Something calls to me

I pull into the driveway, a spartan charm surrounds the small ranch house, set back from the road, a labyrinth path in the backyard.  I’m here for an appointment with an energy healer.  Straight from work, clad in my suit.

We’re sitting in the living room, my first ion detox treatment, releasing the toxins in my body in a foot bath.  There’s a heated belt strapped around my waist.  Clear water turns murky.

Reflections of my mind

Do I have a spiritual practice?  A note of skepticism in the energy healer’s voice.  I’m a mystic who believes in Nothingness.  I have a series of 40 day journals, looking for a way to write my story.  She says she used to work in marketing where they used a labyrinth as a creative tool.  I say it must be poetry.  Do you like haikus?  Hmm, I know what they are.  She tells me she’ll make a meditation lotion.

I pay for 14 sessions.

I’m just beginning to see

My morning ritual is stretching, meditating and writing poetry.  Every week I read a poem.  The usual response is, “Read it again.”