Thunderstorm Medicine

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Jeremy Brasher photo

Like an anxious spike high on the thermometer, a hot summer day can hold a whole lot. The heaviness of the past, the humidity of future-tripping, the density of a too-tightly-packed schedule. It’s life, intensified, with everything being experienced at once. Like the sound of the cicadas rolled into one giant buzz or the morning glory vines inching back into your freshly weeded garden, the tangle and overwhelm of summer is real on almost every level.

But just when you hit the height of I-can’t-take-it-anymore, that late afternoon moment when the humidity is thick enough to cup in both palms and you can’t do anything but lay with your head in the river, comes the most gracious blessing of all— the afternoon thunderstorm.

And it is a veritable downpour of medicine.

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Here in southern Appalachia, afternoon rainstorms are an almost daily occurrence, and a near universal cause for a ceasework and celebration. It never fails to stir me. Out of the bright, bright heat the sky suddenly darkens, like the querulousness of my own tangled mind, and everything prepares for the release.

Sometimes there is lightening. Sometimes thunder. Sometimes everything gets so quiet beforehand, it is as if the world is holding its breath. It’s the still point before the burst, the voluntarily destruction, the relief. And out of the thunderclap comes the rain.

Loud, blessedly loud, and forceful in its clearing. Summer thunderstorms are insistent and brash, like that friend who always tells it like it is, and will order you to rest when you are leaning wearily towards the end of the day. In the downpour everything stops to drink. Trees drip in exuberance, creeks swell instantly. The hot concrete hisses and cools like snakeskin come evening. The world becomes a baptism, the mist off a waterfall. And there is nothing to do but surrender to the cacophony of falling water. Of cool sheets and easy breathing. And nowhere else to go in your mind but here, into the sound of the world being renewed.

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Afterwards, the temperature swings down low, so low it feels impossible that it was ever so hot before. Impossible that you ever once felt immovable with worry, anxiety, or overwhelm. The trees breathe out in great mists, creating the clouds that move over these mountains, giving them their smoke. You can almost see your own exhale as it deepens… deepens…

In the hottest, tensest, most complicated moments of knots and puzzling and trying to make all of life grow, a blessed reprieve comes in… and you unfold.

This is the medicine of a summer storm.

No matter where you are in the world, or what complications have been tying you up in vines and feelings of tiny enclosures, may this medicine touch you. The expanse, the exhale, the cleansing.

Through this post I’m sending this experience of rain, and relief and cool winds… just in case you needed it. And the reminder that no matter where you are in your life, there is always a reprieve just when things feel most difficult.

 

psst… want to create some summer thunderstorm herbal kitchen witchery? Check out my recipe for Dark Magic Reishi Maple Truffles.

May you experience this fully

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The other day I found an alley lit by roses. Cream, pink, heart peach, orange— the whole hem of the cobblestone was alive with their lanterns. Swaying from white trellises, they looked like women, scarved heads bowing in prayer. With each wind dip they washed the street with their petals, nodding to me as if I was a part of the motion as well.

Instinctively, I stepped off the road and into their grove of rose and cobblestone and just as quickly dropped every plan for my day. The To-Do’s scattering like the soft cups of petals, gathering rain.

I went from rose to rose. Touching, sensing, experiencing, inhaling. I was electrified by their difference. Each scent, unique— citrus, amber, and soft inner thigh.  I cupped the blossoms, and was cradled by them. I was in the roses. In the alley. In the afternoon light. I thought of nowhere else, nothing else, and lost myself completely in the pure joy of just experiencing being alive.

The deeper I move into my days, the more I realize that goals, accomplishments, and To Do’s are just décor. Ways in which we embellish our experience, give it complexity so we know where the handholds are. But beneath and within all of this is just experience.

The pureness of simply experiencing the world, as it takes shape around you. Of dropping analyzation, or even meaning, to just be in the variants and flutes and hues. To experience the world in all of its minutiae and mandala intricacy. In the longness of shoreline and cello note.

What if we aren’t here for any purpose…. except to experience ourselves in a world that is perennially sipping from the joy of its own experience? To know that experience, pure and unfiltered and streaming through the portals that are our bodies, is truly the greatest gift on earth. And that amazingly, unbelievably, this is available at any moment.

Experiences wish to enter us. To fill out every corner of our cells, like fresh fallen rainwater drunk from root tip to bloom. We spend so much of our lives striving to escape a certain experience, or to attain another. But what happens when we decide to simply dissolve into what is.

What happens when we experience it completely? What happens when “good” and “bad” drop away into the presence of what is aching to be felt, seen and embodied?

Wherever you are, the experience of that ‘thereness’ is wanting to come in and transform you. Whatever is available to be experienced, right now, is the medicine you’ve been seeking all along.  All you had to do is agree to experience it, completely.

Heartbreaking, heart opening. Blossom heavy, as light as pollen. There is only experience. Lace colored, dawn touched, sweet as strawberries, high as sunflowers, wide as sweetgrass in the wind. There is only experience. The lines of your lover’s hand, the way the peas wind themselves around their trellis, rainbows in the mist of the hose, a swallow diving from the eaves of your home. There is only experience. An alley full of roses. Each one different, in scent and petal and life well-lived.

