Simple Medicine

In ancient shamanic cultures, if a medicine man or woman was approached by a person complaining of feeling disheartened, dispirited or depressed the shaman would ask these questions:

When did you stop dancing?
When did you stop singing?
When did you stop being enchanted by stories?
When did you stop finding comfort in the sweet territory of silence?

I heard this lovely message several weeks ago from a beloved teacher of mine while visiting a yoga center in Massachusetts. It resonated with me deeply--for its simplicity, for its truth.

I arrived closed and constricted. Angry and impatient. Frustrated and annoyed. The divisiveness, the polarity in our world at this time was getting to me. I was stagnating in my judgment and frustration. I was over people and their shit. Surrounded by the beautiful Berkshire mountains I couldn't find my center. In wonderfully led yoga classes I couldn't find my center. And then I danced. Oh I danced! I danced from my root--heavy and hard and with the earth. I danced with my belly--my will, my power, and my fire. I danced with the waters of my hips. I danced with my heart and the trees and the breeze. I danced with my spirit and the sky. I danced it all out and I danced it all open. My eyes became bright, my smile resurrected. I said silently to myself, "I've missed you". This is who I am--who we are--bright and free and open. Until.....

Less than an hour went by since I danced furiously and joyfully and already I felt the impatience creeping back in. "No," I think, "I don't want you here. I want to stay with my heart." Soon--if I allow it--the dance and the joy will become a memory. People will misbehave and I'll judge. The world will be loud and I'll resist. I'll begin to close. Slowly, slowly so it is almost imperceptible, until the day I notice I am tight in a bud, restricted and restrained and once more trying to force blossoming through my mind. But when I find myself in this space I now know that the medicine is simple--dance, sing, be with the land. The medicine is so simple. And yet....there is always something else to do than take care of our spirit. There are jobs to consume us, people to annoy us, a body to neglect and feed haphazardly. Spiritual nourishment comes when every other task is completed and "there is time". There's never time.

It's this simple medicine that waits to heal us, our community, our world. We allow ourselves to remain tight, constricted and bound. Why? Why is the simplicity of healing neglected? A dance, a song, a poem, a walk in the woods--they will heal me and bring me back to open hearted awareness. I will not forget. I will not again forget the medicine of dance. I will not forget that it frees me, it heals me, and it empowers me. I cannot serve the earth when I'm constricted, never when I'm bound, but when I remember, when I'm grateful, when I'm free. And so, there will always be time. There wii be time for what nourishes me and allows me to be in the world in a compassionate way. Nothing is more important than the state of being from which we travel.

After I nourish my being, my soul, all else will follow with more ease, less friction. And so, I will not dance "if there is time". I will dance because everything else depends on it. This is simple care-taking that our soul longs for. For you, dance may not have the palliative effects it does for me. But something does. Singing? Poetry? Nature? Embrace it. It is simple medicine, if we simply take it.

In a serendipitous twist of fate, this article found it's way across my desktop as I was getting ready to publish this post. Perhaps our modern day 'medicine men and women' are finally catching up to the wisdom of their shamanic ancestors. A'ho!

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/british-doctors-may-soon-prescribe-art-music-dance-singing-lessons-180970750/?fbclid=IwAR24Q02rYv8-gx910-2UEmVkCbxqxP0_MbgY-xBBclIeaLd1ueVFSO5Raao#spBeeHmsbbRaDWFC.01