Medicines by many other names
“What medication are you on?”
“None.”
“None!?”
“No.”
“I was waiting to write down a long list!”
I was at a pre-op a couple of months ago (minor surgery) and the nurse had asked me this question. I found her shock shocking. Is it normal, then – “for a woman of my age”! – to be on a long list of medication? Clearly it is but in that case, how fortunate am I that I don’t need to take anything?
I could have said though, that I take plenty of medicines just no medication.
Medicine or medication
In my blog last time, I talked about the tea ceremony I participated in and how the tea was ‘medicine’. Call it soul medicine if you like, medicine for well being. So I’ve been thinking about the medicines which enhance my life, bring beauty, comfort, nourishment, understanding, richness, calm – whatever my being is calling for. Some medicines I seek and some I offer – sometimes unknowingly. Some have been particularly valuable on this journey with grief, not least over these past few weeks which have been especially heavy with anniversaries and tears. I’m going to share a few with you and I hope you will feel happy to share a few with me.
Tree, River Song
Sitting on the thick branch of the big old beech which runs horizontally to the ground and bends conveniently vertically for my back to lean against (see photo), I absorb tree medicine. Solid, steadfast, seen a lot of life, dug deep through dry summers, withstood icy winters, letting its leaves go again and again through the cruel winds of autumn, and still the old beech survives and thrives – I find that reassuring, grounding medicine.
As I sit (most mornings) on my perch, I watch the river running by. “If you really understand a river, it is a scripture,” I heard someone say once. Ever flowing, contained by its bed and banks, starting humbly enough high on the moor and heading inevitably to merge with the sea 20 miles away on the coast, I find that its rhythm and constantly changing yet ever present dance and song, reminds me to trust the current and content of my life.
As I watch the river with the tree at my back, I feel my voice rising within me and sing my song back to the river – or maybe it’s the river’s singing through me; either way, I sing and the dog is very tolerant! The song I sing is medicine for me; my voice, like a river of sound flows through me, easing my heart, as song has eased my heart since I was a tiny child. Now, I offer my voice as medicine for others, in the form of the threshold singing I talked about last time. One of the songs we sing, is one that emerged in those very woods, with harmonies written by my lovely friend. Medicine is medicine – if I receive it, so I have it to offer.
Roses and Poetry
Again, since I was very young, flowers have brought me solace. From stroking the unique faces of deeply coloured pansies in my granny’s garden, to talking to each new bloom as it emerges in my own, I love them. But the flower I love and receive above all others is the rose. I drink rose tea, moisturise my skin with rose cream, surround myself with the scent of roses and very nearly had wild, slightly thorny roses -a bud, a bloom and a hip- tattooed on my arm. Lockdown intervened and I’ve lost the impetus but not my appreciation of their beauty, their relevance to the stages of my life, or their medicine. Here’s a favourite poem of mine by Hafiz – in fact I set it to music and, at my husband’s request, sang it at his funeral. He was the “light against my being”.
How did the rose Ever open its heart And give to the world All its beauty? It felt the encouragement of light against its being Otherwise we all remain Too frightened.
Which brings me neatly to poety. Poetry can reach deep inside us; in just a few words it can touch our hearts and make us weep when we need to weep and understand when we need to understand. Rhythm comforts – think Winnie the Pooh!- phrases stay with us, images remind us. I like to write in many different forms, but sometimes poetry is the only vehicle strong enough to contain my emotions. Here is one I wrote the other day on the anniversary of my handfasting. (If you go to the poetry page, you will find more new poems including poems from some of you.)
The Gift
He gave her a gift: “However humble”, he said, “it carries my heart.” She looked at the gift, brown paper and string, no fancy ribbons or peacock wrap. “Whatever it is”, she said, “I will treasure it”, and slowly undid knots, unfolded paper, looked in the box. Warm sunlight lit her face: a box of sunshine! But lurking in the corner, cowering, hiding its face, crouched Shadow- she knew no other name by which to call it. And through the seasons, sunlight came and warmed her face and warmed her back, yet Shadow followed. The days grew short, the days grew long, five times around. Then longer and longer Shadow grew, until one day she knew its name: His Shame. She gave him a gift: “However humble”, she said, “it is my heart”. He wept. “Your love has warmed my heart”, she said, “and made it shine”. The days grew short and long once more. He lay beside her as she breathed, until his own breath laboured into stillness. He gave her a gift, however humble. It will last her lifetime, however long, however short, until her breath labours into stillness.
A friend of mind sent me the most beautiful article recently, one she had commissioned and edited, and which was published in the Washington Post. It is written by a woman who turned to poetry through the dying and grieving of her son. With permission here is the link: https://wapo.st/3oBGNtL Please read it and have a box of tissues ready.
Sharing our Medicine
We are medicine for each other – not necessarily predictably. Maybe the stalwart friend or the one who shows you your own beauty, or the one who hugs you just when you most need it; or maybe a stranger whose words, smile or action, delivers medicine directly to your heart.
Medicines are all around us and within us, gentle medicines, no unwanted side effects. The medicine of laughter and of cake – the baking, sharing and eating thereof (maybe the small unwanted side effect of more inches around the waist I suppose)– the medicine of firelight, of sewing and painting, of fixing broken things (my late husband’s particular remedy for stress and also a gift he offered), the medicine of moonlight, dancing and gardening.
I would love to know what is medicine for you and if you carry a medicine for our world and those around you. I will make a space on the In Conversation page, so please do write to me and if you’re happy for me to share what you have written, let me know.
With my love
Nickie
News
I have just come back from the hospice where I sing and volunteer. I have been recording two stories for children, stories I wrote many years ago for the families I met at the charity I worked for, who were all dealing with loss or life threatening illness. The wonderful music therapist who has been accompanying me, will work his magic with the techi bit and I hope they will be on the site shortly.
I’ll be back with a new blog in 3 weeks’ time after my sojourn in Bulgaria with my daughter and grandson at my nephew’s wedding. Hopefully tales to tell you.
But meanwhile, do send me your medicines, haiku, poems and comments – I will reply when I return. Which reminds me, if you have written to me in the past, I will have replied to you. If you have not received a reply, please check your spam as I have realised sometimes my mails don’t get past your filters.
Stay well,
Nickie
PS Wise Women – nearly wise ones, will do just as well (after all, we never know if we are wise or not, I think) – do please write to me if you would like more information about the in person group which I hope will be starting soon. An online group is also planned starting in the autumn.
Hallo Nickie,
Your poem, The Gift, is very moving and beautiful. You write so well too.
Travel well and enjoy everything in Bulgaria.
Love,
Marion
Marion, thank you. I’m touched that you took the time to write. I am back from Bulgaria – good, interesting, tiring, enriching time.
Love to you, Nickie