Bone Medicine

my pointy head said

if our feet had a mind of their own kind

instead of our brain pulling their puppet strings

what mute truth could they possibly bring?

(just as I thought this, my bony feet began to speak)

“you broke my bone

when your marriage fell apart

you broke that same bone again

when your art world fell apart,

whose puppet are you, dear one?”

(my feet crossed at the ankle

leaned back and continued to speak in Jungian)

“make yourself at home in your own body

I’ll make some tea for spirit

and we’ll have a talk about synchronicity

our deep third inner ear of active listening

your heart, art and hearth

were not in agreement; you were anemic

your thin mind refused to see the bone marrow

of your deep inner divine reason and season

knocking you off your feet

made you sit still with your own being for awhile

we kept your soul alive when all else had died”

© Linda Marie