Once I met a man, Jim Stephens,
A family psychotherapist, ex boxer
And Irishman from Boston
He was kind, cool, hospitable and
I had the feeling he related instantly
And we carried many a conversation
As the court had ordered
He offered to hypnotize me.
I sat comfortably on the couch
Stared at a spot on a portrait
While he spoke soft and
Monotonous, counting down
Until a warm tingle consumed me
he told me a story of a
Stoneworker who got tired of
Carrying stones, and wished
To be a prince, went to bed
And woke up as a prince,
Who saw the sun was more
Powerful and wished to be the
Sun and it was so, the sun
Was all-seeing, but could not
See beyond the clouds, they blocked him
And the people praised the clouds so
He became one, then enjoyed
Freedom for a while until being stopped
In his wind by the mountain,
so he turned into a mountain
and rested for a thousand years,
until he felt a sharp pain
stinging, piercing on his toe,
he looked down and it was
a stoneworker, picking off bit by bit
into a wheelbarrel to sell
miles away in town.
At the peek of this story
I was free falling deep
Into the cushions of the couch,
When the cavernous shadow
Of My inner being was
Illuminated with a visionary
Glimpse of true self,
An adolescent me
Standing to the side watching
A toddler me, and me as a father
Run up and hug each other lovingly
I saw from all three
Pairs of eyes
Trimultaneously
For all three me’s were I
No comments:
Post a Comment