In modern culture, when we think medicine, we think pharmaceuticals.
But Medicine traditionally has had a much broader meaning, a meaning that encompassed both Medicine for the body and Medicine for the spirit:
it is the way your heart swells when you hear the whisper of the pine trees,
it is the deep calm that comes over you when you feel the ocean kissing your ankles,
it is the song your soul sings when you see an owl in flight.
Medicine is not only that which heals our body; it is also that which heals our soul.
And more than that, it is that which heals communities and the fabric of the Earth itself.
How can you begin to find your Medicine, the Medicine that opens you up to see the potential for healing that exists in so many situations?
It’s actually simpler than it seems:
Say yes to that which is sacred to you.
So often we know what we need–a trip to the beach to walk alone on the shore, a stupidly large citrine that we saw at the gem shop, a painting of a fox, or a small potted herb garden.
These things whisper to us. They ask us to be with them, to contemplate. To pause. To tend. And what do we do?
We say things like no time, or no money, or doesn’t match my decor.
Sometimes we say something harder and deeper. We say, deep in our heart of hearts, I’m not worthy.
We need to listen to ourselves when we say this. We need to recognize a wound, a hurt.
Nor do we need what most people will tell us: of course you’re worthy! Just believe in yourself and get over it.
But I’m not most people and neither are you.
So let’s be honest, shall we?
If your soul feels unworthy, it’s probably because you have been. It’s probably because you’ve gone down this road before and not appreciated or not cared or not tended. You may have bought the house, then symbolically boarded the windows and let the roof go.
So when you hear not worthy, you know there’s some truth there.
Put in the time and energy to care and love. Realize that things worth having, whether it’s your favorite garden shovel or a priceless piece of art, need tending. The things that make your soul sing, they need a bit more; their souls need tending, too.
My dear friend, a biodynamic herbalist, keeps her gardening tools as though they were her grandmother’s finest china. She wipes them down after every use and oils the metal weekly. The wooden handles get cleaned and conditioned. Then they are stored, out of the rain.
Another friend, who works with crystals, cleans them all every full moon. They go outside for a moon bath, then soak in the next day’s sunlight before coming back inside.
Think about what it would mean to live in continued relationship, continued reverence, beyond the moment of “I want.”
Once you can imagine this, it becomes easy to say yes to these things that are sacred to you and to be worthy of them.
Let the plants help you. Their Medicine is a guide and a beacon. Come into relationship. Come into reverence.
This is Medicine.
This is sacred.