Toward Life

In the story
the sick man had five porticoes
from which to choose:
five entrances
into the healing pool.
For thirty-eight years
he'd repeated his inner truth
retold his story of neglect and isolation.
For thirty-eight years he'd waited
longing for some other one
to carry him into the stirred up
water, seen how another
always entered the pool first
leaving no room for him.

And I, for example, sick of my pain
also wait.
Frustrated.
Hopeless.
I cling to my mat of fear,
believing I am unable to stand on my own,
stay stuck beside what I'm sure
is the only place
where healing can occur,
feel certain my burden cannot be lifted
unless I am carried by another.

What if, like the sick man
I truly desired deep healing?
What if I opened to possibility,
became willing to move,
to bring my fear along with me?
Would I turn toward that voice of embodied love
that calls "Stand up, take your mat, and walk."?
Would I risk the fall in favor of the journey?