This is why we are here. To experience each other. To experience the trees. To experience the flowers. To have experiences that bring us to our knees.

Because from there we can look up and see everything.

So wherever your are walking right now, in whatever place you are sitting, moving, stuck or struggling, try experiencing it completely. Because this is how we can move on to even deeper blooms. What are the sounds beneath the sounds? The feelings beneath what is immediately evident? Go deeper and deeper and deeper. And know that you will be greeted by roses, and thorns, and a heaven of cool cobblestones and roads you never glimpsed before. That you will be wrapped in the arms of the world and be given the greatest gift on earth.

To experience the earth, experiencing herself.

And to experience yourself, as a part of that rose-colored dream.

<<<<>>>>

Ready for a lush experience?

Check out this video guide to my ultimate summer herbal cocktail!

With an introduction to my favorite summertime refresher (and the true story about the one time I completely rocked a booze cruise, and lived to tell the tale)

Visit the Herbal Medicine making course  or head deeper into the blog to peruse more summertime herbal cocktails

Finding your Solar Power

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Summertime is like a linen sheet left out on the line—  highlighted, outlined and defined by the omnipresence of sunshine. It sets the poppies aglow and warms the strawberries to ripeness. It pops open the peonies and lights the bowl of our days like porcelain.

Enlivening and inciting, the sun is the very definition of power-full. It is because of the deep eminence of the sun, that our Qi, the life force that animates our own bodies, sparks to life. Next time you are outside try baring your chest to the deepness of the light and see what happens. It might take a moment but soon you will feel infused with a power that throws the shoulders back, opens the heart gate, and helps you truly radiate.

In summer, the sun infuses its bold energy into all it touches. From the explosion of clover in the fields, to the soft weight of squash, the steady chorus of crickets and thickly heated nights— the warmth of the summer sun vibrates everything a bit faster, hurrying it into life. As human beings, diurnal creatures patterned to the light, our days are also directed by its torch. And as such, we too are stirred.

In the traditional tarot, The Sun is a forbearer of triumph, vitality, fulfillment and self confidence. Just like the fires of old, lit in the mouth of cave shelters, the energy of the sun can bring warmth, self assurance and solidity. It also creates important boundaries between the inner sanctum and the outside world. In many ways, fire is sunlight embodied, and it is the tool that forged human kind; when wielded and embodied rightly, fire creates a sacred definition of self. When we can embody the energy of sunshine, as efficiently as the plants soak in its bountiful rays, we can feed the élan of our inner fires.

 Image from the Wildwood tarot deck

 

<<  St. John’s Wort  >>

High on a mountain bald, in a meadow licked by wind and encircled by an endless fold of mountains, there is a plant that blooms at the peak of the summer solstice and has been revered for centuries for its light. If you weren’t expressly looking for St. John’s (or Joan’s in homage to Joan of Arc) wort you might easily pass right by. Understated and leggy in its growth, Hypericum will often blend right into a hillside. Easy to ID once you familiarize yourself with its sunny countenance, St. John’s wort is most known for its perforated leaves and translucent oil glands that, when held up to the sun, illuminate in polka dots of light. When I go harvesting St. John’s wort, I must often squint and seek with shaded eyes. Hypericum’s small yellow flowers are like droplets of butter amongst the blocks of yarrow and hearty meadow clover. To go searching for St. John’s Wort is to attune yourself to the subtlety of dappled sunlight.

An herbaceous perennial that typically blooms from June until August, St. John’s Wort is a plant with a long history of medicinal and magical lore. In medieval Europe, St. John’s Wort was considered to be an herb of protection, and was often employed against the ‘evil eye.’ Its scientific name, ‘Hypericum’ comes from Greek and means “to ward off an apparition.” Whenever St. John’s Wort has grown, it has been sought and gathered talismanically to help protect and fortify the borders of oneself.

One of the most defining ID characteristics of St. John’s wort is its garnet-red essential oil. When crushed during harvesting or medicine making, the leaves and flowers of this plant will turn one’s fingers tips a deep purplish-rouge. The “blood” of St. John’s wort is not only an important ID marker, it can also help us understand the deeper energetics of this versatile plant.

In Chinese medicine blood is considered to be the physically animating source that gives us life. When someone is full of their own life force, emanating well being, confidence and health, we say that they have good blood. With good blood, our life force can literally reach every corner of our body, filling out all our capillaries and veins, and the chambers of our inner resources. Good blood helps us inhabit the vehicles of our body, imbuing us with a radiance and power that comes from capturing the source of one’s inner energy. In contrast, a lack of blood is a literal lack of life force, an absence that can cause weakness, instability, low confidence and, unsurprisingly, physiological and psychic vulnerability. In Chinese medicine it is said that if you have strong blood, you simply will not be susceptible to parasites or attacks that come from the outer world. Namely, your own power source, your inner sunshine, is so filling and bright that you are unable to be inhabited by any unwanted energies (bacterial, psychic or otherwise).

This is an important medicine of our time, as we come to realize the fine difference between personal power and egoic inflation. Between inner brilliance and anxious manipulation. St. John’s wort, just like the presence of good blood and summer sunshine, is a plant that reminds us that in order to stay whole, healthy and strong we must nourish our personal life force and distinctive light. This lesson becomes particularly important in summertime as our center of gravity tends towards the outside world (just think of all the summertime parties you are required to attend!). In the warmer months it’s vital that we tend the inner fires of personal energy as we are asked to strike out more and more into the outer world.

