The Thundered Word

I am that supreme and fiery force that sends forth all living sparks.

Death hath no part in me, yet I bestow death, wherefore I am girt about with wisdom as with wings…

I am the source of the thundered word by which all creatures were made, I permeate all things that they may not die.

I am life.

Hildegard of Bingen (1098 –1179), favorite muse of Dr. Mitchell
Medieval abbess, theologian, poet, artist, musician, scientist and healer.

Evoking Magic

I had the incredible fortune to get my first tour of Bastyr from Bill Mitchell. My grandmother had arranged the meeting when she knew I was interested in Naturopathic Medicine. Her daughter, Abby, (my ‘half-aunt’ or cousin) was very close with Bill. Shortly before our meeting, Abby had died tragically of a cerebral aneurysm while pregnant and, of course, the family was devastated - but I hardly knew her, having only met her once when I first moved to Seattle.

I met Bill at his office in Queen Anne and was struck by his presence instantly. Any one that has seen that office knows its dark wood desks and molding speaks of tradition. I knew little about him or about Naturopathic Medicine, but I could tell here was a human being who had journeyed far within himself. I thought that, finally, this man fits my idea of a ‘real doctor,’ one that connects with people first and medicine later. As a young 23 year old, I was somewhat in awe of this gentle, easy-going man who introduced himself with a warm smile and a strong handshake.

Throughout the course of our meeting, as we discussed natural medicine in the cafeteria and he took me through the old Wallingford campus, I began to realize how much he was mourning Abby’s death. In essence, this turned the tables on me, for here was a man twice my age who was clearly mourning someone I did not know but was part of my family, and I was at a loss about how I might help to comfort him. I realized that if Bill had thought so highly of Abby she must have been an incredible person.

Not only did Bill help introduce me to the school that day, but he gave me the gift of sharing in his grieving process. It was only through Bill that I came to appreciate and begin to know my cousin. Whether it was conscious or not on his part, he drew me closer to someone whom I had had to let go of, even before I got to know her. I doubt this was intentional, but he had that way about him, the ability to magically connect people and ideas.

The other story I wish to share about Bill takes place many years later when I was a student in the ND program. It was Botanical Medicine V, the last in the series of the botanical medicine courses in the ND program. Robin Dipasquale had arranged for Bill to come in as a guest speaker that day, and it was one of those typical days in the Pacific Northwest, where the weather wants to "do it all" in one day. We’d had a mix of sun, fast scudding clouds and intermittent rain. Most of my classmates were anticipating Bill’s lecture for the day, since you never knew what you were going to get. It might be a pharmocognosy lecture, a piece of Bill-brand naturopathic philosophy or some natural or spiritual interlude to a day of cerebral overload, and likely all three.

That day Bill came in with a basket of cedar boughs. As Robin Dipasquale later reminded me, he told us he had been riding in a car with a Native American healer and remarked to him on the bundle of cedar boughs in the back of the vehicle. The Native American man gave them to Bill, who up to that point had no idea what he was going to teach that day. He explained this as he handed out the cedar boughs and asked us to divide them up between us. He stood in front of us and said, “Today I am going to share the gift of Cedar Medicine with you,” and right on cue, the sky split and a very close bolt of lightening touched down, the thunder ripped through the classroom and a terrific hail storm began. (I'm getting goosebumps right now writing about it.) It was one of those perfect moments when the synchronicity of Bill’s spirit and intention coalesced into a very tangible phenomenon.

He had us separate each of the ‘scales’ of the cedar leaves, as he had been taught. He said through this process we would learn about Cedar. As we did this at our desks, he told us about the properties and attributes of Cedar as a medicine, its use to the indigenous people of this area and as a plant spirit. I still cherish my collection of those Cedar scales.

At times, Bill had the ability to evoke magic but in a way that was very unassuming. As many people have written in their memorials about him, he was one of the few people in the Naturopathic community to so seamlessly connect the world of western science and reductionism with the soar and joy of the esoteric world that is energy, spirit and faith. Bill was a unifier, a coupler of people and nature. I believe one of the most important lessons we can take from his life and teaching is to remember that the Vis Medicatrix Naturae is, at its root, best stimulated by re-connecting ourselves, our patients, our friends, family and community with the natural world in its purist form.

May Bill’s inspiration never die within us. Journey well, Bill.

Sean Congdon, ND '01

Time Remembered

I do not remember Bill as a prestigious Naturopathic Physician and scholar. I remember Bill from a time that predates that.

I remember a student of Naturopathic Medicine supporting himself and his growing family as a guitar instructor at Everett Community College. I was his student. His passion for life, family, music, and the outdoors impressed and inspired me and had a great part in shaping me into the person that I am. His musical skill and insight about life, and his passion for his schooling live with me today after years of living out my role as a husband, father of two home-schooled adult children, guitar instructor and worship musician.

