Antidote
A doctor mentioned that on the island of Sardegna they have identified a plant that might help with the treatment of diabetes. And that this plant grows in a specific area where the population has a high incidence of the disease.
Coincidence?
Maybe.
To me, it made perfect sense that nature - to which the human species does belong - would sense an imbalance and then move to correct it, offer up some kind of antidote right where it’s needed.
Mostly… I like to think of things working this way.
With all that is happening in the world these days, I find I’m in need of something to help balance out the anger and judgement brought on by political happenings, the grief that wells up with the news of a burning planet, and the despair over the fallout of a pandemic.
I haven’t felt able to do much to directly alter any of these big happenings in our topsy turvy world. I can vote, I can wear a mask and do my best to safeguard mother nature in the little ways I know how. In terms of having some kind of actual effect, though? It’s felt like peanuts.
I’ve still felt off-kilter, crawling out from under my mosquito net in the morning after a restless night’s sleep, walking a bit like a drunk to the bathroom, even though I’ve been being good about the wine lately. It’s as if all the parameters have been shifted and I’m being asked to renegotiate the foundations upon which my life stands. I think a lot of us are in this boat.
Which means we can’t take things for granted anymore. No more maneuvering on autopilot so we can multitask. We have to pay attention to each step. Or lose our balance and get tripped up.
And maybe this is the antidote to imbalance:
Paying attention.
Seeing where we stand.
Then looking around for what might be on offer
to help keep us upright and able to walk in the world.
Just like a diabetic in Sardegna might find a remedy in a local plant.
I found that once I started paying attention, I was able to notice many of the Universe’s offerings of antidotes to my fear and loathing:
Cooking, even though I’m the only one at the dinner table these days.
Standing in front of Renaissance art, which is not something available to many but one of the perks of living in Florence, Italy during a pandemic (or even without one).
Making imperfect ceramic pieces whose defects I scoffed at right out of the kiln and then came to love precisely because of those failings.
It’s the little things that are helping.
What’s in your immediate surroundings
that is calling,
offering itself to you?
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