Psora.
NATIONAL JOURNAL OF HOMOEOPATHY 1994 Nov / Dec Vol III No 6.
Lee Holland.
Editor: This article is a reprint from Simile Vol 4 Jan, 1994. It appears there under the section - Correspondence. Let the NJH family too share Dr. Lee Holands experience. It is being reprinted with permission from BHJ.
I dont often go into trance like states and commune with the dead but I would like to share a recent experience where something at least resembling this, occurred.
I was happily eating a cheese sandwich in the little park outside RLHH having just given a video demonstration of a chronic Belladonna case when I noticed, sitting besides me on the bench, a rather small, choleric looking, old man in a remarkably antique suit of clothes boasting silk stockings, knee breeches and a ruff. What is more, he looked at me intently with a gimlet stare and then, without a warning burst into a song! He sand rather out of tune in a thick German accent. The tune itself reminded me of nothing ancient but of a song of modern times, nothing less than Bob Dylans Sara.
You can imagine my surprise when the singer included in his song a reference to the new Homoeopathic Teaching Group (HPTG) which runs a comprehensive three year course in Oxford, training doctors in Homoeopathy to an advanced level with five two day modules per year and integrated homework!
The song is printed below and you will understand when you read it what a profound and mystical experience I underwent. After it was over he gave a little wry smile and then simply disappeared! We now intended to make this song the official HPTG Oxford course song to be chanted or droned at the start and finish of every course module. Because of its historical insights, and because I believe it to have come straight from the master, I believe the time is now right to humbly offer it to the profession.
Psora, a love song.
Presumed author - S Hahnemann
Apologies to Bob Dylan!
It was seventeen-ninety
I translated a book
Written by Cullen
Who was a Scottish dude.
He tried to explain
Why quinine cured ague
But it all seemed so empty
It all seemed so crude.
Psora, Psora
That was before you entered my mind.
Psora, Psora
Easy to postulate, so hard to define.
I can still see the first dose
Of bark that I took
I remember the trembling
The sickness and chill.
It was then that I knew
For a medicine to act
It must close-ly match
The way that youre ill.
Psora, Psora,
My first itch, parasite of my life.
Psora, Psora,
O radiant insect, O mystical mite.
At the Dukes madhouse,
In the Thuring-i-an woods,
I stopped all the cruelty
And cured Klockenbring.
Scarlatina was beaten
Soon after that,
By prophylaxis with nightshade
And the cures it could bring.
Psora, Psora,
It now seemed so clear but I didnt see.
Psora, Psora, I was groping towards you,
you were waiting for me.
I can still hear the drone
Of the Lodges Grandmaster,
As I dwelt upon miasms
And worked it all through,
Staying up for days
In a Kothen hotel
Writing Chroni-schen
Krankheiten for you
Psora, Psora,
I care not a fig-wart for that other pair.
Psora, Psora,
Only you have such lovely scabs in your hair.
When Stapf and his friend
Gross heard you first,
They blanched and they gasped,
They swooned on the rug.
The world hasnt learned
To handle you yet.
Original sin
In the shape of a bug.
Psora, Psora,
Aetherial anthropod from Pandoras box
Psora, Psora,
Suppressed the rash and
you get sweaty socks.
Now that I dwell
In the spiritual realms,
An oracle is needed
To pass on your flame.
So to H-P-T-G
I have given my cloak
Their students shall prosper,
Find fortune and fame
Psora, Psora,
As doctors we thank you,
O scourge of all skin
Psora, Psora,
Without you wed starve
for no disease
would begin.
Dr. LEE HOLAND
22, Farndon Road,
Oxford, OX2 6RT.
Tel: 44 (0) 865512673.
