A Healing Story

A Healing Story

by Leo Sofer (more info)
listed in healing, originally published in issue 34 - November 1998

Leo Sofer is an intuitive storyteller. Each story he tells begins with a question spoken out loud, alone or in front of an audience. The stream of pictures (in his mind’s eye) and words (spoken by his ‘inner voice’) that he receives in response gives him all the information he needs to tell a story, although he is rarely able to guess what is coming next. This story was told in response to a commission from Positive Health magazine on the subject of ‘Health and healing’.

An old man and an old woman lived together. One day the old man fell ill and no doctor could cure him. The more remedies he tried the more his condition worsened. He became feverish and sleepless.
“Call the birds!” he would cry throughout the day and night. “Only they can cure me!”

His wife tried to reason with him, but without much success.

“Call the birds!” he would cry, and his fever rose higher still.

One evening, in as much fear as desperation, the old woman ran into the garden. She called up into the darkening sky.

“You birds! Please help me! My husband is sick and I fear that soon he may die.”

Above her head she heard a whistling sound. Flying out of the sky she saw a beautiful brightly-coloured bird.

“Your husband is sick?” said the bird.

“Yes!” cried the old woman. “Can you help him?”

“No,” said the bird. “We birds are of no use in such matters. Only the angels can help your husband now.”
The old woman shook her head and ran indoors. That night her husband burned like a hot coal in the bed beside her. He writhed and sweated all night long, but the following morning he was calm.

“I dreamt of angels,” he said.


The old man closed his eyes. He touched his chest and in
that moment his heart lay upon the grass.
Later that day she went into the garden.

“You angels!” she cried. “Please help me! My husband is sick and close to dying and I am told that only you can heal him.”

No sooner had she spoken than the garden was filled with a strange and wonderful light. Standing beside her was an angel.

“Your husband is sick?” said the angel.

“Yes!” cried the old woman. “Can you help him?”

“I’m afraid not,” said the angel.

“But the birds . . .”

“The birds consider us capable of everything which is beyond them, and often they are mistaken. But there is one above us who can help you. Call upon the Creator and your husband shall be cured.”

The old woman shook her head and ran indoors. All day long she sat by her husband’s bedside. The old man looked as white as a sheet. He breathed faintly as if already taking the air of a more rarefied world.

She told him what the angel had said.

“What are you waiting for then?” he whispered.

That evening she went out into the garden and called up into the darkening sky.

“If there is a Creator of this world, please come to my aid! My husband is dying and I fear he has one foot already in the world beyond.”

No sooner had she spoken than a heavenly chorus filled the air. A bright light appeared in the sky above her head and she heard a thundering voice.

“Your husband is dying?” said the Creator.

“Yes!” cried the old woman. “Can you help him?”

“I’m afraid not,” said the Creator.

“But the angels . . .”

“I am unable to determine the events of the world,” said the Creator.

The old woman closed her eyes. “If you are truly the creator of this world then how can a single flower open without your blessing? You move the sun and the stars! How can saving a single life be beyond your power?”

The Creator said: “The sun is indeed my servant. And it is true that no flower can open without me. But, as for you and your kind, I have no power over you save that of the power of Love. I cannot determine the course of your lives, for you have your own free will. Thus it was created.”

“Then why did the angels say you could help?” said the old woman.

The Creator was silent for a moment. “Tell you husband that there is only one way I can help him.”

“And what is that?”

“Tell him that if he wishes to be healed he must gather together all his possessions, down to the last pin, and give them to me.”

The old woman pursed her lips and ran indoors. She found her husband sitting upright in bed. His face was bright and his eyes were shining.

“I saw the garden filled with light. Did the Creator come?”

“You’re not going to like this,” the old woman said.

But when she told him what the Creator had said, he clapped his hands and jumped out of bed. “All my life I have waited to hear that!” he cried, and he tore the sheet off the bed and made a sack of it and ran through the house gathering up all his possessions. His wife could hardly keep up with him let alone persuade him to stop. When the sack was full he dragged it out into the garden and threw it down onto the grass.

“Oh, Creator of the world!” he cried triumphantly. “Here is everything I own!”

At his words thunder rolled from one end of the sky to the other.

“Everything?” said the Creator.

“Everything!” cried the old man. “It’s all here!”

“Not quite,” said the Creator. “There’s one thing missing.”

“Tell me what it is and it’s yours!” exclaimed the old man.

“Give me your heart,” said the Creator.

The old man closed his eyes. He touched his chest and in that moment his heart lay upon the grass.

“And give me your mind . . .” said the Creator.

The man waved his hand over his face and in that moment his mind lay upon the grass.

“. . . and your flesh . . .” said the Creator.

And with a wave of the old man’s hand his flesh, too, lay upon the grass.

“. . . and your bones,” whispered the Creator.

And with a click of his fingers the old man’s bones lay in a heap upon the grass.

“Now,” said the Creator. “Where are you?”

And he had no eyes, yet he could see. He had no ears, yet he could hear. He had no heart, yet he could feel.

“Who are you?” said the Creator.

And the old man looked down at the pile of possessions he had gathered and he knew he was not that. He looked down at the pile of flesh and bones that had once been his body, and he knew he was not that. He looked around at the world and he knew that he was every blade of grass; he was every breath of wind; he was every star in the night sky.

“I am all things,” said the old man, his voice like a bird calling in the darkness.

“Good,” said the Creator. “Then would you like to be well?”

And the old man laughed. He laughed and laughed, and with him the grass laughed too. The wind laughed loud and so did the stars.

“Well?” he said, and he laughed even louder. Like the sea might laugh if asked if it were salty. Like mountains might laugh if asked if they were mountains.

“I have always been well!” he cried. “From before I was born until after I will die. I am in perfect health.”

“Good,” said the Creator. “Then do you understand how I can help you?”

And the man understood and in that moment his body became whole again. He took up the sack and carried it indoors and put each thing back in its proper place. Then he returned to his bed and lay there silently.

It was some time before his wife joined him. She took his hand and sat for a long time before speaking.

“Are you cured?” she said at last.

“I am deeply afflicted,” the old man said.

His wife sighed. “After all that?”

The old man smiled and turned to his wife.

“It is Love that has taken a hold of me,” he said.

“Then will you get better?” she asked.

“I do not know,” said the old man. “Maybe I will.”

From that moment forth the old man’s vitality began to return. The years fell away from him and his eyes shone like a child’s. Often in the course of the day he would burst out laughing for no apparent reason. He said he had never felt so happy in all his life.

One day his wife was in the garden when she saw again the brightly-coloured bird.

“I want to thank you,” she said, “for what happened to my husband.”

“Don’t thank me,” said the bird, “thank the angels!”

“Very well,” said the old woman, “then I’ll thank the angels.”

No sooner had she spoken than the garden was filled with an ethereal light and by her side there stood an angel.

“I want to thank you,” said the old woman, “for what happened to my husband.”

“Don’t thank me,” said the angel, “thank the Creator.”

“Very well,” said the old woman, “then I’ll thank the Creator.”

No sooner had she spoken than a heavenly chorus filled the air and a bright light appeared in the sky above her head.

“I want to thank you,” said the old woman, “for what happened to my husband.”

“Don’t thank me,” said the Creator, “thank your husband.”

And the old woman laughed, because for the first time she understood what the Creator had meant.


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