Poem

I know I haven't posted in a while... apologies. Between Facebook and life, I admit to having deserted this medium.

Anyway, this just came out. I wanted to share it with you. It is emergent from my current therapy sessions, and is the result of an analogy I made in my last one with my therapist, related to how I see psychological healing, how I experience it.

===
MIND
===
Seven lanes
in each direction
towers of steel
cement
cats eyes
and lights

Well traveled
Smooth
Many signs
pointing
urging
"go here!"
it's safe
"come through!"
it's free

The chasm below
deep
wide
no scaling down
no climbing up
there is no bottom
there is no way
to move across
but on the bridge
safe
and easy

So who cares
about the toll booths?
they don't charge money
no need to slow down
they simply stand there
shadows inside them
don't pay attention
safe
and sound

it's only voices
that come from them
wafting in
whispering
you can barely hear them
until the blast
"we'll protect you"
just keep on crossing
until the day
you die

but they take their toll alright
a forever payment
you can't avoid
you can't decline
there is no hiding
from the voices
besides,
where would you go instead?

it may be years
decades before
you look around
and suddenly
notice a path
it's dusty, not even paved
just gravel
rough
it goes off into the distance
have you tried it once?
you wonder
maybe again
maybe just this once

and there it is
a rope bridge
barely secured
across the gap
it's hard to cross
it wobbles
but it has no toll booth
no voices past

it takes a while
much longer
you miss the smoothness
of the bridge
the easy travel
with no bumps
it is so compelling
to go back there at once

rope bridge?
toll booths?
where next?
what now?
one is harder
shaking
scary
the other known
safe
even comforting
who cares about a little
whisper?

but there is a memory now
of clean air
crisp
fresh
and most important
silence
so clear
you can suddenly hear
the world around you
and open your eyes
no voices
no terror
it melts away
you like it now

and you cross it again
and again
the ropes seem to strengthen
then turn into wood
then stone
you visit the bridge
it's a little worn now
falling into
disrepair
and the voices are stronger
they are the ones
who are scared now

and you suddenly get it
you suddenly see
all this time
they were protecting
not you
but themselves

so you go back
to the stone walkway
which is rapidly building
becoming a bridge
and you cross
and you cross
and you shout in joy
for there are no toll booths
with shadows
in here

the air remains crisp
just remember
that old bridge is there
and you know the route