Stories as Medicine
- 1 day ago
- 3 min read
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There are moments in life when the familiar trails disappear.
Times when we must access our deeper wisdom, trust the signs and synchronicities that appear along the way, and have the courage to follow them.
One of the great challenges of being human is learning how to navigate when there are no maps.
In oral cultures, stories helped people navigate the unknown. Handed down through generations, they shape-shifted and adapted to the moment in which they were told.
The stories that are meant for us stay with us.
They help us move through the beauty, terror, and wonder of being alive.
Today in Notes from the Pathway of Wonder and Awe I’m reflecting on the healing power of stories, imagination, and the magical signs that help guide us through life.
As I was writing this, I found myself transported back in time.
To a cosy room with soft lamplight and curtains drawn against the storm battering the window panes.
I snuggled deeper into my bed, pulling my red wool blanket right up under my nose.
Nan came in with my hot water bottle in its familiar red cover and tucked it beneath my feet.
She sat on the end of the bed, smiled, took a breath, and began.
Bambi and the Red Balloon
Bambi’s mother fell to the ground, her chest bright with blood.
Bambi ran towards her, but she cried out:
“Run Bambi Run.
And never look back.”
My heart pounding, I turned and ran as fast as my legs could carry me.
Mother’s words echoed in my head, “run and never look back.”
For a moment I had forgotten the room around me, until Nan leaned over to tuck me in for sleep.
“I’m not asleep yet Nan, keep going.”
She smiled, sat back and continued.
Normally Bambi would follow his mother through the familiar trails and hidden places deep in the bracken.
But now there were no familiar trails.
Only fear and shadows and the unknown.
As it grew dark I slowed down.
The forest was dark and unfamiliar. My heart was thudding in my chest.
Then in the twilight glow I saw a red balloon, its ribbon tangled in the brambles.
I pulled it free and watched it rise above the brambles.
As I moved, it moved.
It floated ahead of me guiding me through the woods.
Eventually the hidden valley opened before me — safe and alive with familiar presences.
Rabbit.
Owl.
The others waiting there.
I was not alone.
Many years later I realised my grandmother had woven together two stories — Bambi and The Red Balloon.
This is part of the strange and beautiful power of stories.
They shape-shift.
They adapt.
They become medicine for the moment in which they are needed.
Nan’s stories planted something deep within me:
trust, imagination, wonder, magical signs, a deep love of the wild, the sacredness of all life, and the knowing that even in unknown territory I was not alone.
In the old ways of my Gaelic tradition, people gathered for stories late into the night, reluctant for the telling to end.
Storytelling was woven into everyday life — part memory, part teaching, part enchantment.
Stories helped people navigate uncertainty, cross thresholds, and remember that they were never truly alone.
Perhaps there is a story that has stayed with you all your life.
One that still carries medicine.
As we move through 2026,
a new rhythm is emerging.
It is a threshold time —
one that calls for steadiness,
imagination,
and the courage to find new ways forward.
In such times,
our stories can become a guiding light.
Earth and Spirit
Certain landscapes feel like living stories.
Places alive with memory, mystery, and dreaming — drawing us beyond the familiar and into deeper relationship with the living world.
They remind us that we are part of something far greater than ourselves.
During Earth and Spirit we gather in the ancient landscape of the Otways — rainforest, mountain ash forest, river, limestone cliffs, and the great Southern Ocean — to immerse ourselves in mystery, dreaming, and the living presence of the natural world.
Earth and Spirit is a pilgrimage into mystery, story, and deep belonging beside the Southern Ocean.
Much love
