
Foxglove = MEDICINE “Alyssum”
“Intervention”
We find ourselves now in an endless pandemic, a New Normal caused by our aggressive human interference with our planet’s wildlife. By a miracle the same pharmaceutical companies that have been competitively bleeding all of us dry have come up with a vaccine that seems effective at keeping most of us out of the hospital. Wouldn’t want to kill the golden geese!
But it doesn’t work if you don’t take it and, wonder of wonders, a substantial number of Americans have become suspicious of the medical establishment! Since insurance companies have been advertising for years that healthcare is “our choice” based on “what plan we can afford” I for one am not surprised.
This is the only possible end result of a gated health care system that actively despises “Public” health as “radical socialism”!
So where is our Soul & our Soulmate in all this, our little, fragile, mortal, human body that drew the “medical intervention” card only this morning? “Medical intervention” is represented in the Tantric Garden by the humble foxglove.
Foxgloves contain digitalis, the building block of cardiology care. Where do we stand on intervention? We may create a “perfect world” with our Soulmate but does that mean we can let no one in? A moment’s thought convinces that we must keep the freshening breezes of this world blowing as long as we are in this world! “Help” will always be needed and hopefully, offered.
Can we learn to trust the Helpful Intervener? We don’t want to create a love nest so fragile it is threatened by any outsider. Instead, we want to make certain we avail ourselves of every good advancement and improvement opportunity in our oh so imperfect world.
ALYSSUM
What wound is this?
Flowering? Flowering?
I wake at two am
Immobilized –
A curvilinear clamp
Half hoop clenching
My right side.
.
It could be the strain of
Fishing for a future
Hooking sky through a
Porthole window or
I could be over-organized. The
Doctors dismissed me in
My mother’s name.
“You dare to be angry?
You dare to grow old?
You are a false alarm.”
I say a prayer to the great night heron, that
Pregnant thief of dreams –
Solitary hunter calling to collect me.
Dream he rises
To unleash the silken sinews
Of submission from my torn and
Tethered wing –
Feathered like a revelation
Stippled like the phases of the moon
Birthing spirit, coming
Coming, coming
In his cloud of fire.








