Time Constraints

“The phenomenon of spontaneous healing…maintains that, given an appropriate healing impulse, the body is capable of restructuring itself instantly, and even severe symptoms and conditions may reverse within a very short period of time.”
— Stephan Hausner, Even If It Costs Me My Life

They call it “chronic illness,” conjuring

an inexorable iceberg flattening

any hope of a cure. The doctors forget

we are, under the microscope,

simply vibrations,

soothing lullabies sung by our parents,

war cries from our ancestors,

grief from victims of our violent culture.

Whenever we look through time,

we are helpless in the onslaught.

We are the children of Genghis Khan

sweeping down in brutal massacres.

We are the villagers burning.

The names change

but the story clings to our DNA,

projects onto the faces of our politicians,

our incestuous fathers and our silenced

mothers. Chronic illness, the doomsday prognosis,

all is obviously lost. Call in

medics to rush through the battlegrounds,

applying pretty bandages to gaping wounds.

Call in the lightworkers and now

everyone can go home

wreathed in smiles.

And still the disease lingers.

Yet if we resonate to the now,

our scrutiny leads us with loving

dispassionate eyes to the threads

which pull us back to the light

we shine

on the dark areas of our lives,

the grim foundations of our culture and

the true costs of every step.

We let go of the struggle, the constant

burden of hiding, not feeling,

and so carrying these deep

ancestral cords that strangle us

if we pull against them. There is no

forward movement. There is only

this deep uncovering, this allowing.

The frequencies of the immense

magnetic now

sing in the curative key, far outside

of time and its contractions.

Our only task is to unwrap

the generations of dirty, blood-

soaked bandages, unlock

the attics filled with lunatics,

and stay sane as the raging

energy erupts like a volcano,

released, stunning the doctors

by our rapid spontaneous healing.

Inspired by The Daily Word Prompt: rapid

Cat’s Outta The Bag

He wrote, “How ya been, you haven’t posted,”

and I had to think through all of the details

first.  You know that big gangly puppy

that bounds in from the backyard

and vomits all over the kitchen floor,

then licks up every drop and runs to the door,

looking back at you with a demented

tongue-lolling grin?  And you can’t let him

out fast enough.  Not like that.

Or the tiny dog who climbs into your lap

just wanting to snuggle

while you radiate healing vibes

to one another?  Nuh-uh.

Or the loveable Lab, lying

in a patch of winter sunlight,

groaning in her sleep before

struggling painfully to her feet

to celebrate your being!

Nope.  This is much more toxic:

an old dog, slinking

under the back porch in the dark night.

She’s been kicked around

with such careless unrelenting brutality

that there’s no reason to hide anymore

except this time the attacker was invisible,

a malicious assassin who is not afraid to enter

the dark, and delights in the gift

of suffering

like the evil man in a horror film

with a torture chamber.

She will not come out for food,

maybe water when the coast is clear

after throwing up discreetly.

She is shivering in her fever-induced nightmares,

but can you really feel so sorry

for someone sleeping in a lush fur coat?

And yes, I know that telling you this

reveals my deep psychological

blah blah blah, but that’s the one

I mean when

I bravely respond

in all honesty, “So sick.

Sick as a dog.”

Inspired by The Daily Word Prompt: toxic