License to help

I need a license to work with youth who desperately work to hate the licensed.  We have a license for things that can be harmful.  Counseling is one of them, I guess.  You can buy a gun without a license.  I find myself joining a system of counselors manipulated, inspired, and branded for the most part by the theories of people who have studied the scientific perspective.  The scientific perspective is born from a system of institutional education.
I find myself wondering how did local communities lose sight of wellness.  What i hear in my communities is not suffering but more a refusal to see the sickness.  I sadly describe the lower class community as being sick.  It is unfortunately expected to be dysfunctional because functional for them is not the norm, it is different from the educated higher classes.  If I live in a home with cockroaches, i learn to fuction with them, around them, and time has to be spent dealing with them.  For the upper class, roaches are eradicated, trapped, and poisoned.  

I talk with a carnalito and he looks at me like a threatening stranger.  I am the system he has been punished by.  I am the paddle that has smacked his hearts ass.  I am the concerned veterano being forced to wear the uniform of the correction officer.  They smell me and look over me like the vato turning up their barrio street coming to take away their little brother.

I am a wanna be curandero.   I joined up to heal and now I am handcuffed by legislation, licensure, and oaths.  The currandero is like a rare cactus  that blooms under the right conditions.  The artificial and stale mindset instilled by the congnitives has drapped a white hospital like bed clothe over the colorful cotton blouse worn by the curandero.  My gente cannot see me as a friend.  I am drenched in the smell of the system.  I am wearing a uniform that disguises my intention.  I am a foreigner, an alien among the broken hearted, like Christ in His human form among the sick.  I am rejected and ignored because I don't look capable of bringing good news.  If I was tattooed,  dressed street, and spoke with cred, I could have their attention at least.  The language of love and healing is potent but getting people to speak with it is rare.