Everything that reaches us asks what we will make of it.

אֵל נָא רְפָא נָא לָהּ

El na, refa na la

(Numbers 12:13)

Cura, cúrame, enséñame.

Sana, sáname, enséñame.

(Kelly Aura)

Everything is Medicine, and Medicine is everywhere.

Some is sweet. Some bitter. Some raw. Some so gentle we barely recognise it.

The Medicine is not always what happened. Sometimes, the Medicine is what becomes visible in us because it happened.

It arrives as Love, disappointment, silence, failure, beginning, return.

And sometimes, it arrives as someone telling a story about us in which we barely recognise ourselves.

What is still hurting? What wants to react? What remains hidden? What is asking to be loved? 

We can see the wound in another. We can feel its heat. We can place Love and Light around it without making it ours.

Compassion does not require possession. Nor does Love require us to swallow everything we are given.

Even Medicine requires measure.

What heals in one measure may harm in another.

Dosage matters. So does duration.

Discernment asks not only: Is this Medicine?

But also: Is it mine to receive? How much? For how long?

Some Medicine is received. Some is released.

Some teaches us to stay. Some teaches us to leave.

Sometimes the Medicine is patience. Sometimes the Medicine is a boundary.

Both can be acts of Love.

All of it asks for Discernment.

What is mine to receive?

What is mine to transform?

What is not mine to carry?

What is mine to return with Love?

What is mine to witness?

And what is not mine at all?

We are Medicine too.

In every word, every silence, every touch, every refusal, every act of presence.

What we carry into another life may heal or may wound.

And so we become responsible not only for what reaches us, but for what passes through us.

May what comes, cure us, heal us, teach us the path of Light, the path of Peace, the path of Love.

And may what leaves us carry more Love than when it arrived.

Yo lo Creo / I believe, and so it is.