The Debate, The Healing

I sometimes feel an image rising within me of a public debate on the kind of work that I do.

My opening statement is: “You win.”

There is evidence and there are arguments made, but they’re for someone else to make. I have none. I cannot force a single person to see what I see.

My second statement would be: “Will you come sit with me?”

I am defined by the format and I will not fight, or stand opposed behind a podium.

Come and sit with me. I’ll sing and touch your hand, then your chest, then your head. I’ll open the flowers in your mind, if you won’t bite. Even if you will. Argue against that, the wind through my throat like wind in the trees full of birds. I don’t mind, my face contorting, feeling what you will not feel that lives within you.

Release it, please. You don’t need a show, of forces between us, just let it go.



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