My Friend Who Is A Swan
I have a spirited friend, nearly six feet tall with arms so long and graceful that - should she lift them up – I swear she would fly. It's not just her engaging physical presence with her head held high and her catwalk gait; no, it's her laughter, generosity and insightfulness that I appreciate.
And h
ere's a small window into her humility, too - she invited me to sit in on a grad class she teaches at a nearby college: "Oh, M.J., I'm so honored you would actually come tonight!" Wha? How about it is I who was received like the Queen of Sheba because they all love her!
In the field it's called projective identification – lucky me! Seriously, this spell-binding family therapist and her class of 20 year old soon-to-be graduated bonafide social workers made me feel like I was Norm entering Cheers in Boston! "M.J.!" 
But when one genteelly strips the mask off a friendship, when one goes a little deeper, isn't afraid to be introspective, I think it is the soul of my friend that captures the soul of me. The soul – like Emily Dickinson's needle – points correctly and always, always knows the way, even if the sailor doesn't.