the medicine

a prayer

Some days the medicine is so bitter.

I lie on the ground writhing — 
cramping with pain.

Looking to the heavens, the All-Father to avenge me.
For this pain, surely, must be repaid in kind.

“Look and it shall lift, dear one.”

And I promised myself no more running from myself.
No more hiding from the mirror I most fear to look in.
I promised myself to never look away from myself again.

To live fully.
To love deeply.

So, I pray: Pain, anger, fear, sadness, shame.

I’m with you.
Thank you for coming to pray with me.
What message do you have for me from the beyond?
Teach me, for I’m ready to receive.
I’m learning to receive.

A meanness, a depression, a burst of joy intermingled with grief.
One ends and the other begins until there is no distinction, only one.

The situation is hopeless, but mercifully,
less and less serious by the minute.

Yes, this being a human is a guest house indeed.
And at my house, we dance.