As a fourteen-year old, I lay on my bed, body aching and battered and bruised after a beating, staring at the wall in my bedroom. The wall was wood chip papered and started to pulse in and out, moving almost to my nose and then further away than my room, further than I could see. In the humming of the spacey wall, something said, “You are ok. You will be ok. You are loved.”

 Years later, at forty-six, I am in Frankfurt, and staying at a motel like hotel, chanting one morning, Nam-Myoho-Renge-Kyo towards a wall. My chanting is strong, in 9th consciousness, the wall is the same colour wood chip wallpaper, and it starts to pulse towards me and away. In the space and the humming, I can see the 14-year-old on the other side. I tell them, “You will be ok. I’m here. You are loved.”