One window, two chairs. No pictures or music to distract. The only sound is the voice of your heart.

   You would know that I am not your hired lawyer listening to news of crimes nor the half-interested priest to whom you list your sins. Nor would I be your paid psychologist or the psychiatrist waiting to prescribe. 

   I am not even the loving friend who wants to hear but cannot escape making judgments taught from childhood. 

   Instead, you would know that I am the angel appointed to listen & receive. The one who absorbs your sacred secrets as gifts of truth.

   You would understand that I am Earth's hint of the Light you will see at your death. 

   This is The Listening Room. It is a place as elusive as the Fountain of Youth & richer then the Realms of Gold. 

   In such a place The Listener speaks only with eyes. Every gesture is an invitation you accept.

   As you speak the doors to your shadows open. Your dreams bloom.

   For the healer's gifts are listening & affirmation. 

   I would love to be The Listener, now, for my adult children. The one who hears them speak with the old trust of their childhood. The one who heals their sorrows & reawakens their brightest hopes. The one who loves them as I love my 8-year old grandson harboring a birthday wish in his prayerful hands. 

   And I would like to be the one, now, who hears what you most want to say; what you would share if you thought I was as innocent as the light streaming through the window between us… and as loving.  

-erie chapman