I remember getting up early on special Saturdays, meeting Bill at his home before anyone was awake and gently sneaking out to literally run up the slopes of the mountain lake trails of the Cascades, being home before noon to a family breakfast of lamb and eggs. I remember arriving one Saturday morning to do same only to have my hopes dashed by the sight of Bill on the couch grieving because he had just run over not one but two of his guitars, left behind his car the previous evening.

I remember a circle of people gasping in awe, as I stated, "Bill Mitchell, he was my guitar teacher," as if I had just stated that I had been in the presence of some famous actor or the Pope or something.

I remember one of Bill's beautiful young children sitting on his lap around a backyard campfire, nestled between him and his guitar, warm, loved, secure.

I live dusted with a small portion of the essence of the man you all know and admired as Dr. Mitchell. I feel your loss. There is nothing more important than taking the time to experience the joy of being with another person. Time passes.

Tom Hudon
Former guitar student and friend

A Marriage of Brain and Heart

Bill never stopped surprising us, even in the way he passed. We who knew him, learned from him, and looked up to him are stunned by the end of his story. And yet it is no end, because Bill's potency was great -- as a human, as a healer, and as an educator. The lives he has touched with Spirit continue to embrace his spirit now with love and honor.

As co-presenters over the years at conferences, I had the good fortune to share our stories and many unexpected laughs, while waiting in lunch lines or taking audience questions after a panel. One part of Bill's brilliance for me was his gift for inspiring every listener in a crowded room to nourish the inner marriage of brains and heart. He got us off our soap boxes and fixed positions. Bill inspired me by stating fearlessly his strong opinions, articulated so well that his more astounding statements - such as prescribing people as medicine - carried the ring of truth; that is, once he explained them. The result of time spent with Bill was that we opened our eyes more, used our minds more freely, and spoke from our hearts more truly.

I believe we all walk a path littered with beauty and pain. Bill Mitchell surprised me in the way he walked his road. I am grateful and sorrowful today in equal measures.

Amanda McQuade Crawford, Dip Phyto, RH (AHG), MNIMH, MNZAMH
Consultant Medical Herbalist, Los Angeles, California

You Have To Be Crazy!

Dr. Mitchell was the very first person I met when I was coming for my interview at Bastyr University. A friend of mine who knew him suggested I meet with him first before I set foot on the Bastyr campus. That was the best advice my friend gave me....

I met Bill at his office downtown. All I knew about him was that he was the co-founder of Bastyr. Nothing else. He met me with a warm smile, and he talked with me a good two hours about naturopathic medicine. During the conversation, I asked Bill what the best way would be to present myself to the admissions committee. His response is one I will never forget. He said to me, "First off, you have to be crazy and committed to Earth's medicine, and second, no matter how tough school can be, live each day as if it were your last." I laughed and said something like, "Well, I must be crazy. For a long time, I have been waiting to find this calling." Bill reached out his hand and said, "Welcome to the profession."

I am forever grateful for his time that day, and am honored to have known him throughout my time at Bastyr. His teachings and the many talks I have had with him will stay with me for the rest of my career!

Jill Ghormley, ND '06

Holder of the "Why" Gene

It has been said that funerals and memorials are not for the dead, they’re for the living, for those of us left behind, a moment to pause, to reflect on what is gone, and that which lies ahead.

We now all reflect on a Bill Mitchell who was unique to each of us, depending on when and where we met him and, of course, who we are.

The Bill I know had an abundance of the three H’s: humor, honesty, and honor. When I think back on our years together I don’t remember Bill ever telling “a joke," but I can’t think of him without remembering his sly smile or infectious laugh. I never knew him to say or imply anything dishonest or deceitful – he was who he was and he liked others the same. And his honor was boundless – for his family, naturopathy, and nature, to name only the topics we spoke of the most.

Bill Mitchell, to me, falls into that category of “old-time naturopathic physician.” Since I’ve heard this title applied to me, I like to think that it has nothing to do with age, but rather a way of thinking. Bill honored naturopathic tradition in a way that only someone with a solid grounding in science can do. He believed its historic tradition, but also its scientific validation. And he was joyous to see it work – to see it help people be healthier.

“Old-time naturopathy” does not mean abandoning science, but rather the opposite - including science in its deepest, most wholistic application; beyond cause and effect to interconnectedness.

As an “old-time naturopath” Bill was a guy who never stopped asking “Why?” Some people have this question beaten out of them by unimaginative parents, teachers, medical schools, but Bill had the “Why?” gene imbedded into his DNA makeup and continued to nourish it.

The problem with that “Why?” gene is that there are a great many puzzles in the world. Even if you only confine yourself to naturopathy, you can spend a lot of time reading chemistry books, history, listening to lectures, experimenting, even tasting and smelling tinctures. It can also put you at odds with others - the charlatans, the opportunists, the intellectually lazy.

