Once, there was a healer. And he had a garden. In this garden grew all he needed for his medicines and his salves and teas to heal people. The healer took great care of his garden, tending to it every day and harvesting and drying with precision everything he needed. His harvest and his business was bountiful and thriving, people would come from all over to see him and get well. But one day, the healer went outside, and despite all his tending and efforts, weeds as tall as his knees had grown up between the medicines. He got to work, ripping up the weeds, but they had grown so deep they pulled up clumps of dirt and sometimes brought the medicine with it. All day, the healer toiled. Patients came and went but he saw none of them. His brow scorched and dirt built under his nails and thorns embedded in his skin, but still, he worked until the sun disappeared and all the weeds were gone.

The next day, he went back outside, and the weeds had grown up again, taller than last time and more abundant than the medicines. He went to work again until the weeds were gone with the sun. And then the next day, and the very next, it was the same. Each time doubled in size until it was as if a forest grew up outside his house. Finally, he stopped toiling. All his patients were turned away, for he had no more medicines, the weeds were so abundant.

One day, a very old, sickly man came to his house. He was dying, and he needed the healer's help, but the healer said to him, “I have nothing I can give you.” The old man was desperate and said to him, “Give me whatever you have.” So the healer went and gathered some weeds, crushed them into a tea, and gave it to him. He knew it would probably do nothing, but the man was insistent. The old man thanked him and drank the tea, then went to sleep. He slept for four days. On the fifth day, the healer was worried the old man had died, and went to check on him, but the old man woke up. He was well. Astonished, the healer went back to the weeds, and instead of getting rid of them, he harvested them.

The old man thanked him and left, but a woman came to him after, suffering pain when she touched anywhere on her body. Again, the healer told her he had nothing to help her. “Give me anything you have,” she said. Again, he made the tea from the weeds, and she was well. The town had begun to hear about these weeds as more people came to the healer for help. The elders and the council came to the healer's house to see what they were talking about, and saw his garden replaced with more weeds. They became angry.

“This isn’t medicine!” They shouted at him. “This is nothing we’ve seen before. You must be replacing the weeds with real herbs in the tea!” So they sent young men, with swords and knives, to cut down the weeds. The healer railed, fought as he was held back. But it was useless. The people he had healed stood in their quiet trouble as they watched, fear freezing them to their souls. They left him with his empty garden. But the next morning, the weeds were back. Again, he healed people, and more came to him from across nations. Again, the council and the elders sent the young men, but they couldn’t stop the weeds from growing.

“We are giving you a warning,” they said to him. “You must stop this nonsense or suffer dire consequences.” But the healer did not listen. To listen would go against the very nature of himself, to do harm and neglect the least of these. So day after day, he harvested and crushed the weeds and made them into tea for the people who came to see him. The elders and the council decided the weeds were not the problem. “If we can take them, we can sell them for a profit, if they are all-healing.” So in the dark of night, they sent more young men, this time, to harvest the weeds. They brought them to the elders and the council the next morning, but they were useless. Rotting and withered.

What grows for healing does not bloom for profit.