My Wellness Shelter Poem by Don Winslow

I stand on a barren, ravaged, plain of pain
Isolated on this tortured mesa of malignancy.
Here, far from the world of normalcy
I search for a place of solace, a place of consolation.

In the distance, only one sanctuary in sight,
A tent-like structure beckoning to me.
A covering not of Deer or Buffalo
But thinner, in a patchwork of subtle pinks, browns, and tans.

This skin pulses gently, in and out
Sighing like the deep, quiet, breath of Yogic meditation.
No tent poles inside as I enter,
Just a circle of people standing tall, arms stretched up.

Like in a game of “Trust Me”
They have fallen forward, hoping to be caught and held.
As the upraised hands meet and join in the center
They form a supporting teepee of trust.

A medicine woman sits on the ground
Helping us face our fears and nightmares.
Those fears and nightmares are burned away in the campfire,
A fire that gives us warmth and strength -and hope.