As some of you know, Bill was concerned about where some in naturopathy are drifting. It worried, and perplexed him, that many naturopaths have jumped into the practice of writing prescriptions for drugs. He didn’t question this because he was contrary, or stubbornly “old-time," but rather because he was afraid that the ease of writing a prescription would lead to leaving out the “Why?” question. A doctor who prescribes an antibiotic, a sleeping pill, or a hormone doesn’t need to ask “Why isn’t this patient’s immune system or brain or gland making its own antibodies, neurotransmitters, or hormone?” To Bill these questions were fundamental to how he practiced medicine and he wanted young naturopaths to share the thrill of answering “Why?”

Like most of our traits, for better or worse, this “Why?” gene brought Bill the joy of discovery, but it could also torture him. When you have the trait, you can’t protect yourself from the same question. Self exploration is part of living life to its fullest. Bill wanted that, wanted a full life. He pushed himself into scary places. And he often went to those places alone. Fortunately for us, he was willing to share his experiences with us.

Asking “Why?” questions of himself and others gave Bill a grounding that inspired him to move ahead, to explore, to keep trying. And when you combine the “Why? Gene with the three H’s – the humor, honesty and honor – you have a quietly inspiring, likable guy. Someone I will love till the end of my days.

Tom Ballard, ND '82

Calling on Nature

Cactus grandiflorus,
Do you see him in the night?

Gaia,
Do you rejoice?

Sun,
Have you added a new glimmer to your dawn?

Moon,
Setting into the sea…do you see?

Earth,
Do you sing to feel him again?

Bill,
Vis

In Loving Memory of Bill
Elissa J. Mullen, BS '01, ND '06

A Man and a Mission

Psalm 116:15 - Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.

The passing of Dr. Bill Mitchell sent shockwaves to many of us throughout the world. I was in disbelief for a period of time after hearing the news. What a man he was, and what a legacy he left.

My first recollection of Bill was as it should be - a healer. He provided me with a remedy to help me with my diabetes, and was so sure it would work, he warned me to check my sugar levels regularly. The remedy worked and I certainly followed his advice. What a thoughtful, compassionate man, to be concerned for the well-being of a new acquaintance, and without need for remuneration.

His “talks” on campus and at AANP conferences were always standing room only. He connected with everyone in the room – we were spellbound – as he rambled on with stories that all connected and made sense out of the world we live in. His 55th birthday was an event that I will always remember.

I fondly recall our monthly lunches. He loved the food and the discussions on many topics. I, in turn, cherished our time together immensely. He told me on several occasions of his faith in Christ, and as I listened to this genius and well-learned man, I was thoughtful of his deep heartfelt reverence for all things spiritual, and his abiding faith as he shared it. His laughter I can still hear as I write this – what a joy to the soul.

I wish his family well during this time. Leah, please continue his remarkable legacy, and to the incredible Bastyr family, be strident to continue his heritage throughout the ages.

Dr. Tom Shepherd
Former President, Bastyr University, and Friend

Our Lodestone

I am humbled by the beauty and depth of the remembrances of Bill Mitchell that have been posted on this blog. I know that each one represents the thoughts and feelings of many hundreds of people whose lives were deeply touched by Bill.

I was stunned when I got the call at my desk from Sheldon Haber telling me of Bill’s death. For a moment I could hardly breathe, and thereafter I was simply in shock.

I cannot say that I knew Bill particularly deeply or well. I never had the occasion to take a class from him. But over 20 years of working together, I had many opportunities to come to profoundly regard this fine human being.

My first experiences of Bill were when I became a new trustee for Bastyr, back 20 years ago. Bill never would be the one who got caught up in the conflict of ideas or personalities. He would usually wait and listen, and then speak thoughtfully about whatever was being discussed from the perspective of the core principles that are the foundation of naturopathic medicine. I learned to wait until I heard from Bill before getting too set in my perspective.

But Bill’s biggest impact came from a more personal set of experiences. Our family had recently moved to Seattle, and when one of our kids got the occasional ear infection, I found myself in the very unfamiliar position of actually taking my child to a naturopathic physician.

I kind of remember what Bill did and the treatments he provided. But what I most remember was the way he was immediately able to tune into my son Dan, and calm him - even though Dan was in a lot of pain; and the way he formed friendships with each of my kids that made them enjoy going to the doctor and responding to his suggestions. One even became a vegetarian for quite a while.

From there Bill led me and our whole family on a path of discovery of naturopathic medicine, including a whole host of treatments and diet changes that I would have never imagined embracing. From this, as much as any intellectual activity, I came to know why the success of Bastyr University was important to me and to the world.

Over the next 20 years of my life, I devoted much of my life to building Bastyr. Things at times got pretty challenging. But Bill was always present as a lodestone – one who lived and breathed and loved all of the passion of our vision – and who reminded me all the time that it was NOT about budgets or plans or successes or failures but about taking each person exactly where they live – whether they be patient, parent, student, or colleague – and gently - but with strength and patience and firmness - inviting them into an always expanding discovery of what it meant to be healthy, to feel alive, and to reconnect with all that is deeply natural in ourselves and others.