Traditional people knew this innately, hence why this plant was so often used as a talisman to create healthy barriers to outside influences. While we might guffaw at the idea of the evil eye, when we replace this sentiment with our contemporary understanding of the damage inflicted by energy vampires, negative Nancys and bitter gossip, we see just how important St. John’s wort remains. With good blood and good talismans our boundaries we can remain bright— no matter how many ‘dark clouds’ pass through our lives.

The physical medicine of St.John’s wort echoes its energetic ability to imbue protection and bring sunlight. Most people who have heard of St. John’s Wort are familiar with it as an herb for depression. Though this one action has become almost exclusively popularized in the last decade, this powerful herb has long history of being used for ‘madness’ and melancholy. Interestingly, some studies have suggested that this action might in large part have to do with its hepatic effects. As a hepatic, St. John’s wort aids our liver in its natural protective processes and clearance, helping to ride the body of lingering compounds (which is one reason why it is contra-indicated for those on life saving pharmaceutical mediations). For example, trials have shown that Saint John’s Wort can speed the clearance of excess cortisol (otherwise known as “the stress hormone”) so we can return more quickly to a state of inner peace.

Stagnancy and depression go hand and hand, and when our liver is bogged down it can create an even deeper quagmire in our life. If you have experienced depression or anxiety then you are familiar with the ways in which these emotions can seemingly strip away your personal agency and power. With Saint John’s wort, we bring vital energy and movement to our inner landscapes, freeing up more personal agency and light. One of my favorite ways to invoke the brightly protective energy of this flower is to rub infused St. John’s wort oil into my temples. It can also be particular potent massaged into the area around your thymus gland, in the center of your chest. The word thymus comes from the Greek ‘thymos’ which means “life energy.” If you truly want to feel like super woman, give your thymus a few hard Tarzan fist knocks afterwards and send out a loud whoop.

St. John’s wort is also a strongly protective medicine to guard our outermost selves. The flowers and above around parts are an effective topical remedy for bruising and burns and other abrasions arising out of disastrous interaction with the outside world. The herb is also an important antiviral, used specifically against enveloped viruses in vitro, a class of viruses which are responsible for many long-term viral infections such as cold sores, herpes simplex II, shingles and mono(nucleosis).

This vibrant solar plant can be a powerful remedy for nerve or muscle pain as well. It can work wonders, as both an external oil and/or internal tincture, for sciatica, back spasms, neck cramps, TMH and neuralgia. For many people, the over-reactivity of our bodies’ muscular and nervous system and be traced back to our tender interaction with the outer world. It is common for sensitive nervous systems and tense muscles to overcompensate in response to stressors in our environment. With St. John’s wort, we can take in the live-giving energy of the sun and revitalize our own stores of enlightened power.

** Perhaps unsurprisingly, SJW can cause photosensitivity (extreme sensitivity to sunlight). So be careful when handling and remain aware of your time under the sun when taking the medicine (externally or internally).

** Please use caution when using SJW internally as it can speed the clearance of life-saving drugs, and have potentially serious interactions with other medications.

 

>> How to make St. John’s Wort Oil <<

 

  1. Harvest flowering tops (leaves, buds + flowers) when in bloom. The most potent time will be near the summer Solstice

 

  1. Let wilt overnight if you are in a mold-prone climate

 

  1. Coarsely chop material and pack loosely into a dry mason jar (choose a jar that fits your plant matter as snugly as possible)

 

  1. Cover material with high quality oil (organic olive oil works great)

 

  1. Use a small stick or skewer to poke out any air bubbles

 

  1. Put a clean and dry lid on your jar and place in a sunny spot (sunlight is a chemically important component in creating strong Saint John’s wort oil)

 

  1. Let sit for 4-6 weeks and then strain into a clean, dry jar. Use a funnel lined with a fine weave cloth to separate the oil from any plant material. Your oil should be a rich red color. Will keep many years if stored in the refrigerator.

 

The Season of Pleasure

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In the wheel of the year each season has its distinctive gifts, its own character and flavor. There is a time for hermitage and planting, harvesting, seeking, risking, budgeting and even dying. But it’s only in summer that pleasure takes center stage.

Here in the mountains, we are just now tipping into the true growpoint of summer and a particular richness is beginning to take center stage. An invitation to kick back, practice relaxing and let senusousness take center stage.

As Ella Fitzgerald so famously popularized in the song “Summertime”, in summer the livin’ is easy. The intensity of building and seeding wanes, the rush of spring fades out of focus like a sunspot on the water and we’re left with an invitation to simply enjoy. Roses are fat on the vine and the fields are sweet with berries. Trees give ample shade to doze and the nights are warm enough to sleep out underneath the stars.

In summer there is something in our animal bodies that sighs. Here, we will not freeze, we will not starve, we will easily survive. It’s a curious but time-worn fact that when human beings aren’t under the immediate threat of survival, we can soften into a more deeply creative state of mind. Without the need to focus on the basics of our existence we can allow ourselves to shift our awareness into more subtle, expansive and fantastical pursuits. In the summer heat, when it’s all but necessary to take a siesta on the front porch, we are given permission to let ideas flow like wine, to indulge in the tiny pleasures of our soul. The poet Walt Whitman gorgeously embodies the restful cauldron of summertime daydreaming in his poem “Leaves of Grass”— “I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.”

