“Enchantment is the oldest form of medicine.” ~ Carl Jung

Play pretend that you’re a world-renowned painter with the skill to transform the most mundane object into an arresting work of art, and you’re out for a walk in the park.

You notice an ordinary bench. Stop and consider it. This means giving heartfelt attention to its physicality, such as its iron skeleton, its woody grain commemorating the passing of years, its lack of arms.

Allow all else to fade away into the background. To ‘capture’ this bench like a fine artist, you must fall into relationship with it.

Perhaps you can almost hear a nervous plea for love whispered on this park bench, or the grunt of an aged gentleman sitting to feed the pigeons, or the rustle of book pages being turned on a chill autumn day.

Go very still. Allow an uncertain number of minutes to pass by. It’s important to give revelation a chance to bloom. 

Expect that the park bench holds spirit, which is another name for beauty. 

“Ah,” you say. “Your name is ‘Remedy,’ for those who need a quiet place to be. It seems you have arms after all. Now I know the feeling my painting must give. I know its title.”

I invite you to approach all manner of things with the sensibility of a premier painter.

Find out for yourself if the world overflows with the divine remedy of enchantment. Venture outside or gaze out your window. See what catches your eye. Notice physical details as would a good painter, and then fall into relationship as would the fine artist who has power not only to enchant, but to be enchanted herself.