The Golden Healer -- Goldie Swarnam

Rebecca Davidson (0:00)

The Voice of Turmeric I am the sun, caught in a spoon, The first golden kiss at dawn, And the final saffron glow of dusk. Long before your grandmothers sang lullabies And rubbed my warmth into your feverish brows, I was here, waiting. I am the secret cradled in the folds of a yellow sari, Shimmering like summer fields after the monsoon. I have danced in wedding courtyards, Lingered in kitchen shadows, And glowed on temple thresholds. In your sickness, I am the hush between heartbeats. In your joy, I am the flame that refuses to die.

They have called me many names, Healer, goddess, humble root. I slip into pots of bubbling milk, Hide in the folds of an herbal poultice, And waltz across your tongue in a thousand curries. I ease the warrior's wounds, Brighten the bride's cheeks, And soothe the mother's aches after childbirth. My power is old, Older than your stories, Older than your temples. Yet I arrive anew Each time someone calls for healing, Whether they know my name or not. I have no borders, No religion, No caste, Only the promise to transform pain into gold, Despair into warmth.

In these tales you will find me in many forms, As a gentle whisper, A fierce defender, A quiet companion beside a deathbed. But no matter how I appear, Remember, I am always me, Your silent guardian, Your golden healer. So come, Sit beside me, Let me tell you twenty stories, Twenty moments where I walked into a life, Touched a wound and left behind a little more light.

And when you finish, May you carry my glow in your bones and in your breath. For as long as you remember me, I am never truly gone.