Every day of our lives we are guided by desire, the innate ache to capture certain feelings so we can achieve a juicier, more fulfilled, richly embellished state of mind. Far from distractions, our desires can help us understand exactly what we are craving on a deeper level. Desires tell us where we want to go, and what we want to leave behind. And when we indulge our desires, we can begin to understand why we yearn for them in the first place. In our country of religious over-work, summer is often a nationwide sanction to follow one’s desire. Vacation, beach lounging, full-bellied barbeques, late-night mojitos and midnight romance.

Far from the puritanical work ethic that seems to pervades so much of our contemporary work-culture, the hedonistic aspect of summertime invites us to inhabit a more fluid state of being. A tantric exploration of our inner feelings, and a softer, more liberating gateway to soul.

But the only way in which we can both feel and feed our desires, the only way to truly take pleasure and give ourselves permission to enjoy it all is to s l o w  d o w n. And though the heat of mid-day seems to demand it, the buzz and rush of summer can sometimes make it feel near impossible. This, is when herbs become heroes.

Passionflower at Sunset

>> Passionflower (Passiflora incarnata) <<

Of all my time on earth I don’t think I have ever seen a flower that is more exquisite, exotic, and captivatingly otherworldly as the Passionflower. Passiflora is one of those honest to goodness botanical show-stoppers and once people meet this exquisite flower they tend to fall head over heels in love. A crush of mine once told tell me that if I was any flower, I’d be a passionflower. I was, of course, endlessly flattered. And you can bet that one statement tipped me right over into full-blown amour.

The name of Passionflower comes from early Christian missionaries, who saw the unique arrangement and presentation of the plant’s floral parts as a prime opportunity to illustrate the crucifixion of Christ (otherwise known as “the passion” of Christ). I can’t say this would have been my first thought, but to each their allegory! The name has stuck, however, because there is truly an aspect of this vigorous vine that not only excites passion, but invites the softness of space to find heady pleasure in one’s life.

Native to the southeastern U.S, Passiflora incarnata thrives in warmer climates and can even become weedy in far southern climes like Florida. Other species of passiflora can be found throughout the world with their own local history of use. In US zones 5-9 Passiflora incarnata is relatively easy to grow and cultivate. Once established in the garden, the swirling perennial vine will quickly take over trellises and send shoots out in all directions. It will bloom all summer long and any blossoms left on the vine will grow into deliciously round fruits call maypops, which contain tartly cooling inner piths.

Historically both the roots and above ground parts have all been used as medicine, but contemporary herbal material medicas focus mostly on the leaves and flowers. Passionflower is one of our safest, yet effective, hypnotics (or sedatives). It is my favorite herb to help soften into sleep, especially for those who have a hard time shutting down their brain and tend towards circular thinking. As I’m prone to mental merry go-rounds, I often take passionfower before bedtime. It is so adept at shutting down well-worn circuits, I sometimes find myself on such a different train of thought, I can’t remember what I had previously been ruminating over! Unfortunately, sometimes it takes a while to get off the beta brain wave state all together and ease into sleep.

Passionflower is also a lovely nervine and anxiolytic. It is one of my most treasured allies for agitated anxiety, buzzing minds, busyness and overwhelm. In tea or tincture form, this mandala-like flower is indicated for those who feel trapped in a cycle of repetitive worries and race track thoughts. As such, it can offer sweet release for those who experience headaches from such brain ruts. Passionflower is also an anodyne (pain reliever) and can be used as an ally for menstrual cramps, PMS and bodily tension.

Blooming in mid-summer, Passionflower helps us to slow down and relax in body, spirit and mind. Each open passionflower is an invitation to let go and recline. You can see this illustrated most effectively through the bees. All summer long these winged imbibers crawl into the corolla of the passionflower, coat themselves in pollen, and then let themselves drift into somnolence for a while. It’s not unknown to see a bee taking a mid day nap in the lap of a passionflower.

Passionflower essence square

The first time I met this plant I had a deeply powerful experience that has shaped the way I’ve understood its medicine ever since— and it began with one sleepy bee. I was in herb school at the time and as we were just meeting passionflower on the vine. As we looked over the plant we found a wee bee asleep in the bloom. In the midst of copying down material medica, an enterprising friend of mine attempted to “wake up” the bee, effectively knocking it out of its perch and onto my arm where it promptly stung me, no doubt quite disgruntled at having its beauty sleep disturbed. Thankfully, I am not allergic to bee stings so, though I had quite a large welt, I was bodily fine.

