Hands of a Healer

  For Betsy Wertheimer
I let go, and surrender
under the touch of an angel
my body slowly relaxes
and my mind is flowing to exotic places.

Exactly a year ago, I met a slim, tall woman
bare footed with silver toe rings
with a short hair cut, and a gracious smile
on a kind, very pretty face.

Slowly, but anxiously I followed her upstairs
to the rather small, bijou room, that
smelled like peppermint, lavender
arnica, juniper and sage.

From nowhere, I was surrounded by the soft music
with soothing, but quiet African drums 
and the richness of unfamiliar birds
singing melodies somewhere in the background.

Yes, this was a starting gate to the journey
here, beneath warm blanket, every time
I’ve been leaving behind my vessel, and traveling to the unknown 
to find the sounds, that are pouring out all-around.

I had been imagining the pale blue sky, completely cloudless
and warm sun, dancing with the godly rays on
the precipitous river, shimmering like the galactic dust
captured by snapshots of the mind.

Then, my thoughts moved me to the clearing in an emerald
green forest, where mosses sparkle like jade, under canopy
of sloping branches, where gentle zephyr whisper
legends of wisdom from the tales of old land.

And when the time comes to leave her home
it feels like I  belong to the universe, and
not only have I had a wonderful therapeutic massage
but also she had been slowly healing my soul.
     November 19, 2007 

© Monique Surdyka