#57: Okay, So Wad Am Eye? (Health - Mind)

Thank Your Stars, And Your Redeemer.
Maybe You're Just A Sneaky Schemer,
But Better Than Bein' A Losin' Dreamer,
If You Don't Go All Insane . . .
And If You're Dead, A Lost-Soul Screamer,
Then You Can Prove Hippocrateamer
Was Little More Than Big Blasphemer . . .
With Too Much Cough, And Out Of Creamer,
To Keep Thought Tracks On Train.
It's Like The Guy Who Buys A Beemer,
But Lacks The Juice To Make It Gleamer,
Soul Ain't Housed In Flesh And Femur . . .
And Mind Is More Than Brain!

I was scared to move, afraid to find,
I might not move at all,
when the gurney took off through the door,
careening down the hall.

Another turn . . . a sudden stop . . .
slid me to the floor.
I fell, dizzy, onto a couch.
Someone slammed the door.

Peripherally, I thought I saw
some white coats lifting Jo.
I wanted to shout, "If you see a mask,
lay back . . . enjoy the show."

I watched a helmet full of wires
get placed upon my head.
A German accent gave commands . . .
and whatever else was said . . .

I took it, there were orders for
urgent analysis
of all my notions . . . valid and true,
or full of fallacies.

Not unlike the previous room,
I felt my spirit drift.
From a vantage point, I watched the pros
dump out my brain and sift.

Like plungers pumping rusty pipes
of cerebral commode,
I watched the helmet wires suck
assumptions by the load.

I heard the doctor dictate as
he fiddled with a knob
on a panel labeled something like,
'Tinker Think-a-ma-bob.'

"Vell, eerz zum vear of failure, boot,
it duzzunt luke to be
enough to make zees fellow act
any more carefully.

Eerz zum hangups on zex und love.
Zay indicate zees guy
needs a voman to hold eez vings . . .
zo maybe he can fly.

Ya, eez noodle, ist clogged mit snags
yust like vee often find . . .
parents, god, money, und sex . . .
eet clutters up zee mind."

The door flung wide. The gurney rolled in.
The doctor then intoned,
"Careful now, zee mind cannot
yust be cut und sewn."

Then next I saw the hospital hall . . .
the gurney driver floored
my bed around people and walls,
up to the "check out" ward.

Another stop, and the gurney flipped
me upright to a stand.
When Jo arrived right by my side,
we faced a window and . . .

were greeted by a kindly face . . .
an old, androgynous nurse,
"Give me your charts, turn in your carts,
and dig into your purse."

The drivers passed two clipboards through
the window where 'it' sat.
I watched 'it' read our history, and
then hand our papers back.

"You see, one's physical status is
easy to diagnose.
We open the body and look around,
and sew it to a close.

Replacing organs, and arms and legs,
resetting broken bones . . .
is easy, since your healing is
a thing to which your prone.

It's a game . . . we've learned to turn the die
long after they've been rolled.
No flaw cannot be modified,
no matter what the mold.

Still, we haven't figured out
how to change the mind.
We've studied every traveler here
we've had the chance to find.

We cut and paste the body 'til
we get it where we want,
but brains refuse to give up ghosts . . .
they must enjoy the haunt.

We thought we'd try to operate
and change the way you feel,
but like our other subjects, we
thought you might not heal.

You are dismissed. Now you can go.
You're healthy by the charts.
You're in no need of therapy,
drugs or body parts.

However, let me warn you now,
that you may have a spell.
You have no bug, and you aren't sick,
but you are far from well.

And there is no penicillin for
the bugs that bug the mind.
It takes some serious exercise
to keep the brain in line."

We boarded the elevator for
our rooftop parking space,
I had the sense we'd met that nurse . . .
maybe some other place.

And then it hit me like a punch . . .
that maybe these two boys
had seen the State of healthfulness,
and even seen the Voice.

We reached the car and found it odd
how quietly it slept.
The doors were locked, and it appeared
a transport most inept.

"We've gotten used, when we return,"
Jo-Mima whispered low,
"to find the Carriage ready to fly
as we are set to go."

As fingers of dusk spread all across
the roof of County Hope,
Jo and I were taking turns
with words like, "stethoscope."

"Tongue Depressor," Jo would shout.
"Scalpel," I'd reply.
And this went on until the sun
completely left the sky.

Frustration showing, I finally said,
"Remember what they did!
They tore apart our bodies first,
and then, they ripped our id."

"They certainly weren't careful while
severing my frame.
Still, I guess it feels I've healed
completely, just the same."

"But our heads they treated gently,"
I chose to interject.
"Mine still hurts, though they took pains
just trying to protect . . .

whatever they were scanning there,
and this may sound perverse,
but I think they couldn't alter it,
but to make matters worse."

"Hey," Jo looked enlightened,
"that may be the deal.
They ripped apart our bodies 'cause
it's only them that heal."

"Wow," I said, "that's go to be
a part of what we find . . .
as much as we can change our form,
it's hard to change our mind."

Jo-Mima nodded without much verve,
as we were not profound,
just sitting in a Carriage that
did not make a sound.

"Ouch!" we said in unison,
both jumping to our feet.
Steam was rising from the hood
and imprint of our seat.

"We're not there, but we're getting close."
Jo-Mima spoke our thoughts.
"My head is turning inside out.
My ideas are in knots."

"Okay," I said, "it took two wards
to check out all our works.
I hate to say it, but what if we're
supposed to find two words.

We know that exercise can change
much of our physique . . .
and surgeons fix our body parts
a hundred times a week.

So, our bodies may be vital, and
perhaps our health is more,
but, newer tissue always grows
in place of what you tore.

Now, brains are also tissue, but
they didn't scan one cell.
It seemed they looked for the stories that
our actions sometimes tell.

They studied my assumptions, like
behind the way I act . . .
like health of mind is a personal set
of statements of some fact."

"Well, I know my assumptions were,"
Jo picked up the pace,
"established long before my sense
of reason was in place . . .

what if all our consciousness
is built upon a deck
of dreams and fears our brains don't get
the chance to double-check?

The sun had set, but Jo and I
still knocked around for hint
of what this place had tried to teach,
and what that lesson meant.

"Well, I give up," I finally sighed,
"let's get off this ceiling.
All these puzzles are makin' me sick . . .
and way past any healing."

Varrroom, the Buggy started up,
like we were in its way.
"Give me a break," Jo-Mima yelled,
"what password did you say?"

"Get in the Cart, boys," roared the Voice,
though not like it was mad.
"I guess He made this tougher than
He really thought He had.

I offer a hand . . . but how many times . . .
I guess we'll wait and see,
but, getting you off this rooftop is
our first priority.

Health, in body, is like machines . . .
there's maintenance and there's care . . .
be it dry dock, oil, food or rest,
it's pretty fair and square.

But minds get sick like muscle and vein,
and sometimes, mechanically,
but most of all, the mind will ail
from bugs that you can't see.

So, all those little notions that
you took in as a child,
the reasons things seem safe and tame,
as well as harsh and wild . . .

sometimes all those feelings get
stirred up within your world . . .
and sometimes they can storm your brain
and leave your lobes uncurled.

And 'hope' provides an answer,
like 'confidence' and 'prayer.'
Lots of things will help you fight
the craziness up there.

The point is healing doesn't work
the same in those two wards.
One takes hammers, saws and gauze . . .
the other, umbilical cords.

The first can ever be tweaked and tuned . . .
the second, to be blunt,
and to quote your Buckliest of Lords,
must be all done in front!

So, off you go . . . that's all you'll get
for understanding here . . .
but of course, you knew there's more to health
than what might first appear."