The very next day I drove with some friends down the coast for a weekend at the beach. A short vacation devoted to pleasure. I was walking back from the ocean on our last day when the welt on my arm began to throb, almost like a homing beacon. I slowed and placed my hand over it and suddenly, I just knew— passionflower was close. Following my instincts I ducked between the houses, through several backyards, and wandered towards a small open space of weeds and debris when, suddenly, there it was! Cascading down a wall of shrubbery was a gorgeous passionflower vine, alit with blooms. It was my first time finding passionflower growing wild and I was as giddy as a child in a field of lollypops. I gathered as much as I felt I could and skipped back to the house to tell my friends so we could all admire. Later that day, I got into the car to drive home and felt a curious shift begin to take place inside of me. I was on the cusp of ending a long-term relationship and had been delaying the decision due to a never-ending circuit of worrisome doubt. But sitting next to that passionflower on the long drive home, something inside of me just snapped. The same repetitive thoughts of fear seemed to break open and before I knew it I was bawling my heart out to this magnificent vine, and coming to a realization that it was time to break the cycle. I realized that I needed to leave behind this relationship to follow the true map of my desires. That ceasing this partnership would open me up to accessing more relevant passions, allowing whole new avenues of creativity and self growth. When I got home I made the decision, and I never looked back.

Years later I was sitting with a group of students who elected to make a passionflower flower essence. I wasn’t surprised when, during the attunement process, this was what they picked up on: “Passionflower is a powerful essence for connecting to the deep reservoirs of your creativity and the guiding voice of your passions. Both opening and grounding, passionflower helps us to let go of outside expectations, express our truth and honor the beauty of who we are. A valuable ally for times of self-realization, intuitive expansion, and compassionate beginnings. passionflower encourages us to embrace the power of our vulnerability, the chaos and symmetry of profound growth. Recognizing the wholeness within new beginnings. This exotic bloom can show us just how many possibilities exist within our individual realm.”

 

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Passionflower Sun Tea

One of my absolute favorite ways to imbibe passionflower is to use the distinct alchemy of summertime to create a gentle, relaxing daytime tea.

  1. Collect fresh passionflower blossoms
  2. Float in a glass of water (I use about 1-2 blooms per quart)
  3. Cover with a lid and let jar sit out underneath the full sun for 1-3 hours.
  4. Retrieve sun-warmed jar and uncover. You can leave the flowers in or strain out if you’d like
  5. Sweeten with wildflower honey or a tart home-brewed shrub. Serve over ice for the ultimate in a mellowing brew. Sip, sigh, sit back. Enjoy life.

 

When Nettles Smoke

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I saw the smoke out of the corner of my eye, like a cigarette, pitched low to the ground and still smoldering. I was out alone, sunning myself at my favorite swimming hole, luxuriating in the richness of a hot day in early May. But in a flash I was up, eyes scanning the hillside for an unseen visitor, my brain already leaping to the fear of a small wildfire.

I glanced over… and the smoke disappeared. I looked quizzically across the water and back again. Then, the ghost spiraled into the air once more. And that’s when I saw them. On a small rock curved above the water was a whole gathering of nettles in full bloom. And they were smoking.

Not alit, but on fire in a different kind of way. At the peak of their flower, they were sending soft bursts of pollen into the still air. One after another they steamed and sighed. The sun was low enough that every cloud was caught in relief. Like the fuses from a firecracker, or the satisfied draw of a pipe, they were alive with a kind of seeking, self-satisfied pleasure. And I was stunned.

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We know plants are alive (of course), that they grow and transform, but usually their movement happens in a place below our perception. Only caught by longwinded cameras or glimpsed in stop motion over the course of hours.

But here, before my eyes, I was seeing them move, shivering and releasing in a chorus of luscious hope. More than erotic, it was a display of profoundly indisputable aliveness. And I was mesmerized.

I was watching the kind of intimacy and potency that I know exists, but that normally stays hidden in realms of ridiculous privilege and breathless rarity.

I was watching the world expand.

 

Recently Sarah Thomas of Clarity Stone medicine posted a video on her instagram referring to the Chinese energetics of summer vs spring. It struck me mightily. In spring, she shared, the energy of every being stretches upwards, like the vine reaching towards the sky. In summer, however, we reach the zenith of that sky stretch and from there our job is simply to e x p a n d. Straight into the heaven that is here on earth.

The nettles were as tall as they would get this season, and fully adorned with flowers. Now, they were expanding outwards, past even their leaf tips, to drift downstream and create new life. I was watching the world expand in its physical form, and it was a rich, hazy, and wholly mysterious dance.

As we come close to the first new moon of Gemini, I find myself sinking into the gifts of where we’ve been. May is the month of Taurus, the astrological sign of embodiment, sensuality, physicality and the earthly delights. It marks a time in the wheel of the year when we are invited to come into the lusciousness of life and fill all the corners of our physical being. In between the wood of spring and fire of summer, May is a moment to drop soulfully into the soil of our bodies. The body that came here to experience skinny dipping in secret swimming holes. The body that loves food and music and flowers. The body that is naturally creative and regenerative. The body that is ready to expand.

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So try taking a sip of some nettle medicine.  

Allow yourself to take up space. Develop a daily movement ritual to tap into the pulse of how your body wants to experience itself. Nourish, celebrate, dig in, fan out. Find the things that make your body dizzy with pleasure and do them. Watch the plant world, and let them teach you about the innocent magic of passion, attraction and desire. Let them help you expand, even, beyond our society’s framework of sexuality to see these acts of regeneration for what they are— the sensuously spiritual bedrock of giving, receiving, sharing and creating that defines earthly life.

Let the gorgeousness of you being fully in yourself flow outwards like pollen into the wind’s stream. Because just being who you are, in your exact being, is the power that can cause the whole world to come into fruit.

