The world is full of medicine.
But given the state of things, you might not believe me. I mean, if the medicine is everywhere, why are we all so sick? This is exactly the sort of disconnect that made my tummy hurt as a child and sent my teenage rage spinning out.
Well, I’m sure I don’t have the answer. That would require the world to make sense, for it to be just and predictable. Well it’s not and it doesn’t and we might have a better chance of survival if more folks would just admit that.
But leaving the chaos that is the human experience aside for the moment, what I think I can say is that no matter the ills, or the grief, or the terror, we can find a medicine that helps us on our journey.
Because our medicine chest is greater than a pill bottle. It is filled with wise weeds and with nourishing people, it holds the stars and the blue heron.
It’s a medicine of place. And it’s strong.