The Medicine Is a Doorway

The medicine is a doorway.

Not a home.

A bell that rings in the dark,

then goes quiet.

A glimpse of the mountain,

not the path that grows your legs.

It can show you what love feels like.

It can remind you who you are.

But it cannot live your life for you.

Peace does not stay

because you swallowed it.

Healing does not last because you saw the light once,

or twenty times.

What lasts is what you practice

when no one is watching.

Breathing

when you want to run.

Telling the truth when it costs you.

Sitting still when nothing feels holy.

Forgiving slowly.

Showing up imperfectly.

Learning how to stay.

Insight is a spark.

Practice is the fire you tend each day.

The danger is not the medicine.

The danger is forgetting

you were meant to leave the vision

and live the lesson.

You are not here

to collect peak experiences.

You are here to become trustworthy

with an ordinary life.

If you touch the Mystery,

bow.

Say thank you.

Then walk home.

Chop wood.

Carry water.

Love somebody.

Rest.

The medicine opens the door.

You are the one

who has to walk through it.

And keep walking.

JG 2025