A Flower Portal

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Every spring is a kind of portal. An opening where absolutely everything has the possibility to change. When what was dormant can become activated in an entirely new way. Every winter I forget something of what it means to be alive, and every spring, in the softness of the mud and rain, I remember.

A portal is something that brings you through, beyond, helping you to move past what was once a boundary and step into the subtle winds of a new threshold. Portals deliver you into a place that has always existed, but that you haven’t yet glimpsed. They open gateways to other worlds, and deeper universes inside of oneself.

In the riotous, hopeful gateway of spring there are pockets of transcendence everywhere you look, but the most powerful portals of all are the ones that open anew every day— the flowers.

As humans we are innately attracted to flowers, we plant them and tend them and get lost in their scent. We eat them and admire them, they cause us to stop in our tracks and lose ourselves in memory, reverie and awe.

Flowers are portals that bring us deeper into this world.

 

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Have you ever tried gazing at a flower until it became a mandala? Until it transformed before your eyes? Until it was no longer an “it” but a being who waved at you, who reached into the wind, who knew something you’ve been aching to remember?

Until you saw it for what it was, a gatekeeper to a reality that you haven’t yet touched. But that you can feel, close by, almost here.

Gaze long enough at a flower and something will happen to you. You’ll enter into a portal of interconnection that feels like true bliss to our human-cloistered hearts and stirs a remembrance of a seed planted long ago.

When we come into relationship with a flower we come into the same rhythm of being that the rest of the living world follows, a rhythm that the still-wild place inside of us aches for intimately. We notice things we never saw before. The ants bravely climbing in the duff. The bees with pollen on their knees. The way the petals on every single flower will curve slightly, differently. Each petal, too, its own being.

We begin to notice the subtlety of our own being as well. Flowers teach us how to cherish the wild growth of our own selves with just as much sanctity.

 

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It is a relief to come back into this knowing. This remembering, of the many worlds inside of this world. And that we are a part of this great, soulful, multiplicity.

Flowers have made me cry. They’ve sung to me, they’ve held me, they’ve taught me. They’ve called to me. Maybe a flower is calling to you too?

Now, I know that every time I am drawn to a flower, there is a reason. That the flower is opening itself as a teacher, and I am the same as the bees: eager, drawn, unknowing, but so open to receive. Over the years I’ve learned how to listen, how to drop away from the worries of the day, and hear what is being shared. And what I receive always brings me into a new understanding of who I am, and what I am a part of here in this world.

Flowers are heralds of that great opening, changing, co-creating we feel inside of ourselves in spring. And they are waving at us (from roadsides and forgotten garden beds and river banks) to come back into our own medicine.

 

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Are you ready to open the portal?

Come join us for Intuitive Plant Medicine. Find the flowers that are speaking to you, and develop the tools to listen. Be guided to begin practicing with Flower Essences and learn how to create them, play with them, and use them in healing and on-the-body treatments.

Registration for the course closes this Friday April 28th, and then we begin as a group on Beltane (May 1st) a traditional holiday of blooming and beginning. Come join our rich circle.

Be sure to read on for more portals into flower medicine, including a video guide to my Top Three Flower Essence for spring !

And remember that all blooming first happens in the unseen, deep within the seed of your beginning. It’s happening, it’s unstoppable. And you have everything you need in order to blossom fully.

 

My Top Three Flower Essences for Spring

When Violets Speak

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I first moved to these mountains in spring. Early spring, when things are still raw with beginning. It felt fitting. I had left behind my entire life in New York City— my relationship, my community and career— to start anew in Appalachia. I brought only what would fit into my car, leaving space for the bigness of what I was carrying, the dream of what life could possibly be like moving forward: To live in daily communion with the natural world, to come into the vividness of my being, to open up the doors of self-initiation that had only been hinted at previously.

I knew something important was aching to unfold, and that stepping out into the great unknown, on my own, was important. And so I did. I started those first lonely weeks without a single piece of furniture or any connections in town. It was exhilarating and terrifying, and some days I wondered how I would handle the bigness of it all.

I was still sleeping on a pallet on the floor of my room when the violets arrived. It started with a few small handfuls of violets, scattered here and there, like tiny daubs of lavender amongst the winter-flattened grass. And then one morning I awoke and the entire hillside was alive with grape and hyacinth. Stretching for almost an acre, I was living amongst a sea of Viola. It was spectacular, and often stirred me to tears. When I looked at them I had the distinct feeling that I too was being seen. 

I didn’t know it then, but this was one of my first initiations into Intuitive Plant Medicine.

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Like most denizens of mainstream culture, I grew up seeing violets but never really seeing them. Suddenly, at this pivotal moment in my life it was as if I was experiencing violets for the very first time— and I was drinking it in. I munched on the flowers and leaves in every salad. I made violet tea (a gorgeous amethyst-hued brew). I candied the flowers and tried my hand at violet syrup. I sat amongst them, drew them, spoke to them. I walked past them and felt them reach out to me.

I had a hard time communicating what I was experiencing but it often brought me to tears. They were healing me. I was in herb school at the time, learning the ins and outs of plant constituents, but there was something lacking from all the violet material medicas I read through. It didn’t capture the sunlit spectrum of what I was experiencing. There was something more, something singing. I could hear it in a place before words.

