bends down so that
their faces are almost
I do not deal with consciousness
or unconsciousness, the id, the
ego, the super-ego, the anima,
the animus, the wounded self, the
child within, your inner man,
your inner woman, your inner
I don't deal with any of those
rag bag of witch-doctor concepts
foisted on us by a bunch of self
psychological career monkeys. I
deal with the SOUL. You probably
don't even understand what that
is but let me tell you it is not
a phobia about bees. And if you
think you are going to sit there
and insult me with the word
"bees", you can just walk out of
here now and pay me double!
It's not a phobia.
(walking over to her,
What do you mean?
It's an obsession. Something I
(she looks down at her
belly and holds it with
I have something beautiful
growing inside of me. Something
new and wonderful.
No. I'm full of new life. Not
this life, with all its problems
and diversions, but a greater
more intense life, full of
concentrated beauty and wonderful
structures. It's just waiting to
burst out of me, if only I can
let it. You see...
(she motions the
therapist to come close
to her, and whispers)
(pointing to her
I'm stock full of happiness.
Brought to me by the bees.
The therapist stands up straight, pauses.
This is interesting. When did it
It didn't just happen. It's
always been happening, since I
was a little girl. At night, the
bees come to me and they
impregnate me with joy and when I
wake up, the room is full of
light and smells of flowers.
That's how I know.
That I'm not mad. Otherwise the
room could not smell of flowers,
No. And there would be no light
Unless it was daylight.
No, it's much lighter than that.
It's a light you've never seen
before. It's like the inside of a
sun filled with honey and
exploding all over your face.
Hmmmm... And how do you feel when
you wake up. Happy or sad?
I feel so happy! So happy I could
kiss the world with my tongue. I
want to run up and embrace
everyone I see as if they were
Yes, eggs. And I was a sperm
who'd been swimming for centuries
through the fallopian tubes, lost
and alone, and suddenly I see
them there before me, big
luscious egg people, waiting to
be embraced. And it makes me so
You think you're happy.
No - I am happy.
You see, Sarah, sometimes what we
see as happiness can actually be
a special kind of misery.
Something horrible and
destructive waiting to take over
our soul and drive us down into
the dirt, like the worthless
remains of a ripped up scum bag.
We trip over it, we fall, we're
in the mud, while up there,
happiness is leaning over us
laughing, and crushing us with
its big boot. Could that be
what's happening to you?
No. This is real happiness. The
kind you could drive sheep
through. And never come out the
I know that's what it feels like
to you now, but what worries me
is that you may regret it later.
When you are woman.
But I am a woman.
No. That is a mistake that many
people make. They mistake being
an adult with growing up.
You see, the ancients tell us
that the soul starts life as a
worm, wriggling in the mud. Then
it becomes a knife and cuts
itself in two. When you have two,
you always get many, it's a
fundamental principle of the
universe, and from these many you
(taps her head and
Think about it! It's obvious.
Sarah thinks for a moment, shrugs her shoulders and smiles -
she is obviously non-plussed.
(getting up and fetching
the mirror from her
Right, I'll demonstrate.
(holding the mirror in
front of Sarah's eyes)
Now, look in your eyes and tell
me what you see?
I see the world through many
angles, like segments of a fruit
broken open by the summer.
Now look in my eyes and tell me
what you see.
(she holds the mirror
between them so that
looking into it they
can see each other's
eyes; long pause)
Well? What is it?
I see trauma. Trauma and dreams
all washed down with a mouthful
The therapist jumps backwards, outraged.
You do not see hatred in me. You
see a journey! One long journey
from being a worm to being a god!
Sarah stands up and faces her.
I see hatred in you! But you deny
it. You are jealous and you can't
comprehend. You don't know what
it's like to have the love that I
have here, buried inside me like
Don't you talk to me about love!
Wait until you have evolved a bit
before you come to me wittering
about love and bees and honey,
you... you retard.
(shakes her head
Oh you poor, poor thing. You just
don't understand, do you. I could
teach you to love.
(pointing to her belly)
Put your hand here, unless you're
(standing back, scared)
No! I won't.
It won't hurt you, you know. It's
what you've always been waiting
for but were too scared to ask.
No. It's disgusting. To commune
with bees like some drunken lama.
You don't have to be ashamed.
Everyone has these feelings of
resistance at first. Come, give
me your hand.
The therapist shakes her head while looking at Sarah's
Come on. Here, watch me do it
(she rubs her belly and
closes her eyes as if
in bliss; she opens her
eyes, full of ecstasy)
You see what joy it can bring.
Please will you trust me?
The therapist reluctantly gives Sarah her hand which is
placed on Sarah's belly. Sarah smiles.
You see, there is goodness in
this world. More goodness than
you can ever keep, filling up
like clotted cream in a dairy
full of sponge. Can you feel it?
Yes. Oh yes! It's a feeling like
I've never had before. I think
I'm going to faint.
Sarah sits down and the therapist kneels in front of her
with her head in Sarah's lap. Sarah strokes her hair.
Sometimes, it takes a shock to
make you realise that all we see
is not gold. Sometimes it is coal
or amber, sometimes chalcedony.
Sometimes it is only wood or
charcoal. But in every one of us
there is a soul, something
rotten, that can become a worm,
and then a knife, and then a sun.
If only we could believe.
A long pause. The therapist might be crying.
Now, I think I'm going to write
you a prescription. Just a little
something to take your mind off
things. Could you pass me that
pad over please?
The therapist crawls across the floor and returns with the
pad. Sarah writes in large letters, "SUICIDE", tears it off
and gives it to the therapist.
Yes. It's what we recommend for
your type. It shouldn't take long
and I think you will find that
very quickly you can face up to
things again, without the need
for crutches or remorse. Is that
Are you sure?
Absolutely! It's never failed
yet. Afterwards you might feel a
bit woozy, a bit wobbly at the
old knees, but that will soon
pass. In fact, everything will
soon pass, that's the beauty of
it. Blam, no more worries. And if
you have any questions, just get
back to me, through the old
spirit world - Ouija board, and
And I don't think we need to meet
every week from now on. Let's
give it some time for the wounds
to heal, shall we?
(scratching her arms)
Brrrr, too much abrasion.
They both stand up and look at each other. Sarah offers a
handshake. The therapist looks at her, unhappily. Sarah
tenderly pulls her towards her.
Oh my poor little darling, you
look so lost.
(with her head buried in
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