“We do not become healers. We came as healers. We are. Some of us are still catching up to what we are.”

Clarissa Pinkola Estés,
Women Who Run With the Wolves

Planet Fever

The Earth is shivering and sweating at once—a body too cold, too hot, too sick. It sneezes, it coughs, as the seasons bleed into each other like open wounds going untreated. The infection is spreading, and the fever rises, but do we? People whisper, "It's not that bad," in their sleep, pulling blankets tighter, trying to stay warm—until they wake up, drenched in sweat, gasping for air, kicking the covers off. The fever rises. And we roll over. To the other side of the bed, forgetting that it's the same bed.

“Let The Earth Go”

But for sure most of us are not doctors. 
We can be politicians, lawyers, bankers, and commanders, but not really doctors who can heal their one and only planet. Not because we aren’t capable. Because no one ever showed us how. Our encyclopedias didn't cover it; our parents didn’t talk about it. Our teachers skipped the chapter, and our precious screens sold us other dreams And the jobs we got ourselves told us we forget, “Let the Earth go.” Yet there are still some among us risking it all, for the weeds, for the barnacles, for the whales, and for us.

To The Doctors Of This Planet

To the doctors of this planet Earth, who do their job against the bankers, against the corrupt and the numb politicians, against the hateful and the uncaring. Here’s to the bright scientists and the stubbornly patient policy makers, the activists and artists. To rangers, to barefoot farmers, to journalists digging up the truth, here’s to those in labs and offices, those in forests and streets. There are not many people that have done the things you’ve done.

You stitch the Earth.

Do No Harm

You treat the sad, forgotten weeds like you treat us. You hold your promise, your old whispered Hippocratic oath: “Do no harm.” You treat all your patients fairly and never discriminate. Never fur over feather, never skin over scale. Never stone over water. And you remain honest when the truth is messy and harsh—especially then.

Refusing To Die

You remind us that healing is not just a science—it is an act of love, of defiance, of remembering that we have a meaning, that the Earth has a meaning. And you remind us that heaven is above our heads as much as it’s here: Right in front of us, in the planet you fight to protect. While others sleep through the fever, you stay awake, refusing to take your hands off the pulse of a dying forest and to declare time of death. It’s because of you, that the Earth is still breathing, and  so are we. And as long as there is breath, there is hope. As long as there is you, there is life.