127.0.0.1

There’s really no help for it-

Stress and emotions are sticky,

And no amount of showers and scrubbing

Can get rid of that soul-oily residue.

Unless you use something like epsom salts,

If you can. (I can’t. Diabetic.)

Or a specially-scented shampoo,

Like rosemary and lavender.

It doesn’t matter if you’re Wiccan or not,

A different scent puts you in a different mood.

So pick a scent – coffee, cinnamon,

Honeysuckle, rose.

Close your eyes, imagine Your Place.

Or stare at a picture,

Or travel there,

Whatever gets you there from here.

A melody, a fidget, a task.

A place of solitude,

A place of safety.

Built like a fortress,

Or an open forest,

With a substantial toxic waste dump.

Yes, I said it.

You need a place

Strong enough to contain

All that emotional crap you’re carrying,

And we all know there’s plenty of that around.

A place to drop it,

A place to watch it sink

Into bubbling darkness,

Or into a croc’s gullet,

Or eaten by a plant

That looks suspiciously like Audrey Two.

You’re on the beach? The mountain overlook?

They’re big enough to encompass it.

Just dump it off the path,

That stuff can cling like dog’s - well, you know.

It’s thick, makes it hard to see,

And some of it isn’t even yours.

When it’s gone, it’s easier to gain perspective.

To see the suffering close at hand,

To reach out, to soothe.

Or find your creative spark again.

Or find the balance to continue.

Bring a bottle of sandy saltwater home,

Give it a shake or two when the world tumbles you around.

Get lost in a book, or a story you’re writing,

Or a favorite song, or a video game.

Or a craft project, even a little one.

A thing of creation beats back the darkness.

I also make my own perfume,

The distillation of a thousand summer petals,

Concentrated visits of honeybee and butterfly,

Echoes of the caterpillars I raise.

Caring for their fragile lives

Reminds me of what’s real in life,

Helps ground me even faster.

Things suck. No doubt there.

But you don’t have to carry the weight alone.

Dump it in the swamp,

Of memory, of travel, of story.

And start small

To make a difference,

Little tasks that dovetail nicely

To build yourself a refuge

Of hope.