First, sit down on the floor with an expert or two under the age of seven. Gather some Legos, chocolate syrup, a bed sheet, paste, a harmonica, dry pasta, sand, laughter, mud, paint, puddles, old newspaper, some fruit snacks, and at least one dog.
Build a ship.
Ship of Dreams
Sail towards sunrise. Let the children navigate: they know how to use stars. Do not question their skills as navigators: they have little experience, so they still possess imagination. Ignore the facts that the ship is neither water-tight nor capable of bearing your weight, and the darkness you are sailing through seems to be a living hateful thing. Understand there will be lots of wandering. It is not pointless, silly, or a waste of time.
Have faith.
Throw your shoes overboard. Close your eyes. Listen with your heart as the children sing, play, laugh, and fight. Feel your heart break and explode from your chest cavity. Watch the pieces scatter across the sky like diamonds. Say, “Thy will be done.”
Experience fear.
Your captains will want to tell stories. They will outlandish and powerful. They will be senseless and full of depth. They will be poetry: full of imagination, completely unbelievable, and true. You will want them to be real, and it will break your heart when you learn that reality is a sort of magic, and magic is made of sweat, endless repetition, and pain. Your frustration, anger and heartache will drown you.
Hurt.
Your tender-hearted captain will save you from the deep. The sailors will tend your wounds with plastic stethoscopes and flowers. They will save your tears in a bottle. You will heal, but you will have scars. You might consider diving overboard, but you will feel such gratitude for your life, and you will need to express it. So prepare your small singing sailor-surgeons a meal that requires you to plant a garden, water, weed and harvest its bounty, and knead dough, and butcher and tenderize meat. Be deeply wounded by the service, lose part of yourself, and bleed profusely. Fear for your survival. Fully experience the sensation of gratitude. Understand sacrifice.
Cry.
Serve the meal. Enjoy giving. Look into the eyes of those messy faces covered with your gifts, and smile. Talk to them, learn them. Sit quietly with them while they rest. Watch them sleep.
Feel loneliness.
Realize you have no clue how to read the map, no idea where you are, or where they are taking you. Laugh.
Fear not, and sing.