Towards a Theory of Healing
by Leonora Simonovis
At the healer’s home, I stare
Blankly at the colorful pillows,
Cat stretching on the area rug.
Despite her calm demeanor, I feel
Excitement. I’ve never
Found a practitioner who will
Give me the chance to just be.
Help is not something I often seek. Today
I return to my roots, looking for answers,
Just after my 50th birthday,
Keen to understand who I am, why
Longing hides in my chest. Thoughts
Morph into revelations: stop
Numbing the pain, running from it,
Obsessing about the past.
Permission to dream. No more
Questioning, no more
razor words. I sit on the couch,
still but alert.
The healer coos, offers a blanket.
Unwilling to move, I let her
Voice wash over me
Warm and wave-like, soothing.
Ximena is the name my mother wanted for me.
Yielding to my father’s wishes, she gave up
Zest and zeal. Into that void, I was born.