Aram Stefanian

Sand Painting

I got sick and thought I could die in my van
When I was visited by an old Navajo man
He said he would heal me by sand painting
Which wasn't what I'd been expecting

Facing east, I sat in the center of the sand
He started chanting and touched my hand
Said that black color stood for death and night
But he thought I might pull through all right

Trying to bring me back into balance
He transferred the healing energy onto me
He really did give me another break to advance
White stood for spring and new beginnings

Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 15, 2005
Poem Edited: Friday, December 15, 2006

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Read poems about / on: sick, spring, death, night