I live a great distance from Bastyr now. In the past weeks I have missed not being able to simply go to the chapel and join in the important rituals of grieving, and to share in that process with a community that shares the grief I feel.

Bill was in the end so deeply a healer and a teacher that it infused everything he did – even the way he dealt with tragedy and sorrow in his own life. My life was immeasurably enriched by his presence in it – and he remains a source of inspiration.

My challenge is to keep his presence and his example still in my life – as invitation and model.

And our collective challenge is to keep his presence powerfully alive in our community.

Sandi Cutler
Former Vice President, Institutional Planning & Public Affairs, Bastyr University

A Green Ally

I met Bill Mitchell at Medicines from the Earth, over the past couple of years. I found inspiration to meet someone who was sure of his mission, entirely dedicated to it, and comfortable in his own skin. So might we all be blessed to be. It appeared effortless, but I know it was born of many years of dedication and challenge in a pseudo-dominant culture that is only now renewing its awareness of our friends the green allies. The truth will out; we can offer our gratitude to the pioneers, living and passed on...

Terri Herrlein
Friend from Herb Conferences

Some Kind of Heaven

To me, Bill Mitchell was the heart and soul.

I first witnessed the miracle that he was when, in my first year; he led one of the Gatherings. He spoke deliberately, listening deeply inward, as if sifting through his thoughts for the best and truest words. He talked about trees being the lungs of the world, and we naturopaths were part of the earth’s immune system.

Later that year I enrolled in one of his classes; it was called something beautiful like Landscapes of the Mind. He was my source of inspiration as I was deluged from all sides with hard knowledge. One lecture was so infused with Spirit that I felt he had ordained us into sacred contract, and was sending us off into the world on a mission. I went up to thank him, and he simply nodded and said, with the slightest of twinkles, "Have fun."

I’ve been blessed to have him as a teacher again this year. His laugh has been my medicine: his dark blue eyes shining, his face beaming with so much light that I cannot help but laugh for joy. I can only describe it as a piece of some kind of heaven.

Now Dr. Mitchell has died. I will never hear the comforting, thoughtful rumble of his voice again, except in my memory. He probably never knew my name, but his will echo through my life.

Teray Garchitorena, ND Candidate 2007
January 26, 2007

A Broken Heart, A Thousand Arms

Dear Alumni Friends,

While it is a sad time on campus these days, rest assured that life goes on as usual. There is laughter in the halls, and stress in the library (it’s midterms week), and Bastyr students in all disciplines are moving forward in their education with energy and commitment. Valentine’s Day is being well celebrated – last week the Development department and contributing BU employees raised $5,000 in an auction to benefit the student scholarship fund; and this week we are hosting the now-traditional V-Day activities to help stop violence against women. The bookstore is offering a sale with special low prices for gift items featuring the colors red or pink, and there’s chocolate pretty much everywhere.

Dr. Mitchell would have liked this – to see the University bustling with such energy and life. His vision for Bastyr was huge and vital – its core lay in his love and knowledge of naturopathic medicine and plants, but it went way beyond that, imagining a whole wide world in which people could and would feel better and be happier because genuine healers were available to them – many of them educated and trained at Bastyr.

I was lucky to be a personal friend – an easy occurrence, really, he was such an open guy. Our friendship began over sushi after his yoga classes. We would often talk about Bastyr. He would tell me, with no little passion (trying to instill his conviction in me, I imagine) that he thought the alumni were the heart and soul of the Bastyr community. And not just NDs – he wanted to see everyone succeed and prosper. You may not know that besides teaching plant medicine and advanced therapeutics, Bill taught Reflexology, and he had a deep desire to study Chinese Herbal Medicine - though I must say when he talked about this I could see his eyes look inward, as if he was studying some internal calendar, wondering just when in the world he would have time for that.

Sadly, Bill had even less time than he imagined. His heart broke and he left us - heart broken, too, but not despairing. I am reminded of a story from the Tibetan tradition and since Bill loved to share wisdom through stories, I want to share it with you.

“Once upon a time” there lived a man named Avalokiteshvara, who had the deep intention to benefit all sentient beings. When he first developed this commitment, Avalokiteshvara proceeded with great energy and inspiration to do all that he could to help, but after a while he became very discouraged. There were so many many beings in need! What could one person do? Realizing his own limitations, Avalokiteshvara despaired. Tears rose to his eyes with the force of a torrent, his compassion was so deep and helpless. He cried so much that his heart broke and his body shattered into a thousand pieces. Seeing this, Buddha, in his infinite compassion for this kind fellow who meant so well, blessed Avalokiteshvara to live again, turning the shattered fragments of his body into a thousand helpful arms, each with an eye of wisdom in the palm.

You, Graduates of Bastyr University, are the thousand strong, wise arms of our dear heartbroken Dr. Mitchell, and of the other great healers and teachers who have shaped and continue to shape Bastyr. Indeed, you are 2,500 strong now, with your numbers growing fast, each of you in your own way holding the promise of a gentler, healing world. He lives on in each of you.

