All of today Migraine hogged the microphone. Migraines are so strange, like, I used to get this weird pain in my arm before one came on. It's an odd, almost tickle like sensation, but it's intense; it hurts. I found out later it's nerve pain. I get it all over my body now when I have a bad fibro flare. I wonder what that is warning me of?
Migraine is an incessant voice that demands my attention. "Withdraw," it says. "Rest." It does not take no for an answer. It pulls me into darkness, and what could that be saying spiritually? Today as I lie there listening, migraine (and my body) told me I need more water, not just now, but most of the time. I felt nudged me to dig out a remedy a woman who heals with herbs had given me. I hadn't thought about it in the longest time. I'm certain Merri saved my life a few years ago. She's been on my mind, a lot lately. So, there I was, spraying what she'd given me all over the room; essential oils, and flower remedies she blended herself, uniquely for me. I felt led to pray the St. Michael prayer. Lord knows I felt assailed by the enemy--and I don't mean migraine. The words are:
Saint Michael the Archangel,
defend us in battle;
be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil.
May God rebuke him, we humbly pray:
and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly host,
by the power of God,
thrust into hell Satan and all the evil spirits
who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls.
I felt promptly better. It isn't gone, but I am better than I was.
In the past few weeks, God has spoken the cryptic words, "Listen to the flowers," to me. This was before the anti-psychotic medicine that was making me crazy, so I know it wasn't that, and he's still saying it. I don't know about you, but generally speaking, flowers do not chat me up. I'm going to have to get very quiet in order to hear them. And maybe I brought all this on myself, loving St. Francis as I do, talking to those peonies as I planted them at Cuppa--they were mowed down, despite my prayers, when the drunk driver plowed into the building. Maybe I've always believed, deep down inside, that we're all connected to the Life around us--the flowers; the herbs; the earth and the sky; the pouring rain, and each other. I feel a storm brewing in my body way before I get the report from the weather man. Shoot, my body is a regular weather vane these days, with aching joints heralding rain, or snow, or a change in the barometric pressure. So, why couldn't the flowers speak in their own way? Stranger things have happened.
I brought an herbal medicine making kit the other day, and I've been taking the flower remedy tinctures Merri made. I mean, it can't hurt. I slather on this lilac scented aromatherapy lotion my kids made for me at a local shop. The ingredients are fresh and pure. The girls blended the lotion themselves, and even whipped the shea butter. It was a Mother's day gift for me. I'm trying lovies, to hear what God and nature are saying.
It's a start.
"Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; and yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Now if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will He not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?" Matthew 6:28-30