TheHealing Tree A Mermaid, a Poet, and a Miracle Joe Tye The Healing Tree A Mermaid, a Poet, and a Miracle This is a work of fiction and a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real-world people, organizations, or events is strictly coincidental. Published by Paradox 21 Press Book Design and Illustration: Studio 6 Sense • www.studio6sense.com ISBN#: 9781-887511-29-2 Copyright © 2005, 2011, Joe Tye. All rights reserved. “I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each… We have lingered in the chambers of the sea.” T.S. Eliot: The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock www.Healing-Story.com Praise for The Healing Tree (from the original self-published edition) “The Healing Tree is a book that you will not be able to put down... I started reading and was completely swept up in the spell- binding story! The Healing Tree is completely captivating, soul- enriching and beautifully written. I was blown away with the creativity, the brilliance and the talent of Joe Tye. Out of ALL of the books that I have read in my lifetime (and believe me I’ve read thousands of books), this is one of THE best books I have ever read. I love it, love it, love it. If you are ready to be emo- tionally moved in a beautiful way get a copy of The Healing Tree now (or get two copies and give one to someone you deeply care about).” Peggy McColl, author of Your Destiny Switch and 21 Distinctions of Wealth “Anyone facing a serious illness, either personally or with a loved one, should read The Healing Tree. This heart-warming story shows how a time of trial can become a time for hope, faith, self- discovery, and ultimate transcendence. This is a book for anyone seeking to find meaning in a time of adversity.” C. Everett Koop, M.D., Sc.D., author of Koop: Memoirs of America’s Family Doctor “The Healing Tree is an inspirational book that lifts up all the im- portant themes of pain, struggle, loss, hope, and renewal. Its life- affirming message of ‘Yes You Can’ is important for all of us, not just those in the healing professions.” James A. Autry, author of Love and Profitand The Servant Leader “If you haven’t believed in miracles, you will after reading The Heal- ing Tree. In fact, you may go out and create your own miracles.” W Mitchell, author of It’s Not What Happens to You, It’s What You Do About It “The Healing Tree is an inspiring, touching account that will bring comfort to anyone facing life’s most difficult decisions.” Larry Dossey, M.D., author of Reinventing Medicine and Healing Words “A delight to read. The Healing Tree takes you on an enlightening journey of self-discovery. This is a richly human book that will touch both your heart and mind.” Roger Crawford, author of How High Can You Bounce? “The Healing Tree is a powerful reaffirmation of our real mission in the caring professions, and a poignant reminder that healing is a miraculous process which encompasses much more than just a physical cure. This book moved me to tears, but it also lifted my spirits and made me proud to be part of the movement to bring a greater sense of holistic healing into the traditional healthcare delivery system.” Patrick Charmel, co-author of Putting Patients First “The Healing Tree is an inspiring story guaranteed to warm the hearts and souls of those who read it. Carrie Anne’s path is indeed healing.” Brian Luke Seaward, Ph.D., author of Quiet Mind, Fearless Heart “If the measure of a great book is its ability to be read and re-read over time and to have the experience grow deeper each time, then The Healing Tree passes the test with flying colors. With each new ‘passage’ in our lives, a re-reading of this book is in order, some- thing that can be said of only a small number of books today.” Mike Casey, Professor of English, Graceland University If you enjoyed The Healing Tree you will want to read The Florence Prescription Your Dreams Are Too Small Never Fear, Never Quit 3 stories that can change your life. These books and others can be purchased at www.SparkStore.com Coming Next: Lilies in the Snow Life is a garden in the mountains, lovely and precarious. My father told me that the day I left for college 26 years ago. Now that the divorce had come through, I was happily tending to the garden of my new life. Before the Gray Lady confronted me in the violence of that liquid earthquake, it was a life where dead writers stayed dead and James MacWilder was just a photo on the back of a book jacket; a life where writing my own stories was something I would get around to — someday; a life where death was just the vague rumor of a distant catastrophe I wouldn’t personally experience until long after I’d written the last of those stories. Enjoy the lilies as soon as they bloom, my father had said, because one morning you might wake up to find them covered with snow. Dedication For Doug, born with the heart of a musician and the soul of a poet, who has always been a source of amazement and inspiration to his Dad. For Annie, who from that first toddle over to the spring horse, has lived life as an adventure. For Sally, because happiness is being married to your best friend. The greatest miracle of all is not something that happens to you, it’s something that happens within you. This is the story of one such miracle. The eight ball rolled to A dead stop in front of the pool table’s corner pocket and perched there like a fresh egg waiting for a short order cook to crack it open. Sammy DiMarco took a swig from his longneck Corona, set it down on the counter, and chalked up his custom pool cue. He walked slowly around the table, kissing the St. Pauli Girl poster for luck on the way, and positioned himself on the opposite end of the table from the money ball. Yes indeed, this was his night. “Deadeye.” He repeated the affirmation to the rhythm of his breath- ing: Deadeye in, Deadeye out – Deadeye in, Deadeye out. “Words have power,” his father had always told him, “so be careful what you call yourself.” Sammy set the chalk down on the edge of the table and sprinkled baby powder on his left hand. Closing his eyes and taking a slow deep breath, he pushed out of his mind the memory of all the missed shots, of all those times he’d capped a brilliant run by choking on the money ball. Deadeye in, Deadeye out. Sammy leaned over the table and peered across the seven feet of green felt that separated him from an easy two hundred bucks. He pumped his cue back and forth, slow and deliberate, and in his mind’s eye vi- sualized a taut crimson thread connecting the white cue ball with the black eight ball. The money ball. Slowly, Sammy pulled back the stick one last time, until his hand was parallel to the tobacco tin in the back pocket of his favorite denim jeans. The jukebox and the chatter of The Blue Room Bar faded into the shadows as he zeroed in. The instant the chalked tip of his stick punched into the cue ball, Sammy knew he’d won the game. The money ball slammed into the back of the corner pocket and disappeared down the rabbit hole. 1 2 The Healing Tree After buying a round of drinks and giving the waitress an overgen- erous tip, Sammy sauntered across the parking lot, oblivious to the cool night air and the full moon giving its benediction from above. The metal flake paint of his classic Dodge Charger sparkled candy apple red under the parking lot lights. He eased himself into the black leather bucket seat and slid the key into the ignition. Sammy pressed down on the polished aluminum accelerator pedal and the Charger’s fuel-injected hemi roared in response. “Life is good,” Sammy crooned as he rammed the chrome stick shift into first gear and gunned the Charger out of the parking lot. Saturday night traffic was backed up all along Howard Street. As the Charger crawled past the First Guardian Bank building, Sammy looked over at the clock where time and temperature leapfrogged each other toward an invisible finish line. He cursed under his breath, then shuddered slightly, vaguely aware of having stirred a subterranean memory of the taste of soap which had been irrevocably linked to those words in the years before he ran away from home. He was an hour late, and Sheila was not a patient woman. “Time for a shortcut, Dead- eye,” he said aloud. Sammy zipped through the shopping mall park- ing lot and came out on Benson Boulevard. “No lights, no law, no loitering.” As last words go, that pretty well captured all Sammy DiMarco had ever wanted out of life. He put the Charger through the gears, press- ing himself back against the leather seat. Just past the Galapagos Restaurant, Sammy had to slam on the brakes to avoid rear-ending an 18-wheeler wheezing its way up the hill. He downshifted and jammed the gas pedal to the floor as he yanked the Charger into the opposing lane to pass.