The Only Reality of Words is Words

Years ago, while in training in the city,
Wise and senior psychiatric supervisor
Said we now knew a lot of fancy words—
Carried heavy books that we believed
Revealed much about human personality,
How to label people properly, how to observe
Complexity of traits. Other books taught us
How to interview, what to say and not to say,
How to establish a working alliance,
And begin a process where healing
Was possible but cure was never assured.

The senior psychiatric supervisor,
An old man, but wise beyond his years,
Said to leave all the books on the floor,
Outside the door of the therapy room,
Never take them into the session.
He suggested we enter naked,
Metaphorically, and relate to the patient
As though there were two human beings
Sitting in the room, both of whom
Had painful histories, complications,
Issues and imperfections….

Lord, have mercy.
I know a lot of fancy words.
Please remove them from my mind,
Rip, if need be, my tongue from my mouth.
Teach me the wisdom found in silence.
And let my silence be both
Prayer and act of love.
Help me to at times withdraw,
Allow others to emerge and tell their story.

Lord, have mercy. Pour it over me.
Teach me how to listen—to hear
Both what another says and, most importantly,
Does not say but feels twined in fear and wonder.
Open my eyes that I can see
Both wounds and wholeness in everyone.
Let me not make assumptions, so much as
To create sacred spaces that perchance
Allow them to tell me all the details,
Convey the pain, permit the tears
That only come if I am fully there.

Lord, have mercy. Use me as a vessel,
Not so much that I become a healer,
But set an atmosphere of trust,
Allowing healing to begin, slowly,
Always going deeper and deeper,
Encountering dreams, old memories,
Unguarded streams of thought that surface
Spontaneously, as first one door opens,
Then another and another…

O Lord, have mercy. I sometimes
Cannot find a key to open any door,
Cannot turn a handle or use force
To break down any door within my house
Or any other home that I approach.
Teach me patience and compassion, Lord.
My need is great. Soften my heart,
Let me risk to leave it fully open.
May no one find that door closed
Or even left a bit ajar.

Gazing into Dark Whirlwind of Her Eyes

Gazing into dark whirlwind of her eyes,
She speaks wordlessly, but with plaintive voice.
Stench of pain and whiskey filled the room.
Frozen, helpless, not knowing how to save her.

How was I to know at age five
It was not my job to save my mother.
But everyone else had tried and failed.
Silence can hide such heavy burdens.

Of course I failed to make her happy,
Carried guilt that encircled both wrists and ankles,
Thick ropes of bondage I could not escape.
Like Oedipus, I wandered blind into the world.

Each birthday I wished for help from God—
That only proved that prayers were not always answered.
Now past seventy, I still sometimes see my mother’s face,
Return home, regress to helpless little boy.

Behind freckled skin that masked my childhood face,
I bled with every trembling step.
Callouses on palms did not deaden pain.
Years of inner work awakened me to clean but empty hands.

Sometimes I turn old key and the door swings open,
Room contains medicine or poison—or both.
What is past comes near, still breathes and whispers,
Candlelight flickers and cleaves darkness of the night.

I dig up old bones that splinter between my teeth.
Is there still marrow to be found? How much is enough
To enrich my life, to keep hope and love vibrant,
Old despair and death that I must own and face?

Yearning for Greater Light

Some days I am full Moon,
Hanging low in horizon of the sky,
Waiting for the dawn of rising Sun.

Other days, I am more like
Full bucket slowly drawn upward
From blackness of a well toward Light.

Is your love for me strong enough
To pull my heavy body up?
Can I trust thickness of the rope?