In closing, here is an excerpt from a chapter Dr. Mitchell wrote for The Foundations of Naturopathic Medicine textbook (Copyright 2006), being compiled now under the leadership of Executive Editor, Pamela Snider, ND ’82.

Another modality in medicine, and one that is particularly important in naturopathic medicine, is the human modality itself. I refer to this as the application of “people and organizations” to the patient. Giving the patient people, or groups of people, contains within itself a healing power. This may seem obvious to us, but we seldom prescribe people as a medicine or modality. In the practice of naturopathic medicine, as I view it, I often refer patients to a yoga class, not only for the exercise, a well recognized modality, but for the interaction of the patient to people who are also seeking wellness. People are each others’ medicine in the ideal world. - William A. Mitchell, ND

Dear Alumni, thank you for all that you do and will do to bring benefit to our ailing world. Take care of yourselves.

Connie Moffit, Director of Alumni Communications
February 14, 2007

A Gift of Loving

You waited until you were alone.
Death is a private thing.
You knew your last act
was to a different audience.

As it entered you -
oh how you must have danced!
curving toward God,
elegant and alone.

Dear one, what is it like?
Tell us! What is death?

Birth,
you say, your voice swathed in wings.
I am born in the endless beginning.
I am not. I am.

You start turning into us,
we who love you.
You weep in our sadness, you laugh when we do,
you greet each moment fresh,
when we do.

So may your gift of loving enter our own
and be with us that way, forever.

by Elias Amidon, from "Life Prayers, The Human Journey"

Offered by Pamela Snider, ND '82

The Perfect Date

“I’ll tell you how to spend the perfect Friday night,” Bill said.

The three of us had been sitting in the cafeteria milling over options on how to spend the evening. We had just finished a late afternoon class in which Bill had been teaching, and now slouched lazily on the cafeteria couches in a post class stupor, gazing at an imaginary center hovering a few feet above the floor between the three of us. Although we were all from different generations, we shared something deep in common. The three of us were Pisces, and we all agreed that Friday night was best spent in the company of a woman you loved.

“Yeah," Bill said still gazing at the imaginary center. “The best way to spend a Friday night is cooking with your girl." He leaned forward while his vision gained intensity. “But if you really want to score big, you have to bake a pie." His eyes widened when he said the word pie. “Not just any pie...Apple Pie!” His eyes widened again.

Jimmy and I shifted our gaze towards Bill who was still staring at the imaginary center, but obviously drifting off into another universe as he so often did. This one revolved around baking apple pie from scratch and women.

“First, you have to gather fresh ingredients. Fresh apples are key! You also have to use real butter. Not this imitation crap!” He looked momentarily disgusted. “Then you add cinnamon, etc. See, you gather all the ingredients, and have it ready: the apples, the flour. But you don’t make the pie. You let the woman make the pie. You just help out and talk to them - listen. See, women love to cook and they love to talk. The kitchen is the perfect place for this. But even more so, woman love to bake pie!” His eyes widened again with the word “pie."

Jimmy and I fixed our gaze once again into the imaginary center, which now had become kitchen.

“And after the pie is finished, you put it on the counter to let it cool. That’s key! The smell of the crust and the apples and cinnamon filling the room. Good god!” Bill collapsed back into the couch as if the image might be too much to bear.

After pausing for a moment, he continued: “Then you share a glass of wine…talk some more, connect… and the pie...” He rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling for a moment, and drifted deeper into “pie universe," as did we. He was now at the helm of the “Pie-Ship Enterprise” with me and Jimmy as his eager passengers.

“See…” He slowly leaned forward once again as if gearing up to reveal some critical piece of information that might one day save our lives, and proclaimed, “You serve it with a scoop of vanilla ice cream!”

“Oh yeah!” Jimmy and I chorused in unison with big slobbering grins on our faces.

“Vanilla ice cream is key! You put a scoop on that fresh piece of warm pie and share that first bite with your lady friend, and…. good god!” He collapsed back into the couch once again. “Then they’re yours forever!”

We all sighed in unison as if we had just made intense love with god, our gazes again fixed towards the imaginary center.

After a moment of silence spent drifting in Bill’s universe of apple pie and the perfect date, I broke the silence with a suggestion to him that he might substitute walnuts, coconut, and raisins for wheat and butter when making the pie’s crust. “It’s amazing,” I said with an unsure enthusiasm. “You don’t even have to bake the crust. You can make it raw!”
Bill shifted his gaze from the imaginary center and looked straight into my soul with his mysterious watery blue eyes. Leaning forward with one eyebrow raised in patient skepticism towards his obviously “green” pupil, he replied: “I’ll believe that when I taste it!”

