Horoscopic Therapy

This is what our friend Rob Brezny suggests for me this week (I should cultivate the attitude described in the following poem):

A Modern Version of the Way the Rosary Was Once Said Throughout Western Europe in the Late Middle Ages
by Dara Wier

I'm not sewing velvet patches on a woolen blanket,
not putting silver buttons back where they belong,
not sweeping or folding, not in my right mind,
not knowing what I owe or to whom I should
bow down or thank or praise, no neither am
I putting aside, not storing up good deeds
I'll need when I need bailing out, not putting
my house in order, no, not preparing
to meet my maker, no, nor do I wish to settle
old scores, no not keeping wolves at bay,
and I'm not disturbing antbeds, not in touch
with fine madness, no, I'm not skipping rocks,
not counting how long it takes a ship's wake
to subside, nor waiting for the big one
to wash ashore and overwhelm its itty bitty
ancestors, no, I'm not trying to fathom a stew
of rotten flowers and rainwater I'm not pouring
from a vase at the left-hand backcorner of a
freshly white-washed tomb, no, I'm not getting
ready for company, not biting my tongue, though
a little bit of chafing can feel good, not baring
my soul, I'm not hiding under the kitchen table
not wanting to listen anymore, not lost in a
camphor-reeking satchel inside a chiffarobe,
not stretching under a bed on a cool linoleum
floor, no, I'm not sitting on top of a mule
surveying the sun and the moon, nor am I watching
strands of hot sugar fall into cool water, no
I'm not climbing into a fig tree to be close
to mockingbirds and out of the way of hoopsnakes,
and I'm not falling asleep next to a crate of melons,
nor am I staying awake in case I might miss something,
no, I'm not staring forever into a fire,
nor walking through a rainstorm into a cypress
grove, no, and I'm not waiting for lightning
to strike, no, and I'm not pulling aside a
curtain so I can't see a man with a raccoon
looking over his shoulder or a woman holding
a cup of steaming coffee or hear what's passing
between them, or see a man at the end of a day
taking off his shoes, or a boy dressed in clerical
clothes dispensing frankincense, or a hand
shifting into reverse, or a hand turning numbers
to get into a safe, no I'm not sitting on top
of a mule surveying the sun and the moon.