The Healing Stone Returns. And a Poem for the Therapist.

Healing Stone

I am supposed to write a poem for my therapy appointment tomorrow.  I forgot the date of my appointment, and can’t remember the specific topic assigned for the poem, but I will try to write one.  I guess I was really scattered that day.

On another topic, I have just picked up my “healing stone” again.  I tried carrying it around in my pockets, and putting it on a chain, but it ended up nestled in my bra most of the time.  Near my heart, I thought.  It’s been in my dainties drawer for several months now, because I thought the nature of our relationship had run it’s course.

Silly me — It’s in my bra as I write.  Things are rarely linear, right?  It will assist my convalescing heart for many more cycles, I predict.  If you want to read that first post about the stone, search for, “Powers of the Healing Stone.”  As I wrote about a year ago, real or imagined, I’ll take any healing it generates, in any way it generates it.

The draft poem:

After 24 Years, Now.

Some of my hibernating ideas are
waking up.  I tease a few
forward, but mess up their
implementation.  Quite a lot.  Now.

It’s very satisfying, however.  So
satisfying, that the outcomes are
irrelevant.  The relevance is in the
waking up and the acting out.  Now.

I don’t drink Starbucks.  I don’t
eat Chinese take out, or bagels, or
matzo brei. I don’t keep the cat
indoors, or even off the counter.  Now.

I pick mushrooms for pizza.   I keep
the heat down.  I roam around all
weekend, and I’ve got more smiles.  Sly
ones.  Toothy ones.  Devilish ones.  Now.



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