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  • After some days of pain, suffering and constraining and no money to spend in treatments I was told that a holy man would assist people in a private gymnasium in Curitiba that Saturday.

    "Ten reais. Go early to find a seat and wait to be called". For all that week I couldn't walk on two feet and had to drag myself along the house with all my body cramped after a severe stress crisis. The firsts steps I could have were kind of Australopithecan so it seemed fair to try any kind of relief in my reach.

    Dr. Lay was described as a miracle of charity, the doctor of doctors and a father for poor or hopeless people who couldn't find solutions in the traditional Medicine. He walked through the crowd like floating through the "Unchained Melody" - his inspirational theme resonating ad nauseum in the gymnasium before treating the patients with his weird methods: incorporating a disembodied German doctor who died in the II World War to be guided in the usage of simple and cheap medical instruments to treat what he decided to do.

    Adapting my ears from Slayer, Brahms, Kate Bush and Muddy Water to that gummy-glue music was a forced calming-down procedure while I watched the people around emotionally affected by that spiritual environment. Women cried touched by the beatitude of Dr. Lay, men cried because of a sorrowful diagnose, children expected to see scalpels, needles and knifes in action. Would there be blood? A few low laughters among murmuring, some shouts of fear and more Unchained Melody became the soundtrack of a spiritual experience that I normally would refuse if I were in my days of sense.

    "Hello! So long I don't see you!" - the cold eyes and olive-skinned short man dressed in white said, looking at me "from the beyond". It seemed that he didn't like me that much in the other life. "Follow me", an assistant said to put me in a queue after people expecting and crying>

    "I came because of my pain in the back, you see..., I told, I want at least to leave this place walking, but it seems that he treats what he wants!" to what I was replied by a queue colleague that Dr. Lay was guided by a wise spirit and we should not question what was done. A young man shouted before seeing the needle: "open your eyes, don't cry!"

    Feeling ridiculous I walked to my moment, watching a man getting up from a litter with some plasters in the belly after removing the gall bladder thinking that he needed to treat a gastritis. Had just got a needle in the eyes, too.

    At my time there was no conversation to remember: "turn your back", and a needle crossed my clothes to the right kidney. "Turn to me again", and I was skewered in the liver. "Open your eyes", then...

    Flabbergasted about the experience I left the place thinking of where the existing pain could have gone. It was somewhere in my mind, or walking behind me with a hook to fish me back to morbid curiosities.

    In moments of doubt and pain we dart blindly and I don’t think that blaming someone for taking radical steps is a good idea. I was merged in an insane reality. No one around was good or honest or wise enough to open my eyes to the hardships I was fast going through. I really would appreciate a saner and safer advice… but sense has only a little power when we are too weak.

    Walking on two feet demands wide open eyes and a head up in the right place. I thought it was wiser to use them go forwards, not backwards.

    "Fura-Olho", image from Google .
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