Healer, she said, please take away my grief.
I cannot, he replied.
It is grief that reminds us of our humanity.

Healer, please remove my sadness.
I cannot.
It is the valleys that give rise to the mountains.

Healer, please chase away my fear.
I cannot.
It is fear that enables us to cultivate faith. 

Healer, please eradicate my anger.
I cannot.
It is anger that we must learn to turn into compassion.

Healer, please cure my pain.
I cannot.
It is pain that remind us of the joy of being alive.

Healer, if you cannot do any of these, what can you do?
I can hold space, 
I can support,
I can inspire, 
I can empower you to become your own healer.

Cary, NC, Jan 6, 2022
(c) 2022 Ronen Divon. All Rights Reserved.

A drop of water;
seas within,
oceans without.
She rises.

Years ago,
when I set my path
I had no clue where I’m headed.

I met a Tai Chi master;
he taught me The Way.
I didn’t quite get it,
but I enjoyed it all the same.
So I stayed.
Then he passed away.
 

Patience is surrender,
to this moment,
and the next,
and to the one that follows.

A place of trust,
a place of surrender;
a place of but few,
if any expectations.
 

I am a Judeo-Christian, Buddha-loving Taoist;
born with bleached black, yellow and red skin.

Two trees; one still adolescent, the other ancient.
I place my palm, caressing the youngling’s bark;
so smooth, yet a little cold.

May the light shine on all beings, living and inanimated;

What makes me happy?

Within me rests a treasure trove,
ever-pulsing in symphony with my heart.
Concealed and guarded by resistance,
it trembles with volcanic vigor.