William Engelhardt, ND Student
January 26, 2007, from a conversation in December 2006

A Being of Love

Dr. Mitchell was the first naturopathic doctor I met. He was probably still a student at the National College of Naturopathic Medicine then; I'm not sure. I didn't know about NCNM at the time, but Bill's alma mater was located on 45th Street, just east of Stone Way North, in the building that is now the clinic of Jennifer Huntoon, N.D. I went to an evening class that was noted in the Seattle Weekly newspaper, in a cute old craftsman house-turned-storefront just around the corner from NCNM, a few blocks south on Stone Way. (Small world, eh?) They sold incense and tie-dye tapestries and imported things from Asia, meditation tapes and books on growing sprouts, and crystals. Bill had borrowed or rented the store space for the after-hours and was teaching a massage class for about $6 per head. We sat in two rows of chairs and he talked for awhile, mostly about naturopathic medicine; then we wound up on the floor practicing the techniques. That, I came to know, was just like Bill Mitchell, always comfortable, always creating intimacy when it was least expected, most welcome. Bill demonstrated the use of his clenched forearm muscles as a tool to deeply massage a large muscle belly. An athlete, his own forearms were huge and strong, clear in my memory. That was about 1976.

Three years later and much water over the dam - hearing of a new school teaching an avant-garde medical science and philosophy in Seattle, having precepted for three days with Joseph Pizzorno ND at the busy little office he shared with Bill Mitchell ND on Queen Anne Avenue, and visited a class Joe taught on Naturopathic Philosophy on the 4th floor of Seattle Central Community College - I went to my admissions interview to John Bastyr College of Naturopathic Medicine in that same office of Pizzorno and Mitchell, sat in the same old brown wooden chair I'd precepted in next to Joe and Bill's large brown wooden desk, and answered questions from the utterly kind, amiable and reassuring Bill Mitchell, Dean of Admissions for JBCNM. I was admitted, class of 1983, and met Dr. Eric Jones while waiting for the interview, to boot.

The first month of school in the Fall of 1979, Vice President Mitchell took about 20 first and second-year students (we only had the two classes at that point!) in a caravan of cars to a grey cool drippy and very green trailhead somewhere on the western slope of the Cascades within a couple hours of Seattle, for a day hike. I have had ever since (it is on my wall today) a photo of me, Ron Waling, and another young student whose first name was Kaye sitting for lunch in that gorgeous forest. As our leader, Bill, a fabled too-fast hiker, was indeed going too fast for most of us to keep up, so we got spread out for a long way along the trail - a miracle no one got lost or fully left behind; but no one did!

Bill Mitchell at JBCNM taught many classes - in philosophy, botanical medicine, nutrition, etc. Bill was a unique lecturer in those days, in that he could not stay on topic. The first class I remember started out with Dr. Mitchell posing a question to the room of 35 eager souls "what is the most important thing to do when you have to tend an infant with a persistent high fever and vomiting?" We volunteered answer after answer - stop the vomiting, lower the temperature, give antivirals - to which Bill responded each time in his big weighted voice with "Then the child will die!" - which made an impression, I'll tell you. Finally, he let us in, saying somberly "You give her fluids; dehydration will kill the child faster than anything!" And then the subject wandered from one thing to the next, and within 30 minutes we were all down on the floor, chairs and tables pushed aside, giving each other massages! This is a true story, and I tell it because it shows what a moving and intimate spirit Bill is. He of course learned to lecture, finding himself in the esoterics of biochemistry and the like, thrilling us with a holism we had not encountered in science before.

I remember Dr. Mitchell as a clinical supervisor. It was 1981-82, in the bank building, 2nd floor and on the NE corner of 45th St. and University Avenue. Bill was the model of trust and support and mentorship - perhaps too trusting! Wanting to cement our confidence in our own authority, he didn't go into the exam rooms to meet the patients! We'd stand with Bill in the high-ceilinged hall outside the room where the patient waited, he'd listen to our report of history and exam findings, all the while jotting notes on a small blank white pad. Our report completed, he'd efficiently tear off the note and hand it over, moving on to the next room with a typically kind and encouraging last word, like "this patient is going to get better!" On the paper was written his differential diagnosis, suggestions for possible diagnostic or treatment steps to take at that point, from which we were to choose. He kept it simple! He was generally correct in his prescriptions, and I recall marveling, wondering if the day would come for me when I would have such clear quick insight and understanding.

Then when our class approached graduation in the Spring of 1983 and we wanted Dr. Mitchell to give the keynote address, we had a meeting to figure out how to get him to do it. Bill had said no to the first graduating class, the class before us, and to classes at NCNM, and was known for not seeking the large stage. So we needed a good strategy, and indeed hit upon it. We elected a small group of classmates who were close to Bill, whose assignment it became to take him to dinner, warm him up and pop the question. The strategy worked, because the setting of friendship and warmth always spoke the most strongly to Bill. His address was really special on our graduation night; and he went on in the next 25 years to address one or two more graduating classes as well.