So I stepped out of the textbook knowing and into my direct experience and I was given something absolutely life changing, a shift in the deepest well of my being. I began working directly with Violet and everything I had been hoping to embody, approach, and initiate through my move to Appalachia came to fruition.

A solidness in my sense of self. A slow removal from the pattern of people pleasing that had defined my life before. An ease in my aloneness, when once there was fear of disappointing others. It turned the tired stereotype of the shy violet on its head, so I could understand (finally) that my long-begrudged inwardness and empathy was a powerful strength indeed. I saw my unique sensitivity for what it is— a gift.

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I began to experience myself, and the world, in ways I had never accessed before. And I realized that this was the kind of medicine I came to the mountains to practice. The kind of medicine that brings you to your knees in profundity, the kind of medicine that helps you activate the medicine of your own being. This was Intuitive Plant Medicine, and this was what I was here to learn, teach and share.

Since that time I have had violets come up again and again in my practice, and I am always amazed by how it continues to appear in people’s lives during such similar transitions and big moments of finding one’s medicine.

This kind of direct, multidimensional experience of healing is what Intuitive Plant Medicine truly is. And this is what we (the plants and myself) are so exited to be sharing with you in the new Intuitive Plant Medicine online course.

Packed into this eight week online experience is a deep wealth of such aha moments. Big gateways of inner-growth, self-understanding and truly luminous connections to the plant realm. If you have been waiting for the time to ignite your own inner knowing and profound direct relationship with plants, come join us!

Registration closes on April 28th and we begin as a group shortly thereafter on May 1st. See you in the field of dreams!

<< Come Learn more about the course >>

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>> The Medicine of Violets <<

Viola spp.

As a physical medicine, violets are rich indeed. Both violet leaves and flowers are edible, and are some of my favorite additions to early spring salads. The heart-shaped leaves are highly nutritive, subtly flavored, and a wonderful source of Vitamins A and C. They are also quite mucilaginous. Herbs that have mucilage are deeply soothing for our stomachs and internal mucosa, helping to ease inflamed throats and impaired digestion. Mucilage is also chock full of soluble fiber, so it can be helpful in easing constipation, feeding our beneficial digestive flora, and lowering cholesterol levels. The mucilage of violet leaves can be a lovely addition to thicken soups or a batch of pesto. I like to take a walk-about every spring morning and gather a small handful of wild greens like chickweed (Stellaria media), dandelion (Taraxacum officinalis) and violets to have with my morning eggs.

Violet flowers and leaves are considered to be a blood purifier, or alterative, and are often used as food medicine in spring cleanses. High in both Rutin and Vitamin C, the leaves help to strengthen the blood vessels, lessening varicose veins and the tendency to bruise easily (which can be particularly helpful if you like to ramble in the springtime woods). In clinical trials violets have been shown to be a rich in antioxidants (just look at the color! of course they are!), as well as anti-inflammatory and blood thinning compounds.

The Viola genus has around 550 species, including Johnny jump ups, hearts ease and pansies. Many violet species are used similarly to our familiar lawn-native, Viola sororia, but there are always differences between plants, and some woodland species are endangered so always use your head, guidebook and heart when harvesting. Violet leaves also have some toxic look a-likes so make sure to harvest when the plant is in bloom if you are in any doubt of your ID.

Violets actually have two different flowers. The characteristic purple flower we notice in spring, and a hidden white-blanched bud that flowers just underneath the surface of the soil later in the year. The common above-ground flower is what we use as food and medicine.

 

Wid violets

As a flower essence, Violet opens a space of deep self-acceptance, contentment, and individual wellbeing. Calming, steadying and maternal, the flower helps you to feel comfortable and supportive of yourself as an individual. Letting go of negative attachments and patterns of relating (especially to oneself). Violet helps us to foster good connections that come from a deep recognition of self-importance. It is often helpful during breakups, major heart transitions, or in times of self-exploration. The essence can be indicated for those who tend towards shyness and introversion as well as those who would do well to spend more time in quiet reflection and reverence of their lives.

Violet helps us to appreciate stillness— mindful observation, moments of silence, and the important joy of just being. It can expand your abilities as a listener, both to yourself as well as to others, and open you to a powerful place of acceptance. Violet encourages a commitment to be warm and generous towards oneself, it can help separate the negative feelings of loneliness from the incredible gift of alone-ness. It is sometimes within such still spaces that we recognize just how joyful it is to be ourselves, a being in springtime.

 

Visit our Violet flower essence in the shop
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Opening Earth Intuition

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At some point growing up I adopted the belief that to be spiritual was to be un-intellectual. That intuition, even though it sounded lovely, wasn’t grounded or practical. And even though I was always a sensitive and dreamy kid, at a young age I was set to prove that I too could be smart, rational, based in physical reality, and above all, “realistic.”

And so it wasn’t until I was in my early twenties that I started to believe in faeries. It wasn’t until I become an adult that I started talking to trees in earnest. It wasn’t until I experienced chronic illness and understood, for the first time, that I existed on many levels (and that healing, true healing, happened on every single one of those levels) that I accessed a layer of magic within the world that is real, tangible. It wasn’t until this point in my life that I realized— the world, this world that I live in, is animated by sentience and consciousness. And so anything is possible.

