Pseudoscleropodium purum

Pseudoscleropodium purum
Proving: sense proving, 7-4-2018, Rottenburg.

Prover 1
I am cleaning my place before I leave. My travel will be strenuous and long. A last travel, maybe. Idea of children suffering from cancer (I dreamt of those four nights ago, see chapter meditation). Children who fight, who do not give up.

The dead and the living close to each other. One dies, another one lives. (Even in a trench?)

You are landing softly, when you fall on a moss. Surrender, don’t fight it. Go with the flow. What must happen shall happen. Your body will bear the pain, as long as you don’t fight it.

The moss feels like a gauze on a wound. The wound will heal. If you’re lucky. If the Good Lord is willing.

(The following feels like the quiet talk of a mother to her half-dead child lying on the back in front of her)
I am touching you. Your skin is warm. You are alive. I pray for your recovery. That you may rise again, speak again. It is not a false hope. I believe it is possible that you recover.

Shed all ballast, surrender to the healing fever, the healing sleep. Be calm, be confident.

After your accident (brain injury) you were lucky to survive. The accident wasn‘t your fault (car accident or fall from a swing, a see-saw). You fell softly (airbag, moss).

You cannot speak. Parts of your brain won‘t heal. But you will live. You will look at me. I will learn to understand your tiny gestures, the noises you produce. There are people who say you are just vegetable. But you are still the closest human being to me.

I stroke your hair. Close your eyes, take a nap. You may leave if it is better for you. But I wish that you stay, I want it badly.

From time to time I cut your hair. I can hardly throw away those cut hairs. As if I threw away a part of you. Maybe you still live in those hairs? At least a part of you? I will keep all things of yours. Everything. You are everywhere, in your clothes, in the pictures we took, in the sms you sent.

What is getting healthy worth? It is more important, that you are still here, with me.

(Very touching, this pieta-scene)

I watch a big vineyard snail as she manages to balance her house. „How I love life!“

I collect carefully all parts of the moss and fill it back into the paper bag. Even parts which obviously don‘t belong to the moss I fill back in. Just because they were in the bag before, together with the moss.

(B) says I was a caring father in the story. Yet I felt like a mother.

(I) recognizes the plant as her remedy, the story being her story.

Mosses are survivers. They survive even hardest situations and conditions. So „How I love life” could be a moss-sentence.

Analysis
Moss: living like a plant.
Phase 4: very close, dear.
Phase 7: brain injury, destruction.
Stage 14: not fighting; just a egetable.
Remedy code: