listening with a poet's heart
if you feel the waves of grief keep crashing.
if the darkness has crept in.
if life is moving too fast
or too slow.
if change is threatening everything you’ve known.
if you can’t seem to love yourself,
if you can’t seem to love anybody else.
if the questions keep you from sleep
if the loneliness takes up too much space.
if the pain of the world mirrors the work that you do.
if loss has swept away your security.
if you don’t know who you are
or how you got here.
if you are afraid sometimes.
most of the time.
all of the time.
If you worry about your kids.
or your sanity.
if you have had another client die.
if the people you love are worried about you.
if you can’t stop eating.
or you can,
if you’re wide-eyed and hopeful.
if life feels like it stretches on before you,
if life feels like it may have passed you by.
if all of this feels like too much
if you don’t seem to feel anything at all anymore.
if you just want a friend to talk to
if you want a safe place to question
or to cry.
come. come sit by the fire...
bring your fears
and your questions.
bring your hopes
and the dreams you don’t dare to entertain.
bring all of your secret self-loathing,
your grumpiness, your pain
and your foreboding joy.
bring what is going well,
bring what is broken.
bring the resentment that won’t seem to go away.
bring the past you can’t remember,
(or the past you can’t forget)
and the future that feels foreign.
(too close or too far away)
bring whatever you’ve been carrying,
whatever burdens you
and whatever makes you come alive.
come and sit.
you are welcome here.
you are accepted here.
you are enough here.
where you are,
however you are feeling,
is exactly where you are.
and where you are
is where you’re supposed to be.
even when it feels scary,
even when you’d rather
be anywhere but here.
be here now.
you are not alone.
you are not forgotten.
you are heard.
and you are seen.
you are held.
and you are loved.
so come, sit by the fire.
this hearth was made for you.