You sit on the beach, the salt air
slowly cleansing old wounds.
You know the healing would be greater
if you were to immerse yourself in the ocean,
but it is colder than you can bear,
and so you walk the tide’s edge, barefoot,
afraid of the tides and currents
and where they might take you,
from this strange shoreline,
to another. More strange or less?
You do not know.
But still you return. Day after day,
waiting for the perfect combination
of weather and courage to take hold
and send you swimming in deep waters,
bearing the pain,
in the name of healing.
About this poem.
I am something of an evangelist for therapy. But I never pretend it is easy or fast.