Years later when we were both faculty at JBCNM, I remember a national convention, sitting behind Bill at a mesmerizing lecture from Dr. Peter D'Adamo (JBCNM '82) about lectins and the biochemical-immunology of a diet prescribed according to blood type, and Bill turned in his chair bursting with a message he needed to share, said "this is fantastic!" And it was, I agreed.
Several years ago there was a large sit-down dinner party in the chapel, I believe it was for Bill's birthday, and Bill spoke after the meal for a long time, telling two intriguing parables, one of his creation that was about the spirit of preventive medicine. It was a special evening, went late with words and wisdom.

Lots and lots more bits of memories - Bill in other classrooms, at graduations, conventions, in the hall, out of doors, at Joe's house, teaching yoga at lunch hour on campus, lecturing at the WANP, serving together on the Bastyr Board of Trustees, I the faculty representative.

I remember Bill and Joe standing next to John Bastyr, sort of propping the old gentleman up at the podium on the small lawn out front of our Latona School campus, and a large banner that said Bastyr University. That was the day the name changed. Dr. Bastyr said a few words that probably few heard in the blustery wind that whisked them quickly away from his lips, carrying them the wrong direction. As I remember, Joe placed a smooth six-inch oblong piece of black basalt rock, picked up from the soil nearby, onto the notes Dr. Bastyr was speaking from to keep them from blowing away. I still have that rock at home in a box of treasures. The last thing I remember of the ceremony is Bill Mitchell slowly solidly patiently walking with his hand inside Dr. Bastyr's arm as our old mentor and namesake, steadied, shuffled to his car.

The last strong memories I have of Bill Mitchell are two. Six or eight national conventions ago, I encountered Bill pacing in a sunny parking lot outside the hotel, I on a break to get some quick air. I asked him what he was up to and learned he was struggling with what he would be saying to the assembly - he was to be the next speaker in a few moments and was troubled, having difficulty choosing between a couple of topics! I said to him "Bill, you just talk about anything you want to talk about; we always love to hear anything you have to say about anything." This immediately relaxed him, and we went on in. He was soon up on the podium, introduced his talk with "Well, I don't know how this is going to go over, but if you don't like my talk blame it on John Hibbs!" And then he launched into probably the most unusual lecture we'd ever heard in that setting, speaking to, as I recall, the questions "what is life, why are we here, what is a spirit, and what is it all about?" That was definitely Bill, as usual leading the way into new territory, always personal, always important.

Bill's last couple years were sad in a terrible way, and in the end it was perhaps too much. I share with all, though, that that is not what I take away from this wonderful man and friend, though it grieves me.

This is what I take away: For the last number of years at the national gatherings, Bill took to wandering randomly, blissfully around the large hall floor crowded with new and old colleagues, saying repeatedly to each person he literally bumped into whether he knew them or not, a little heart message. I remember two of them. The first time Bill said to me "John, you are an angel! You're an angel!" - this while he was holding me by both shoulders, his face close, then a big hug, and then he moved on to share this with the next person he encountered. The next time I was fortunate to have Bill bounce like this into my path, or I into his, he held me close to his chest like a bear, and said "John, you are love, you are made of love!"

That was Dr. Bill Mitchell, our Bill Mitchell. He loved and helped us; he changed our lives. I am full and spilling over at this moment with thankfulness, admiration, appreciation. You are a being of love even more purely, clearly now Bill. We carry that in our hearts.

John Hibbs, ND '83
January 25, 2007

My Dear Spirit Buddy

One of my dear spirit buddies and teachers, Bill Mitchell, died the night before last of a broken heart. His son Noah, aged 27, had died suddenly in the morning, and Bill died that night in his sleep.

For many of us who went through Bastyr University's naturopathic medical training program (and there are more than 1000 of us now), Dr. Bill Mitchell was an extraordinary combination of hero/icon and brother/uncle/friend.

He was Dr. Bastyr's lineage holder. Like Dr. Bastyr, Bill was unfailingly kind, humble, generous with his time and skills and knowledge. Like Dr. Bastyr, he was brilliant, deeply rooted in the traditional wisdom and history of our medicine, yet always learning and studying and incorporating new discoveries.

Unlike dear Dr. Bastyr, Bill was also a dazzling and inspiring lecturer and public speaker. He spoke tirelessly to many kinds of audiences on behalf of Bastyr University and naturopathic medicine, and was always willing to give his time and energy to benefit the students. In class we were awed by his vast and penetrating understanding of the biochemical structures and mechanisms of humans, plants and nutrients, watching in amazement as he rapidly sketched molecular formulae and relationships on the board. Even more amazing, though, is that he was able to (relatively painlessly) transfer the basics of all of that knowledge to all of us. And at the same time, he was fluent in many other fields: the history and anthropology of healing and medicine, classical philosophy and spiritual literature, cosmology, the mysteries of the human psyche, and much more.

For the first 15 or 16 years that I knew Bill, I really mostly just knew of him, and he didn't really know me. Like many of my school mates, I was in awe of that brilliance, of his robust connection to the natural world, and his weirdness -- little realizing how weird I was going to turn out to be myself.

