ONE FIFTY AND COUNTING
In the dream
Hal and I are sitting on the curb
at the corner of Time and Wisdom
In the dream having a nice long chat
It is one of many dreams
with Hal and Sidra in starring roles
If they were to charge us for this time
(as they sometimes threaten to do)
I mean even at their standard rates
never mind 2.5 for nights and weekends
how many many thousands we would owe
If they charged for the wisdom
the national debt would seem low
150TH BIRTHDAY LIMERICK
The Event
In October 2007 a number of Voice Dialogue teachers and friends gathered in Boulder to celebrate Hal’s 80th birthday and Sidra’s 70th birthday. I was honoured to be asked to write a theme poem, then Larry said, “But not a Limerick”.
The Limerick
There were two therapists from Thera
Who were so wise they would scare ya
The were so darned smart
They could take you apart
And you couldn’t hide hide nor hair a ya
NEW TRIBES
From the old tribe of Isaac
and the old tribe of Ishmael
Israeli and Palestinian
couples and their children
come together by the sea and share
We are teaching the skills of listening
the skills of sharing and skills of hearing
The rules are simple
tell your truth as your truth only
Assume as you listen
that the person makes sense
If they do not seem to make sense
assume you need more information,
By the end of the weekend
the eight year olds are sleeping over
teenage walk on the beach till dawn
A new tribe being formed
THE INNER CRITIC
Poor little Keystone Cop
(although often not so funny)
Leaping from shoulder to shoulder
trying so hard to keep us safe
yelling or whispering in each ear
the old rules based on fear
Telling us what we should have done
and what we should never do
Enforcing rules learned long ago
that may no longer be true
The voice of your mother, still
nags when your room’s not neat
The voice of your father
still wants you up at dawn
Your teacher and your coach
Your country and your culture
Your parents and your younger selves
with messages to keep you safe
The cop only knows what he used to know
and still does what he was told to do
You don’t have to destroy him
or shove him out the door
Just put your arm around him
and tell him you’re no longer four
THE BUSMAN’S HOLIDAY
I think I’ve done it now
run out of places to hide
painted myself into a corner
surrounded on every side
For like every pilot
that ever learned to fly
I’ve got to help the captain
whenever I’m in the sky
All my time of thumbing
and a haulin heavy loads
links me with the Gypsies
that I meet along the roads
And if I look from side to side
at the lands along the way
why the farmer and the rancher
still within me want their say
Whenever I get to stop to rest
at any sweet Inn along the way
the years I’ve spent in running one
with constant detail mark my stay
And now I’m studying psychology
and the hidden parts of you and me
and prevalidation and master talk
and how one ought to walk one’s walk
Capped with the writers joy and chore
of finding a metaphor behind each door
ACT YOUR AGE
I might have heard it first at six
when mother thought that I was acting three
And again at ten when acting six or three
certainly at sixteen, acting ten, or six, or three
There is the age that I am now
known as the age of responsible men
But there are those who know it’s just an act
the me’s of three and six and ten
WHO’S DRIVING YOUR CAR
The Siamese twins
had to move to England
so the other one could drive
The part of you that drives to the office
is not the one who arrives at the beach
The one who bought the purple dress
is not the one who won’t let you wear it
The one who got the license first
always wants to drive
While everyone else in your psychic car
the ones that can think
and the ones that can feel
all fight for their turn at the wheel
While it so often seems that the you
that includes and is more than them all
Is back in the boot, or trunk if you like
bound and gagged and tied up inside
just going along for the ride
THE WALL
Walls are for wailing
and also for tumbling down
Unconscious fears rise in concrete form
conscious choices less visible rise with it
Inside and out of the builders and the wailers
there are a million voices
starting to hum that old Jericho tune
THE THERAPIST PRACTICES HER ART
Dorsey paints with people
dips into their hearts
where all colors
have merged
to mud
***
Gently
lays them out
ultraviolet to infrared
spaces between clearly seen
and hands them back the brush
VOICE DIALOGUE
The facility of the facilitator to facilitate
depends on the faces of the facilitator
the facilitator has the facility to face