The Healing Journey

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

At dusk I found myself hurrying through the glacial forest.
The air was warm and humid, but the clay dust cool on my feet.
I was climbing the high trail to the foot bridge
that crossed the black granite waters.
The daylight was fading.
The moss-covered boulders looked like giants strewn
by some ancient glacier eons ago.
As the cold air rose around my legs,
multi-colored shells of snails criss-crossed the large tree trunks.
Water trickled down everywhere–through the moss carpet
thick with the red mushroom.

I had come here before, hoping to resolve a riddle,
but now I had a disease within my body and needed help.
Finally I reached the bridge, black and strong,
made with spaces between the floor planks wide enough
to see the great height at which I was.
The black river below looked like a black granite ribbon
glistening in the dim light.
Across the bridge I could see a clearing through the trees.
In the clearing was a large crowd of people.
Their faces were as warm as their hands.

Nightingale whispered:

These are people that have helped you
in some way throughout your life.

As I went back across the bridge
the moon was beginning to shine on the water,
but within me

I felt as if the sun was beginning to rise.


Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry

8 responses to “The Healing Journey

  1. Wonderful.

    this would be perfect to read on the way into a meditation.


  2. Yes. This was written as a meditation. Love Ethel

  3. Beautiful – a sense of search and calm.

  4. This reminds me of many hikes I have taken in the White Mtns of NH, and the Rockies.

  5. I wonder, at the end of our personal journeys in this life, will we be surprised by how many have helped us along the way… some maybe without our knowledge… ’tis an uplifting poem. xx

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s