transformative
the oil on my forehead
marks me with a life that is not
mine but life is that is transcendent in nature
powerful
and personal redolent
with perfume that is both healing
and funerary which recalls both the fragrance of life
and the
stench of death i
am become transformed immediately
yet the core remains the same the weight and
warmth
that is laid on me
is/is not a burden and to me
transformative in nature yet transitory is its passage
as perfume
oft is dissipating
on the wind or perhaps the
fickle breath that comes and goes and we
know not
transformative and
maybe it will mark me with a moment
of forever and that will be all that is necessary
for me
to be healed
transformed by that which is other
and yet that which is always with/within/above/beside/beyond
transmogrified
i become that aroma
that smacks of radical yet it seeks
to be before dispelled upon that breath is it forgotten
the next
day the spice follows
me marking me for eternity or perhaps
just a transcendent rememberance of what it is to be healed
Written a while back. We had a healing service tonight -- after the chili cookoff. It's always a moving service. I enjoy the silence, the candles, the intentionality of it. It was beautiful. It's just a awful, awesome responsibility to do the laying on of hands. It's a time when I really feel a conduit -- when I wish self could melt away.
I wonder how much we conflate healer (little h) with the Healer (big H). And how we confuse healing with just a physical state of being.
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