The Healer.

 The Healer

Setting: A quiet, modest room in a weathered community center. Candles flicker in glass jars along the walls, their light dancing across a circle of people sitting on mismatched chairs. Outside, the sound of rain whispers against the windows. The healer, a weathered figure in their late 40s with kind but piercing eyes, stands in the center of the room, their simple clothing reflecting their grounded demeanor. The air is heavy with tension, the group restless with unspoken fears. The healer begins to speak, their voice warm and steady, carrying both authority and compassion.*

Monologue:

(Steps into the center of the room, hands loosely clasped in front, their eyes scanning the group with quiet intensity.)

I know why you’re here. I know the weight you carry, the questions that haunt you. You’ve tried everything, haven’t you? Medicines, therapies, prayers. And still, you wonder why the pain lingers. Why the struggle feels endless.

(Pauses, letting their words settle, then takes a slow step forward.)

It’s not that you’re broken. It’s not that you’re unworthy or cursed or somehow left out of grace. It’s not even that the treatment failed. No, the truth is far simpler and far harder to accept: your healing is waiting. It’s waiting for you.

(Looks directly at someone in the group, their voice soft but firm.)

What you bind in your belief will be bound. And what you loose in your conviction will be loosed.

(They begin to pace slowly, speaking with a rhythm that feels almost like a heartbeat.)

I’ve seen it. A woman whose body ached with years of pain, who clung to the belief that she was beyond healing. She’d say the words—“I want to be well”—but her heart, her mind, were bound to the story of her suffering. And so, it held her. Tightly.

(Pauses, letting the silence linger, then looks up.)

Until one day, she let it go. She didn’t wake up cured. No miracle happened overnight. But she made a choice. She loosed her grip on the fear, the doubt, the old story she’d been carrying like a chain around her neck. And slowly, steadily, she began to heal.

(Turns to address the group, their voice growing stronger, charged with emotion.)

Healing doesn’t come in a tidy package. It doesn’t knock on the door and announce itself. It’s a partnership—a covenant between you and the force that made you. But you have to believe. Not half-heartedly, not with one hand reaching for hope and the other clutching fear. You have to bind yourself to the vision of what can be.

(Takes another step forward, speaking directly to someone whose arms are crossed tightly.)

I’m not asking you to deny the struggle. I know the pain is real. I know it feels like a storm that will never pass. But storms always pass. Always. And what you choose to hold onto during that storm—that’s what shapes the world you step into when the sky clears.

(Pauses, softens their tone, their voice like a comforting embrace.)

So I ask you: What are you binding today? Fear? Doubt? The whispers that tell you it’s too late, that healing isn’t meant for you? Or are you binding yourself to hope? To strength? To the possibility that there’s more for you than this moment of suffering?

(The healer kneels slightly, meeting the gaze of a woman whose eyes brim with unshed tears.)

And what are you loosing? Because you must loose something. You must let it go. The pain, the anger, the story that has kept you bound to this place. You have to release it, like smoke rising into the sky, trusting that the wind will carry it away.

(Stands slowly, hands open in a gesture of offering.)

You’re stronger than you know. But strength isn’t just in the body; it’s in the mind, the spirit, the willingness to choose belief over fear. What you bind with faith will be bound, and what you loose with that same faith will be loosed.

(Pauses, looking at the group with a gaze that pierces through the surface.)

Do you think this is just talk? A little philosophy to soothe you for a while? It’s more than that. It’s truth. It’s law. And whether you accept it or not, it’s already working in your life. Every time you wake up and choose what to believe, you’re shaping the very fabric of your world.

(Steps back to the center, arms now folded, their voice calm but unyielding.)

So tonight, I ask you again: What are you binding? And what will you loose? Because healing is waiting for you. But it won’t force its way in. It needs an invitation. And that invitation begins with your belief.

(The healer steps back, their silhouette framed by the warm candlelight. They let the silence stretch, giving space for the weight of their words to take root.)

(With a final, quiet intensity, they ask:)

Will you make the choice? Will you bind yourself to healing and loose everything else?

(She exits slowly, the flickering light gradually fading, leaving the audience with the hum of the rain and their own thoughts.)

The end.