The Substitute – Part 5

In the middle of a small, dark room
The man sat deep in meditation
Sat would be the wrong word
For the man floated an inch above the ground
With his long, white, wavy beard the only thing in contact with the slabbed floor
His eyes were closed, and he was mumbling I know not what
I could see him; I could see him because
He radiated light from within himself
He seemed magical or perhaps phony

“Excuse me,” I said, careful about not disturbing his poise too much
“I have come seeking an answer
Joe, the handyman, referred me here
He said that you can solve anything
Well, he didn’t say that precisely
But I suppose that is what he meant
I do have a problem and I implore you to give me an answer
My heart beats
It beats hard and fast
And it hurts
There are no two ways about it
It kills me from inside every day
Even now, as I speak, it is pricking me
With the jolt of a thousand thunderbolts
I fear that I may take it no more unless something definite be done about it.”

“It is not your heart that is beating,” the man replied without opening his eyes
“Your heart is not beating at all
I did not hear it when you stepped in here
And I do not hear it now
Your problem is not your heart, but your mask
You wish to take out your heart
But it is your mask you should take off
But I fear that is not what you came to hear.”