I have been forced to go through a lot of difficult emotions recently. Moving to a new state has been a net positive for me and my kids, and our new life here continues to promise good things for our wellbeing for years to come, but gosh, moving is hard. It it sure has brought up a lot of old pain, and new fears, and all the confusing blend of emotions that come as a kind of toll that uprooting and relocating takes. I’ve been crying and dwelling in dark moods more than usual.

But last night, I had a dream in which I found, behind a wall, a room full of sad people with painful injuries. I really didn’t want to go in there, but this room was right next to the kitchen, where lots a creative cooking was happening and delicious-looking bubbling pots were on the stove, and I had to go through the wall to get to the kitchen. I awoke this morning with a calm sense of purpose, and as soon as I opened the blank page, this poem came tumbling out of me.

I consider these words a prescription from my deep mind (aka higher self) for emotional pain, and I share it in the hope that you, too, will find it useful in recovering from your hurts.

When you feel lost,

find yourself at home in the luxury of your thick and generous skin.

Locate the contours of your flesh where it has been waiting, undiscovered, for your caring attention.

Anoint your feet in rich, oily butter and place your slick, bare heels on the earth.

Here, you are.

When you feel adrift,

anchor your thoughts in the harbor of your hips.

Remember the hymn of the moon as it moved across your childhood bed and tether your spine to its returning rhythm.

Rock your bones in the cradle of earth once again.

Here, you are.

When you feel forsaken,

claim every ugly, raw bit of your hurt and sadness.

Drap your body in a fine, red altar cloth, adorn your shadow with delicate flowers

and perform the welcome home dance with a flourish of fanfare.

Here, you are.

When you feel scattered,

gather your consciousness in the basket of your heart.

Collect your needy blood in a net of heart-woven compassion.

Fold both hands gently over your breastbone and weep neatly as willow weeps in the shivering wind.

Here, you are.

When you feel tense,

ease your breath into the sanctuary of your belly.

Let the steam of your fears steep and rise from the fibers of your gut, diffusing into the holy, incensed air.

Here, you are.

When you feel unsure,

decide to take a walk.

Allow your legs to move you in the direction of a stone friend.

Hold the clarity of its heavy presence in your hand.

Here, you are.

When you feel stuck,

release your fingers to the open range of soil.

Run your fingertips through the wild grass until your nails corrode with feral grit.

Here, you are.

When you feel empty,

fill the vessel of your mouth with the blessing of clear, pure water.

Dip and swirl your tongue to satisfaction in the liquid benediction.

Carry the tears of heaven between your lips, precious as an unborn child.

Here, you are.

When you feel angry,

respect the dark mother.

Obey her when she demands compensation for love’s unpaid bills.

Accompany her dutifully as she visits her younger brothers, Fear and Pain.

Look her in the eye when you answer her questions.

Hunker down and light the lamp of patience as she storms,

and kindly remember to sweep up the bitter sticks strewn in her wake.

Here, too, you are.

-Dr. Earth