Monday, September 29, 2014

The doctor is in.

When the doctor entered the examining room he looked like he was wearing a children's costume. He had one of those large round reflector things on a strap around his forehead. I'm surprised that he didn't have a little triangular hammer to test my reflexes and a box of pink band-aids. He was completely full of himself - as all doctors are - more concerned with making an impression on me than doing anything to really help.

Anyway, fast forward to the end of the exam.

The doctor took out a small hand held recording device and started to speak into it holding it closely to his mouth and waving it back and forth while he reported his notes. It was an incredibly absurd and obnoxious performance. He threw as many obscure medical terms around as he could, never looked at me even though I was sitting right in front of him, and talked faster than anyone I had ever heard.

I laughed out loud in the middle of it. I had started to imagine a dance. His recording would be the soundtrack and a dancer would move frantically and desperately around the stage, getting nowhere, and falling a lot.

When he was finished with his report, I asked him if I could have a copy of the recording for some choreography that I wanted to do. He didn't really answer me but looked quite perplexed. He had no idea what I was talking about. I laughed again, stood up, and offered to perform a piece of it right then and there, but I changed my mind when I saw the look of fear on his face and sat down again. Relieved, he handed me a useless prescription and left the room. I smiled to myself, and for once I was able to leave a doctor's examining room without feeling physically humiliated and psychologically eviscerated.  

Monday, September 8, 2014

I thought this poem today, and now I am writing it down...

I hear the wind
and imagine the trees 
are breathing.
The cicadas drone
like the music of India.
I sit with my dog
and our hearts beat
in synchronicity.
I think this may be
the poetry
of meditation.