Fire in the Sky (A Veteran’s Story)
When I lived in Huntington, NY, I regularly taught yoga at Inner Spirit Yoga in East Northport. Along with my classes, I led workshops on the chakras, EFT (Emotional Freedom Technique), chanting, and sound healing using quartz crystal bowls, toning, and guided meditation. Each monthly sound healing session focused on a different theme and meditation.
During one particular workshop, a middle-aged man arrived about fifteen minutes late. Our group was small—just five of us that day—and we welcomed him warmly. It soon became clear that he had been drinking. Though his emotions occasionally erupted into bursts of anger and bitterness, he stayed, participated, and allowed himself to engage in the process.
One of our exercises involved choosing a “Receiver”—someone who would lie comfortably on a mat in the center of the room while the rest of us, the “Givers,” sat around them. Before closing their eyes, the Receiver shared their childhood name or nickname. Then, one by one, the group softly repeated that name and offered loving affirmations: words of kindness, gratitude, and worthiness. We reminded them that they were loved, that they mattered, and that the world was better because they existed.
It is a profoundly moving experience to hear your own name spoken in loving tones. For many, names are tied to shame or punishment from childhood. When those same names are wrapped in compassion and kindness, something shifts. Many participants cry as that simple act begins to heal old wounds. When it was our latecomer’s turn to receive, his sobs came quickly and deeply. We gave him time and space to release.
Afterward, we ended the workshop with a guided meditation and sound bath. When the group dispersed, he stayed behind. I sensed there was more beneath the surface, so I introduced him to EFT—a technique that uses tapping on specific acupressure points to help release trauma and trapped emotions. He agreed to try.
As I guided him through the process, he began to share his story. Drafted as a teenager, he had been sent to Vietnam. What he witnessed there—friends killed before his eyes, destruction beyond comprehension—had haunted him for decades. The pain, guilt, and horror had become his constant companions.
What surprised me most was how much anguish he carried from his return home. At that time, PTSD was not recognized; veterans were told to “get on with life.” He tried, but his memories would not rest. To make matters worse, when reports emerged about atrocities in Vietnam, he and others like him were vilified. Instead of being welcomed home as heroes, they were branded as monsters.
There was no safe place, no light, no love. He turned to alcohol for relief, but it dulled only the surface. What he truly needed was to be seen, heard, and understood. As we continued tapping, I simply repeated his words back to him, allowing him to hear his truth reflected. Each time I did, he said things like, “No one ever said that before,” or “No one ever understood.” Hearing his pain acknowledged out loud seemed to offer him the validation and compassion he had been denied for years.
We worked together for about forty-five minutes. He cried, released anger, and softened. When we finished, he thanked me and we embraced. I never saw him again, but the encounter stayed with me.
That day, I witnessed the power of empathy, presence, and unconditional love. Sometimes, healing begins not with advice or treatment, but with simply holding space for another person’s truth. Wherever he is, I pray that his burden has lifted and that he has found peace.