In 2002, when I started a two year stint as Assistant Dean in the Naturopathic Medicine department at Bastyr, one of my first and favorite assignments was to support Bill's teaching of a new elective course, the prototype for a series meant to embody and make explicit the part of Bastyr's mission statement that emphasizes education and services that "integrate mind, body, spirit and nature". I got to talk with him often on the phone and meet with him to create the syllabus and course requirements and other things he was not so interested in. He told me early on that "the syllabus can't really be created until after the course is over, because I won't know till then what Spirit's going to want me to say." Then we laughed for a long time and knew that we understood each other, and ever since then we have loved each other.

I last saw Bill a couple of months ago over lunch at a little restaurant near his office. He talked about an idea of leaving his practice to his daughter, who is also a naturopathic doctor, and maybe leaving this city where he had been for so many years, about going to a place where he could swim for hours in the warm ocean. Our last interaction, though, was by email, which turned out to be a pretty reliable way to keep very loose track of his moonbeam self. I had written him to describe a dream I'd had of him on New Year's Eve, where I had been so happy to run into him because I needed to ask him a question about Dr. Bastyr's practice. In my dream, he'd said, "Well, that means Dr. Bastyr has something to tell you!" and pulled a large phone out his jacket, to connect me with Dr. Bastyr (who died in 1995). Then I woke up. Bill's email reply to me was "Wow what a great dream. Dr. Bastyr healed you. You knew you were being healed. He didn't say a lot. And he worked on your back and neck. Love and laughter in the new year. Bill"

Bill had ravishingly hard times in the past few years, enough to break a heart many times over. He was scoured out from the inside and became almost transparent; you could see the light shining straight through him. He let all the hardship pour through him like a great river, and it only increased his own radiance.

It turned out that I often had occasion to weep in Bill's presence, for very varied reasons. He never minded, it was always OK with him. I know that it's OK with him, now, too. Leaning on his presence was like leaning on a mountain. And that's still true, too.

The soundtrack for my day yesterday, before I had heard about Bill, happened to be Joni Mitchell's Blue, and her song A Case of You has gotten woven now into the missing him that rises up today:

I remember
that time you told me
you said,
'love is touching souls'
surely
you've touched mine
Part of you
pours out of me
in these lines from time to time

You're in my blood
like holy wine

And from Hildegard von Bingen, one of Bill's patron saints, about whom he was exceedingly knowledgeable:

I am the one whose praise echoes on high.
I adorn all the earth.
I am the breeze that nurtures all things green.
I encourage blossoms to flourish with ripening fruits.
I am led by the spirit to feed the purest streams.
I am the rain coming from the dew
that causes the grasses to laugh with the joy of life.
I am the yearning for good.

Bill inspired and deepened all of us who came into orbit around him with his radiant connection to the ordinary holiness of this world, his trust in and deep love affair with nature, his relationship with the spirit of life and with some inexhaustible source of big true love. It has been astonishing and marvelous to realize how many of us, truly thousands of students and patients and colleagues, had friendships with him that were special and intimate, infused with his kindness and joy. His strong presence, his clear gaze, and his big laugh and quirky sense of humor simultaneously rooted us and lifted us up. And through all the suffering of the last few years, he didn't hide away from us. He allowed us in, to keep him some company, and to offer our bits of support in the face of devastating remorse and grief – and to feel that you are able to give a little something to someone who has given you very much is in turn a great gift.

Bill was our hero, and our sweet heart. He lives on now in all of us who adored him. May his memory be always a blessing and joy.

Christy Lee-Engel, ND '92, and MSA '95
January 26, 2007

Healer for the Ages

I wrote this poem in remembrance of Bill Mitchell who was a friend, colleague, teacher, and mentor to me over the years since meeting him in 1978. For me, Healer for the Ages captures the true essence of this man who had such a major impact on our lives.
Thank you, Dr. Jones


How do we begin to reconcile the loss of such a great man
Someone who always stood at the cutting edge of his medicine,
Passionate in his life and teachings about the healing power of nature
Touching countless lives with his enthusiasm, gentleness, and caring ways.

He succeeded in inspiring a whole new generation of students and doctors
Serving as both teacher and mentor he engaged our minds and opened our hearts,
Challenging us to integrate the science of medicine and wisdom of traditional healing
His legacy as a healer for the ages forever etched across the earth and sky.

He was always exploring and searching for answers to questions
Regarding the deeper and true meaning of the mysteries of life,
A fire lit within his soul that drove his quest for the fruits of knowledge
Which he then readily shared with anyone who was open to listen.

Being a student of life, the earth served as his sacred classroom
Where he believed in the interconnectedness of every living thing,
And he treated life with reverence just as he treated each of his patients
With the endearing qualities of compassion, humility, and charity.

Stories about his life and accomplishments could fill untold volumes
Yet at the essence of the man lies the simplicity of his message to us,
Embrace life and the incredible opportunity to learn from Mother Nature
And believe in yourself, being ever thankful for life’s wonderful gift of love.

a poem by eric steven jones
january 27, 2007