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ones and to survive when a particle of their own personality was dead.

      Until death came to him.

      Oncology.

      For a long while death whispered in his ear the words of consolation, calling for humility and acceptance of the dogma that both life and death were God’s Providence.

      And that the necessity of humility was obvious.

      But Jean Batist’s hearing had always been mediocre.

      And he had survived…

      Anastasia, for the first time in several years after defending her thesis, was able to leave her private practice for the sake of communicating with her foreign colleagues within the frames of the international conference. The amount of work was so large, that her dream of professional self-fulfillment had become a reality long time ago. Tall, slender, with green eyes. With blond hair emphasizing her light skin, with a special gaze inconsistent with the youth of her soul. Anastasia had found herself in Moscow thanks to her aspiration for self-improvement and had gained a scientific degree at the best chair of psychology in the country. She had admirable children and a wonderful mother, and they filled each moment of her life with absolute and unconditional happiness.

      Anastasia conducted a private practice of a psychologist-hypnotherapist, developed her own proprietary methods, pursued research of the effect of hypnotherapy on self-regulation of a human being.

      She was guided by some special principles, not popular among her colleagues. Anastasia never worked with people whom she did not like in moral and ethic terms. But those, whom she started working with, she never left alone in any life situations. Anastasia helped people to get over a loss, to go through a betrayal, to be up and about again after a serious illness, to resolve a situation of domestic violence, to get out of an existential crisis, to stop on the edge of an abyss.

      Because she had stood on the edge of an abyss herself.

      And not just once.

      And she knew that if you tried to look into the abyss – the abyss might look into you so as to drink the last drops of your mind in the very bottom depths of your unconsciousness.

      And Anastasia knew this look well.

      But the abyss could not find her bottom.

      And she had survived…

      …In St. Petersburg they agreed that they would definitely meet in Brussels. And would jointly carry out a supervision of the cases from their practices of dealing with traumas. And would write a book about it. For all those people who had survived some trauma. And for all the rest who had not faced it yet, but who would definitely have to face it in future.

      So that this book could become knowledge for different people of how to go through a woe and a loss, medical disorder and fear of death, violence and loss of life fundamentals, which in many cases were composed of other people, whom we entrusted with our own lives.

      How to learn to live after a childhood psychological trauma. How to adapt to devastating realities of an adult life, when people lose their health, business, lose themselves. And what the life could be after a psychological trauma.

      At that time nobody could assume that in the process of working on this book, based on the stories of their clients, they would decide to tell about their own traumas which they had got over. To tell the whole truth.

      He – as a Belgian.

      As a psychiatrist.

      As a man.

      She – as a Russian.

      As a psychologist.

      As a woman.

      And they had met. And the book about life’s psychological traumas, co-authored by those who worked with such traumas and who had got over them, was written. In an unusual format of artistic narration in third and in first person. Because when we stand in front of a mirror we can only see as much as the amalgam allows us to see. And it does not matter where this mirror is located – in a bathroom or in the depths of our souls.

      Chapter 1. Descendants of Mediums

      African Poacher’s Son

      Little Jean Batist was running so fast that the wind, swelling the lungs as a sail, interrupted his breathing.

      He was 7 years old. He ran with his head down watching each step carefully, viewing the splitting jungle wilderness on the run. Jean Batist was in a hurry to get back before the sunset.

      The sunset on the equator was early – it was already dark at 6 pm. And then wild animals went out for hunting. He had to run to make it home in time. But yesterday while running his 11 kilometers home from school he did not meet the snake. That was not good. It meant that they might meet today. And he would lose precious time.

      Rwanda or as they also call it “Land of a thousand hills” is covered with subtropical forest. Lake Kivu being the most beautiful of the African Great Lakes, the waters of which are free from crocodiles that live in all the other bodies of water, and the banks of which are inhabited by 2 million people, amazes with its authentic beauty.

      In the period of Jean Batist’s childhood the Rwandese Republic, located between Uganda, Tanzania, Burundi and Zaire, was different. Only 4 million people lived there. But until now, after civilization has come to this African country and its population has increased to 11 million people in just some 50 years, Rwanda is still considered to be a paradise on Earth. During the year the air temperature remains around 25 degrees Celsius. The harvest which is reaped several times a year has an excellent taste.

      Local residents are engaged in agriculture and hunting. Nobody rushes to the palaces of education. Because intermittent wars and life on land do not assume that children would leave their families for a long road of education. But half a century ago, when two tribes of Tutsi and Hutu had already been at war with each other, creating a semblance of a relative peace, Jean Batist’s parents had made a decision that all five of their children should go to school, though only Jean proved to be able to study.

      It was not easy.

      At that time there were only 15 hospitals for the whole country and 95 percent of the population was illiterate. Jean Batist’s parents could not write or read as well as actually everyone else in the area – there was no need for that. Other values made these people’s lives replete and happy:

      – To get up at dawn with the first lights of equatorial sun.

      – To reap a harvest working 12 hours a day, seven days a week.

      – To go hunting successfully trying to avoid to be killed by wild animals.

      – To cook and eat fresh food as the food can only be freshly cooked – there is no place to store it.

      – To relax in the evening with dances and freshly brewed banana beer by the fire, in a big friendly company.

      – To sing a lullaby to a baby.

      – To listen to a medium, the tribe’s voodoo, who was Jean Batist’s grandfather and who revealed to people amazing mysteries of predictions.

      – To kill a snake.

      Among the country’s population of 4 million people only very few kids could become elementary school pupils. After 7 years of elementary school, even less kids used to progress to the secondary school which lasted for 6 years.

      There was no need for that. It was much more important to continue carrying out their father’s work: to work on land, raise cattle or to learn the trade of hunting.

      Jean Batist’s age mates who were 7 years old got up at dawn to clean the barn from cows’ and goats’ dung and then went to help at the banana plantations. For the sake of attending school Jean Batist’s father relieved him of other

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