The Most Potent Medicine

...and the penetrating power of mildness.

There’s a hexagram in the I-Ching Book of Changes called ‘Sun’ in which the primary interpretation of the ancient text reads: “Mildness, the symbol of penetration.”

Think about that: the penetrating power of mildness. In our culture we typically associate that power with “yang” things: sharp steel implements, high-speed projectiles, powerful radiation like X-rays, and “strong” anything: concentrated chemicals, loud noises, you name it. We typically do not think…water, for example.

But as anyone who has tried to waterproof a leaky basement can tell you, the penetrating power of water is a force to be reckoned with. Basically, the solution is to keep it away from your house. And the reason is simple: When battling water, water often wins. And it wins by softness.

The I Ching is all about the yin and the yang, said to be the two principles that guide the cycles of life and creation. And of course in the end when it comes to yin and yang, it’s all about balance, and it’s about having these qualities in the right amounts in the right places. For example: we want our bones to be firm but not so hard as to be brittle, and we want our muscles to be supple and flexible but not mushy. Ditto the qualities of mind: we need to be flexible, and we need to rise to our challenges and sometimes, we need to resist change. “Go with the flow” is not always the best course of action.

I did a little reading into Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) awhile back, and of course it’s directly informed by these ideas. Ginseng, famous in Chinese medicine as a tonic, is pretty “yang” among the tonic herbs. It’s basically a gnarly old root – generally, the older and gnarlier, the more valuable the herb is considered to be – and it contains things that are considered pretty “strong medicine,” at least in TCM terms.

Consequently, ginseng can sometimes over-stimulate the body, or affect people in imbalanced ways. Yes, it’s got its own balance - it’s a living organism, after all, so it has to, but sometimes its balance and our balance don’t balance out quite right.

For this reason, ginseng is almost always combined with a very mild, sweet tonic herb like Chinese licorice root, jujube dates, and others. The idea is that the mild, sweet herbs serve as a conduit for the energy that the stronger-flavored ginseng brings to the body. Thus the combination becomes a complete and balanced tonic. In my understanding, such combinations help to minimize unfavorable reactions in people. The body will tend to recoil from yang “strong” influences: the sharp steel, the physical blows or poisons, and even stronger herbs.

On the other hand, things that are mild do not elicit this kind of pushback. Like honey, for example, milk, or water. They get into our very life without us pushing them away. They penetrate us more easily. This is a whole different way of looking at things.

But there is something even more like us and thus milder to our energies than any of these things: other people. On an energetic level we merge seamlessly with other people all the time. True, this means fears and anxieties get passed around. But also: excitement, contentment, inspiration, laughter, hope. And, healing.

And yes, some people may at times “rub us the wrong way.” They may be physically or verbally abusive, annoying, or just incompatible with us. We might try to push these people away, retreat from them, shield ourselves in some way if we can’t retreat, and avoid such encounters if we can. But the reason these folks tend to bug us more than other features of our environment is at least partly because… they’re people. They can get to us because, however different from us they may seem, they’re just enough like us to seep into our basements and really make a mess of things sometimes.

Consider this: If you’re out solo hiking in the woods and encounter another solo hiker, the two of you have much more in common than you do with any other feature in the landscape — guaranteed.  Typically, the most dangerous thing you’re likely to encounter in the wild is another person. At the same time, if you’re in trouble, another person is also the most likely feature of the landscape to render timely and effective assistance.

That’s why I consider people to be the most potent medicine around.

And again: sometimes other humans can be bad medicine. In the immediate sense, people can and do cause harm to others, and some will even cause great harm to many.  Sometimes people will break our physical and emotional boundaries and they can get under our skin in a hundred unpleasant ways. But people can also be good medicine, especially those who are yielding and receptive in the right ways (yin) and firm, resolute and incisive in the right ways (yang). With the yin and the yang in the right balance, my observation is that people can be profoundly tonic to one another, good medicine, like the combination of ginseng and dates.

In traditional cultures, certain people specialized in this function. In many of these cultures, shamans are the designated “medicine people”. And from what I’ve read, I think it’s generally recognized that the medicine of these people is showing up through the people themselves, much more so than in their burning sage, rattles, chants or herbal brews, for example.  I mean, how do they know what to do, or which herbs this particular person’s illness calls for? They listen, they feel, they meditate…then they act. Yin, yang.

All of this is amazing. But now I feel that humanity is on the verge of something even more amazing: a broader, deeper recognition of the special medicine that each person holds, how to treasure it better, how to access it better, and how each of us can tap into and thus contribute more fully to this vast reservoir of healing potential, and potential healers.

It can start with the simple things: the hand extended in friendship, the recognition, the respect shown, the listening ear, the steadfast presence, the timely gift or intercession, the helpful contact, whether through physical touch, emotional presence, astute questions, or shared ideas. These are old technologies. They will never be outmoded. Quite the opposite. They are now being catalyzed to a higher level of function. Being aware that this is happening can be helpful. All we need to do is participate with the recognition that this is so, and so it is.

This, I predict will be recognized as the strongest medicine of the next era: people.

And like all the most profound majicks, what’s most magical is what’s most commonplace. It’s not the exceptional person who is bringing healing. It can be all of us. That’s why it’s so easy to overlook.

“A word to the wise is sufficient,” the saying goes. A word. Spoken by another person. A word can be a pretty soft thing, when you think of it: barely a puff of air. Yet when it comes from a deep place and we really open up to receive it, that word may be all it takes to shift us into a better place.

My goodness, think of it: most of us began our journeys onto this planet with a meaningful exchange of glances. Ask your parents, they will probably remember how they met. Your parents are your own personal representatives of the yin and the yang. And chances are, their relationship started with words and glances. Soft things.

The wisdom of the wise is to allow such things into us so that we can be transformed by them, opening up new possibilities. That’s what other people can offer us.

And to others in turn, the most potent medicine in the world can be you.