A Flower out of concrete floor

Session 1: Seed Stage
"So, Joe, what brings you to therapy?" asked Dr. Mann, an esteemed therapist with many accolades under his belt.
"My wife asked me to come, but I kept telling her real men don’t need therapy," Joe replied.
Dr. Mann let out a chuckle and straightened his chair.
"What do you do for a living, Joe?"
"I write."
"Ah, what kind of writing?"
"I'm all over the place, but I connect my personal life with my stories," said Joe.
"Words write themselves and come to you directly, I assume?" Dr. Mann asked, his tone cunning.
"They… do," Joe answered, his voice tinged with suspicion.
"That’s all the time we have for today, I’m afraid. I hope to see you again soon, Joe."
Session 2: Germination
"Before we begin today’s session, I’d like you to choose between the two: to live as a monster or to die as a good man?"
"Erm… I suppose to die as a good man," Joe said, scratching his head.
"Not big on rectifications, I see. Your stories, however, suggest you believe in ending cycles and forgiving others."
"Hell of an assumption to make from a simple question, Doctor."
"Deduction," Dr. Mann corrected.
"Deduction, then," Joe echoed.
"What was your childhood like, Joe?"
"Can’t complain much, Doctor."
"You can if you want to."
Joe raised his eyebrows as if being given a stage to speak was almost alien to him.
"Uh… I suppose I could have been closer to my father."
"That’s all the time we have for today, I’m afraid. I hope to see you again soon, Joe."
Session 3: Seedling Stage
"Have you ever seen the weakest cub of a lion, Joe?"
"No, I don’t think I have, Doctor."
"As it grows, its mother realizes it’s not cut out for the cruel environment, so she stops feeding it. It starves and dies."
"That seems irrational," Joe remarked.
"Fear seldom is," Dr. Mann responded.
"What do you mean by ‘fear’? Fear of what? Either way, the cub dies. The mother could have at least let it see more of the world—maybe it would have learned to survive."
"Letting the cub grow, only for it to die a more gruesome death?"
"You don’t know that for certain," Joe said, raising his voice.
"Leaving your own child to die a gruesome death on the mere chance of survival—hardly rational, don’t you think, Joe?"
Joe let out a big sigh.
"Do you believe in a savior, Joe?"
"No, I’m agnostic," he answered.
"And you’re at peace with that?" Dr. Mann asked, his tone frustrated.
"I haven’t given it much thought."
"That’s all the time we have for today, I’m afraid. I hope to see you again soon, Joe."
Session 4: Vegetative Growth
"Doctor, I’ve given some thought to what we discussed last week. I believe a savior exists, and he will appear before us when the world ends."
"That’s nice. Are you working on any stories right now?" Dr. Mann asked.
"Not for a while, I suppose. I’ve hit a mental block. I think my best days are behind me—I’ve said everything I needed to say through my stories."
"And now you think that everything you write will never be as good as your past work, and eventually, you’ll realize you were never that great to begin with?"
"Ouch," Joe muttered.
"Too close to home, eh? Have you heard what Krishna told Arjuna? ‘Do not be motivated by the results of your work, nor be attached to inaction.’"
"What does that mean?" Joe asked.
"Why did you start writing, Joe?"
"Because it was fun," Joe shrugged.
"Did it give you purpose?"
"Eventually, it did. I found solace in knowing people could relate to the words coming from my pen."
"And then?"
"It became my job. I found myself forcing words onto the page rather than letting them come to me."
"The delayed gratification didn’t work out for you."
"I suppose not."
"That’s all the time we have for today, I’m afraid. I hope to see you again soon, Joe."
Session 5: Budding Stage
"When you first came here, you said your wife sent you, right?"
"Yes."
"How’s your relationship with her?"
"I don’t know how to put it, but I think men like me—men with daddy issues—don’t deserve women. No woman deserves a man carrying that kind of baggage. We either bury the trauma or express it through anger. I understand now why she sent me to you."
"She told me this is the most you’ve talked to anyone in your life."
"I think she’s right."
"Do you think you’ll ride it out with her?"
"I certainly hope so."
"Last week, you texted me and said you felt like you were falling. What’s been going on?"
"Everything I experience now is not through life but through stories, and I can’t even write them anymore," Joe admitted.
"What do you mean by that, exactly?"
"When people tell me about their lives, I immediately start thinking about how I can use their experiences in my writing. I feel like Goya when he went mad with his craft."
"And what’s wrong with that?" Dr. Mann asked.
"That’s… okay? Normal?"
"We all put ourselves in the place of others to understand them. You write to share their stories, not to mock them."
"That’s all the time we have for today, I’m afraid. I hope to see you again soon, Joe."
Session 6: Flowering Stage
As Joe made his way to Dr. Mann’s office, he noticed the room was bathed in warm, golden light. The temperature felt cozy—just right for him to bloom.
He waited for an hour, but Dr. Mann never showed up. For the first time, Joe was the center of attention.
Session 7: Pollination and Fertilization
"Sorry about last week, Joe. I had an emergency appointment and couldn’t make it in time."
"It’s fine, Doctor. I suppose the time alone was good for me—to self-reflect, to understand that I need to open my heart more. My words don’t just affect me; they affect others. I represent people through these words, and I use them as inspiration for my ideas."
"Will you take this gift for granted?"
"I promise to use my gift to bring understanding—to every man, woman, and child. I promise to live my life in harmony now."
"You crushed a lot of people by keeping your thoughts in captivity," Dr. Mann said.
"And I’m ashamed I created that enemy," Joe admitted.
"Next week, come back with new writing material, Joe."
"I’ll try," Joe said.
"That’s all the time we have for today, I’m afraid. I hope to see you again soon, Joe."
Session 8: Breakthrough
"I wrote something for you, Doctor."
"Let me have a look," Dr. Mann said.
'A crack, a grey, unyielding plane,
Where boots have trod, and weathered rain,
A desert born of human hand,
Across a sterile, silent land.
Yet, from the fissure, thin and frail,
A verdant shoot begins to scale.
A petal soft, a crimson hue,
A flower born, where none were due.
Like a gardener's bloom, in stony place,
A sign of grace, a gentle face,
Where hope was lost, and faith was low,
A tender, sacred seed did grow.
Or like the Prophet's desert rose,
Against the harsh, where nothing grows,
A miracle, a sign, a plea,
That life can rise, eternally.
The concrete floor, a world of doubt,
Where spirit's flame seemed nearly out.
But from the depths, a fragile thing,
A blossom bursts, a song to sing.
For in the heart, where stone resides,
A hidden spring, a faith that hides,
Can pierce the grey, and break the mold,
And stories of redemption hold.'

"What did you name this?"
"A Flower Out of Concrete floor."


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