Sometimes it’s hard to trust that “still small voice within.” In the ’80’s, while driving down Harvard St. on my way to work at a Boston rehab hospital, an inner voice said out of the blue “Buy Mike a white rose.” Huh? A white rose? For Mike? “Mike” was the most difficult, resistant patient on the pain unit at that time, and all the patients and staff were fed up with his angry outbursts. The medical director was on the verge of discharging him for non-compliance. In fact, he had just stormed out of my relaxation workshop the night before, slamming the door behind himself but not before shouting “…and the rest of you patients should leave this lousy group, too!”

“Buy a white rose for Mike,” the inner voice nudged again.

I quickly made a U-turn back to a florist, and bought a white rose. When I got to the unit, Mike was in a physical therapy session. I put the rose in a small vase and left it in his room with a note that said “Dear Mike, it seems like you’re having a hard time and in a lot of pain. We’re not sure what you’re so angry about, but we wish you peace.”

An hour later I was chatting with a few nurses and rehab associates in the back room behind the nursing station. The charge nurse, Kim, stuck her head in and said “Mike is at the counter and wants to know who gave him the rose.” Everyone looked quizzically at each other, then at me. Flushed, heart beating louder, I got up to go face the music with Mike.

I’ll always remember the sight of him there. The grizzly bear I had expected to growl at me, had transformed into a teddy bear—a trembling, gentle man.

“Did you give this rose and note to me?” he asked, eyes glistening with tears.

“Yes, I did.”

“I don’t think you know how much this means to me. I’ve never been seen…or understood like this before.”

He paused, looking into my eyes from a tender, vulnerable place inside. “Is it OK if I give you a hug?” he asked.

We embraced, and in that moment, we both experienced healing and gratitude—Mike for having had his anger seen and met with compassion, and I for seeing with regret how judgmental I could be. In a way, we were each receiving love and forgiveness from the other.

That night, Mike was willing to participate in guided imagery into his chronic pain, where to his surprise, he discovered repressed memories of childhood abuse. He was finally able to open up, see what lay beneath the anger, and grieve.

The following morning, the day shift staff kept asking “Who gave Mike the happy pill?” Mike was transformed—he became the star of the unit, welcoming new patients, participating in all the groups, even leading a chronic pain support group. His pain level went down dramatically. Even his sense of humor was restored, as he laughed himself silly over his own corny jokes.

A few words of intuitive guidance, a white rose…we never know where our “gut instinct” will lead us…but it’s worth trusting and listening to! A Presence, deep within ourselves, that has vision and wisdom far beyond our limited mental capacities, KNOWS.

I sat in my office listening, tears glistening in my eyes as a bereft client shared her story.

Suddenly massive red firetrucks and flashing police cars rocketed down King St. toward the center of town, horns blasting and sirens screaming their messages of alarm and disaster.

Nothing unusual.

Until I discerned a faint, lilting melody holding firm within the cacophony of noise. From the depths of a tiny brown bird, an aria in praise of life tumbled forth.

A lone song sparrow, delayed in departing for more southern climes and seemingly unruffled by calamity or cold, was cheerily singing along with the trucks at the top of her lungs.

She may have been minuscule in stature, but the force of faith and exaltation that trilled from her throat could have brought the gods to their knees.

When the river of life rushed by in a torrent of trauma and drama, this holy emissary didn’t budge. She held her ground, sang the irrepressible song she came to this world to sing, and in the sharing, illuminated brokenness with Light.

-Marilyn Marks 11/4/23

Emotional and physical pain are often messengers from the soul that have much to teach us. I remember working the 3-11 pm shift as a rehab associate at a Harvard-affiliated pain center in my twenties. While the center taught patients to focus off of their chronic pain, through physical therapy, relaxation methods, biofeedback, hydrotherapy, and massage, I developed a Pain Imagery technique that gently guided people into their pain and its wisdom.

The process was simple: relax with progressive muscle relaxation, focus on the painful area, and see if it has a shape, color, or sound. Ask it why it is there and if it has a message for you. Pain responses were often remarkably wise. Patients shifted from hating their pain, to appreciating and learning from it; what used to be an enemy, became an ally and a friend.

A pro football player’s excruciating sciatica required him to use a wheelchair. HIs pain taught him “In your life, you always give 150%, even in the first quarter. I’m going to keep hurting you until you listen to your limits and slow down.” His pain reduced by 75% after one session and as he learned to slow down, the pain only returned when he over-taxed himself.

A therapist with incapacitating leg pain was angry and resisted every component of the pain program—the medical director was about to discharge him for being so uncooperative. I asked this man if he would be willing to try the pain imagery process, and he agreed.

To his astonishment, he discovered that his leg pain was connected to repressed memories of severe emotional and physical childhood abuse. He said “I had no idea this pain was old stored emotions,” and wept in grief and relief. His pain reduced by 80% and he became a transformed person, emanating kindness to everyone on the unit. He even created and led a wonderful pain support group for the patients!

An elderly cancer patient was brought to our pain rehab unit because there was no room for him on the oncology floor and he was in terrible pain. One night I gently guided him into the pain, and during the imagery process he began to smile. He told me the pain had transformed into brilliant spheres of angelic light, that he felt very calm and peaceful, and that he was pain-free. He intuited that the Light would soon be welcoming him Home, and he had nothing to fear. When I returned the next day on the evening shift, his hospital room was empty—he had died peacefully during the night.

Many nights I left the pain unit deeply moved by these profound Pain Imagery journeys and the great honor it was to be a witness and guide. Our symptoms have much to teach us, when we become still, present, and listen.