Mathilde’s room was empty except for a small desk with a single pencil and pad of paper. She stood in a corner, staring into space and swaying from side to side, whether consciously or unconsciously, I couldn’t tell. She would end her sessions by walking quickly to the table and picking up her pencil. By my fifth or sixth unannounced and nearly unacknowledged visit, I began to feel how energy circled above her, culminating in images that struck her mind, visual lightning that traveled down her arm and onto paper.
