This year's Second Place Winner goes to Lawrence Kessenich for his poem "Healing."
Lawrence Kessenich
Photo by Joseph A. Cohen |
Healing
by Lawrence
Kessenich
Tasting stillness and knowing that it was medicine.
Tasting stillness and knowing that it was medicine.
- Roshi Joan
Halifax
What
we call stillness may be composed of
sea bird calls, waves shushing across sand,
the almost audible sparks of light dancing
on water. Even in the deepest stillness,
the heart beats, blood whooshes through the ears,
joints click as the limbs make small movements.
sea bird calls, waves shushing across sand,
the almost audible sparks of light dancing
on water. Even in the deepest stillness,
the heart beats, blood whooshes through the ears,
joints click as the limbs make small movements.
The
still are steady as the earth on its axis,
their stillness a way of being, of interacting
with the world. Like a gyroscope balanced
their stillness a way of being, of interacting
with the world. Like a gyroscope balanced
on a
string, a dervish spinning on a mountaintop,
an angel dancing on the head of a pin.
an angel dancing on the head of a pin.
And what
is healing but the restoration
of balance, that which is out of sorts sorting
itself out? When one tastes stillness, like warm
sweet milk settling the stomach, all that has
been troubling, disturbing, all that has made
one feel sick gently dissipates, and all
that’s left is being.
of balance, that which is out of sorts sorting
itself out? When one tastes stillness, like warm
sweet milk settling the stomach, all that has
been troubling, disturbing, all that has made
one feel sick gently dissipates, and all
that’s left is being.
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