Where does real time exist? I don’t have his truth or mine, writing over and over. Acceptance and warmth has brought me to as much trust as any given moment can give. When do answers become my wall of statements. Words are well chosen, without the weight of commitment. For me it is a continual mystery which draws me back into the ambiguity in relationship to my stories. Poetry and self-exploration still want to know life and some vision of truth. My real assignment is how I shall know myself contained in an ever changing dynamic.
There is always a smile and warmth welcoming me, yet he too has question marks tattooed on his eyes. What will I offer in the way of entertainment? Eyes can say so much in our visits. I never know, even with a list in my hand, when my entertainment will take over. He doesn’t stop me. Perhaps his saying life isn’t always about stories is where I fall short. He has labeled me instead of saying defined statements, only open ended incredulity defined as my “fail-safe”. Categorizing is what he does as he writes formulas for health. Is there ever going to be answers instead of open ended statements. Do I really want answers. I’m not sure I want an actual answer that might articulate itself, safely. I want to live flexibly as I work with him; this is my art form, as he creates his science placed as an art in a laissez-faire manner. Even in my most outrageous moments I am presented with a warm regard.
I can only imagine what he has seen, in his life with football players. Doctoring with him has never enough time. I’m allotted time where to really know is restricted. Isn’t this what a whole life is, an ongoing definition. I would like to think that I am now beginning to really create the light openness just by showing up. Perhaps there is no stopping me? He prescribes in his mind for me wellness, not confined by fear. I have enough tucked away while I wait for any opportunity or illness to see. No directive reactiveness, just responsive words that free me.
I once asked him if he was so used to the football game running in front of him; he just let me run with my personal dynamic. Back and forth in front of him. His words were: “a good coach knows when to jump in.” His mind knows how to create a sport with whatever I offer. I would think he is the same with every other patient. His passive stance and being secure seems to drive me further into creating more stories. Even though he doesn’t believe life is more than stories, in his in an unidentifiable thrilling posture; he wanted me to like him. I am sure he didn’t know or care what that meant and neither did I.
