The Healing Tree

“I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each…

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea.”

T.S. Eliot: The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

The greatest miracle of all is not something that happens to you, it’s something that happens within you; this is the story of one such miracle.

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A

single dot in time.

Less than the time it takes for you to read this word – less than the time it takes to die.

In a flash, like a bolt of lightning in a bone-dry forest, fate roars through your life and it devours your future and it leaves you bare and barren and utterly desolate and nothing remains to sustain you. Nothing. Blue ice enshrouds your soul;no light penetrates to the dark depths where the pain tears you apart. Like the brutal sun circling a desert sky, this blistering agony never never never seems to end. And it seems to you that God, being busy elsewhere, is oblivious to your tears. But then, one day, a mermaid comes to you from a distant emerald sea – and she brings with her a seedling. And she nurtures you as she nurtures the tiny seedling that is to become the healing tree.

And she breaks your heart by her leaving but then she comes back and she invites you come and swimwith her in the ancient seas. As the ongoingillumination unfoldsyou realize thatthe healingwas not in the love that

the mermaid

gave to you but rather itwas in the love she coaxed out of you. And that was the real miracle.

The money ball rolled to a dead stop in front of the pool table’s corner pocket and perched there, like a fresh egg waiting for a short order cook to crack it open. Sammy DiMarco took a swig from his longneck Corona, set it down on the counter, and chalked up his custom pool cue. He walked slowly around the table, kissing the St. Pauli Girl poster for luck on the way, and positioned himself on the opposite end of the table from the nine ball. Yes indeed, this was his night.

“Deadeye.” He repeated the affirmation to the rhythm of his breathing: Deadeye in, Deadeye out, Deadeye in, Deadeye out. “Words have power,” his father had always told him, “so be careful what you call yourself.” Sammy set the chalk down on the edge of the table and sprinkled baby powder on his left hand. Closing his eyes and taking a slow deep breath, he pushed out of his mind the memory of all the missed shots, of the many times he’d capped a brilliant run by choking on the money ball. Deadeye in, Deadeye out.

Sammy leaned over the table and peered across the seven feet of green felt that separated him from an easy two hundred bucks. He pumped his cue back and forth, slow and deliberate, and in his mind’s eye visualized a taut black thread connecting the white cue ball with the yellow nine ball. The money ball. Slowly, Sammy pulled back the stick one last time, until his hand was parallel to the tobacco tin in his jeans pocket. The jukebox and the chatter of The Blue Room Bar faded into the distance as he zeroed in. The instant the chalked tip of his stick punched into the cue ball, Sammy knew he’d won the game. The nine ball slammed into the back of the corner pocket and disappeared down the rabbit hole.

After buying a round of drinks and giving the waitress an overgenerous tip, Sammy walked across the parking lot, oblivious to the cool night air and the full moon above. His classic Dodge Charger sparkled under the parking lot lights. He eased himself into the bucket seat and slid the key into the ignition. Sammy pressed down on the accelerator pedal and the Charger’s fuel-injected hemi roared in response. “Life is good,” Sammy crooned as he rammed the chrome stick shift into second gear and gunned it out of the parking lot.

Saturday night traffic was backed up all along Howard Street. As the Charger crawled in second gear past the First Guardian Bank building, Sammy looked at the clock and cursed. He was an hour late, and Sheila was not a patient woman. “Time for a shortcut, Deadeye,” he said aloud. Sammy cut through the shopping mall parking lot and came out on Benson Boulevard.

“No lights, no law, no loitering.”

As last words go, that pretty well captured all that Sammy DiMarco had ever wanted out of life. He put the Charger through the gears, pressing himself back against the leather seat.

Just past the Galapagos Restaurant, Sammy had to slam on the brakes to avoid rear-ending an 18-wheeler wheezing up the hill. He downshifted and jammed the gas pedal to the floor as he yanked the Charger into the opposing lane to pass.

The last thing Sammy DiMarco saw on this earth was the horrified faces of Mark and Carrie Anne Murphy the split second before they disappeared behind the airbags of their Chevy Cavalier.

A Simple Flip of the Switch

With the simple flip of a cosmic switch

your life goes from light to dark.

Who flipped that switch

you may never know.

Only one hand can turn the light back on.

But that hand must first

find its way to the switch

in the dark.

That hand will need a guide.

C.A.M.