Homeopathic Remedies

Homeopathic remedies

The late Juliette de Bairacli Levy is a world renowned herbalist, author, breeder of Afghan Hounds under the affix Turkuman, all reared on a natural diet, friend of the Gypsies, traveller in search of herbal wisdom, and the pioneer of holistic veterinary medicine. Juliette has a long record of spectacular cures to her credit and the books she has written have been a vital inspiration for the present day herbal renaissance. Sat watching her delightful dvd with my friend curled up on the sofa with our dogs, one of the unforgettable things that she recalled was how the bee keepers not content with taking the honey were now brushing the pollen from their legs, which was done with such little care that they would brush away the bees legs along with the pollen. Whilst watching her nurture her plants on the Greek island you hear gun shots as they kill the song birds. In the words of Juliette  "I would say to all dog owners whose prejudices are aroused by my opinions and my ideas, or even my literary style, please ignore me, it is not what you think that matters - it is your dog." It seemed so completely wrong, this acceptance of inevitable disease: why should all domestic animals, as well as human children, be so afflicted with disease, while other creatures - for example, wild birds - remain almost totally immune ? Surely the root cause lay in the hands of man? Man caused disease, inflicted this unnatural state upon everything which came under his unhappy domination, from animal to plant. The 'Secrets of Nature' are known to all wild creatures and on these they thrive.

Gypsy Lane by Juliette de Bairacli Levy

You shall die, and I shall die!
Take our places in the sky.
You and she, and he and I,
When the time comes, all must die.
That’s a game we would play,
Man and woman, girl and lad,
In gypsy camps far away,
Laughing times, yet passing sad.
Poppy crowns for everyone,
Red rose for the fairest one.
We would shout, King Death to come,
Laughing loudly, turn and run.
Then more the cry! Who will die?
Nor he, nor she, and not I,
Want that fearful power to fly.
We would pass the hours that way,
Bed with Gypsies by cool streams,
Golden days of dance and play,
Harp and flute and tambourines.
But poppy crowns droop and fade,
Feet grow weary, hearts afraid.
Time kills all in Gypsy Glade,
Flower and tree, man and maid.
Gone the Gypsies, every one,
All who played the Gypsy game,
Left the earth, its mirth and fun,
Starry nights and hyacinth lane.
None can play that game alone,
Thus I want to hear the cry, Come now! Leave thy earthy home,
Join the Gypsies in the sky.