sharing from lists and letters http://www.listsandletters.com
“20. I make my own medicine, forged from the unwanted and the welcomed, the movement of my hips and the scar that runs up my back.
Tears are the medicine, the way they came in the collapse, and how they just kept coming, a cry that felt like it had no particular origin and yet was somehow for everything, all the things.
The grief is the medicine.
The aloneness is the medicine, and the feeling it, and finding what it means, to be sovereign and stand in the gaps where the terror and the light shatter all the lines.
The showing up is the medicine.
The snow is the medicine, how it’s like watching a silent film, how you keep staring out the window and seems like it should make sound except there is none.
The silence itself is the medicine.
So is steam, and the open lungs in the sauna and the antlers at the edge of the woods.
So are donuts, and saying I’m sorry for the thing you did that hurt even as you will also never again apologize for your existence or your life.
So is being here, all the way, the way all things can be medicine. Because being present for your own self and with your life, entering into it rather than leaving it — this is the medicine. And it is mine.”