A bunch of cut daffodils were in a vase on a table. This was the sight that met my Granddad’s eyes as he walked into the house. After decades of not knowing where his children were, if they were even alive, of thinking he had no descendants left, he was walking into a house where his grand daughter Mary, her husband Richard, and their ten year old daughter Anna, lived.
He described to me, the flowers on the table, the pink tablecloth, the white curtains, the grey-green sofas, the russet-brown carpet, the smell of roses in the air from the garden, the books on the side table.
I was impatient. I asked him to get to when he saw them – his grand daughter and great grand daughter.
He said to me, “The clock struck twelve in the afternoon. I got up to my feet. And they came down the stairs and then in through the door. My grandchild was like the moon walking and her child holding her hand like a piece of the moon.”
He then went silent and I let him be.
After a while he said to me, “Cara, look at my finger nails.”
I did. They seemed quite normal to me.
“They used to turn black,” he said, “Now and then, when I thought it was time to die.”
I waited for him to continue. He seemed to take forever.
“My child, your destiny is a force even your body cannot defy. Destiny brings the flowers back year after year.”
“Why are you telling me this now?”
“Sometimes Destiny will take its time. You have to weather the storm till it’s time.”
“Oh no… I don’t like that phrase ‘weather the storm’.”
“Forget it then,” he waved his hand. “Learn to regenerate yourself, to come back from the ground after being cut down.”
In the years since then, I’ve given it a lot of thought. Regeneration is not just something for people at the end of their lives. It’s what makes children’s wounds heal, and makes us recover from illnesses.
It is the real problem facing modern healthcare – because even allopathic medicines depend on the body’s being able to actually recover from assault.
In a nutshell – ALL real healing is about being able to regenerate oneself.