Reclaiming Healing
"Reclaiming Healing": A Reflection on Presence in a Noisy Age
In an age saturated with screens and soundbites, I recently visited an elder — one of the last living bridges in my family to a slower, more reflective time.
We sat in a lounge designed for connection. Yet rather than quiet conversation or calm, two televisions filled the space with a constant loop of pharmaceutical ads. The audience — mostly in their 80s and 90s — sat quietly, many in wheelchairs. Their bodies bore the signs of time, but their presence spoke of lives filled with stories still worth hearing. Stories that deserve to be shared — not replaced by slogans.
It wasn’t a hospital or a clinic. It was meant to be a place of rest. And yet, even there, the hum of commercial noise continued without pause.
When I was growing up, the local pharmacy was something entirely different. It was a place of trust and familiarity — a cornerstone of the neighborhood. The pharmacist wasn’t just a dispenser of medication, but a caregiver, a listener, often a friend. Before medicine came advice, empathy, and understanding. That kind of personal connection still exists in places, but it’s no longer the norm.
Today, healthcare often feels like part of a 24/7 marketing cycle — where medicine is promoted like a product and wellness can feel more transactional than relational. It's a shift that makes me pause and reflect.
This reflection is also the heart behind my painting, Kallawaya Medicine Man — a tribute to an ancient healing tradition where care is rooted in presence, not profit. In the Kallawaya way, medicine is inherited, shared, and deeply respected. The healer listens — not just to symptoms, but to the land, the body, and the spirit. There are no catchy jingles or rapid-fire disclaimers. Just human connection.
Sometimes, I wonder if we’re being conditioned not to feel, but to consume. Not to question, but to accept. And in that cycle, even our elders — often the keepers of wisdom — risk becoming invisible in the noise.
Through this work, I gently ask:
What happens when healing becomes branding?
When ancestral knowledge is drowned out by marketing?
In our pursuit of progress, what quieter wisdom have we left behind?
These are simply my reflections — feelings, not conclusions. Everyone sees the world through their own lens. But perhaps, in slowing down and listening more deeply, we might rediscover something essential: that healing begins not with noise, but with presence.
