Dig a deep hole to bury your sorrows. Bury them, do not forget them. For, they are alive and will burrow their own tunnel until there is a cozy place underground, just big enough to turn around in, just big enough to curl up on the white fluff of wild geese down inthe corner beneath the curried sheep's wool. On this soft bed, you will be safe.

This is your place to dream. It's a place to cry. A place to shrivel up, but not die---not yet, not yet---because in the underground burrow are all the suupplies you need for consolation and later, for resussitation.

There's a cupboard filled with chocolate and music and friends who peer into your heart and say words that come from deeper than their lips. These friends understand writers. They leave you alone when needed and come when beckoned.

This writer's room is your world. It's a safe and cozy womb. No, you are not buried alive, you are planted here, sown here by the grace of goddess and who can say what words will shoot up and what flowers will bloom from this green stalk planted in the darkness of your underground writers room?

Burrow in the darkness of your nurturing writing burrow. Pick up pen and let it all go...let it all flow.