I learned how to eat flowers in the spring. I unlearned my incredulous Northeastern disbelief, and lost myself in a forest of leaves.

And I found the piece I had always been missing: that to be spiritual is not to be able to connect to some far flung star. It is to become a part of the earth once more. That intuition doesn’t exist in the ethereal heights, but down in soil, at the roots, ankle deep in the ocean at the source of the spring.

When I finally connected to my own earth intuition, the knowing that lives in my connection to the living world, untold doors began to open before me. And I stopped looking for the portal to understanding my life path because, suddenly, it was right before me.

Over my years of teaching and seeing clients I’ve connected with so many folks who have a similar ache, a yearning to re-open the gateways of their own intuition and reconnect to the magic of living right here on earth.

And so I decided to create a free video series to help you open the gate.

Join me for the Opening Earth Intuition mini-course!

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Learn how to harness the gifts of your own intuitive abilities and become receptive to the vibrant guidance of the natural world. Throughout the course I’ll be offering specific tips, tricks and exercises, with a whole lot of personal stories and inspiration along the way.

I’m excited to connect with you there!

(Back to regularly scheduled content soon!)

Awakenings can be Gentle

a·wak·en·ing
Coming into awareness, a shift in consciousness, appreciating previously unseen aspects of reality, enlightenment.

In our culture we have an enduring belief that awakenings, in order to be profound, must be hard won. That awakenings always tangle with struggle. That they will be dramatic, epiphanic, and arrive like a bolt of lightning. And while it’s true that struggle can lead to great revelation, there are as many paths to these big a-ha moments as mice trails in a large wood. Awakenings can also be subtle, incremental.

Awakenings can come quiet as a whale to the surface of the water, immense and gentle, breathing once before slipping back under the radar. Awakenings are not just the orchestral finale, where every trumpet comes on board. Awakenings can be an oboe floating on a single note. And they are happening, as sure as birdsong, within you every day.

Like many places in the country this year, we’ve had an odd spring. Pear trees blooming in February. Daffodils budding long before the winter coats were put away. The cherry trees, surprising me, with one early bloom at a time. Then, this past week, we got snow. An overnight dusting that curled the daffodils into themselves and quieted the rising tulips, dimming the newfound green. Every spring there is something in me that yearns for a more solid marker of winter’s completion. A fanfare in colors of quince and forsythia. Great banners like trumpets proclaiming, Spring is here! But the more I learn to pay attention, the more I see that spring’s awakening is ever subtle.

It is hard, and confusing, to see spring come and then, seemingly, go. But this is simply the nature of awakenings. They surface, they disappear, they are gentle in their coming. And when we learn how to relish these subtle awakenings, we open a gateway to understanding how revelation truly works.

I first heard the world “revelation” broken down by Bill Plotkin in his book Soulcraft. By definition, a revelation means to “re-veil” once more. It is a numinous moment glimpsed, an awakening (for an hour, a day, a week) that shoots lightning through our veins, and it is also the moment we slip back into somnolence once more. We all bemoan these moments of falling back into what was, because they can feel like such a step backwards. In the midst of a revelation we are so sure that this luminous state of knowing and inner-balance will surely last forever! But the truth is that these moments of re-veiling, falling back asleep, are the very essence of what makes a revelation a revelation.

With any true revelation the path will, at some point, be obscured once more.

In the morning sometimes I wake up briefly at dawn. Just long enough to see the sun streaming through my window to warm the hardwood floor. And then I fall back asleep. And, truth be told, it is the most precious part of my day. Because something happens in that brief moment that I have awakened, a subtle exchange. I receive something that will never be given back. And when I fall back into sleep I bring it with me, to puzzle, to wonder at, to explore. Insight streams in through the windows of my mind, in small wisps of dreams, one ray at a time. And I rest knowing I will awaken, subtly changed, in due time. The revelation was both the moment of awakening and the time spent slumbering, and both are transformational.

So embrace the idea this spring that your own awakening could come in such gentle tones. That it could be as subtle and humble as the tiny map of bittercress beneath one’s feet. Or as slow as the cup of a tulip opening to the sun. That it may be as incremental as the tiny centimeters of chickweed growing in infinitesimal stretches across the field. That maybe, you don’t have to do anything at all. But naturally awaken in moments of light, and instead of resenting it, relish the motion of falling back asleep once more.

Because you do not need to worry about awakenings. They are unstoppable. Sleep is a natural part of our cycles, we need it to keep being human, but we will always wake up. No matter how tired we are or how much comes in that seems to keep us under, we awaken. As Pablo Nerudo writes, “you can cut all the flowers but you cannot stop spring from coming.”

So worry less. Relish the morning spent sleeping in. Trust that the revelation is burgeoning. And that you are in, fact, awakening right now. You are like this spring. Tiny buds blossoming before the eye can even tell. It is happening, it is coming. And it can be gentle.

Something Small & Bright

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Last week I took a legitimate vacation. An honest to goodness, leave-the-computer-at-home and pack a sun hat, vacation. Those just don’t happen all that often for me, I can probably count on one hand the amount of real vacations I’ve taken in the past decade. But something inside was tugging like a sailboat in wind to be cut free so I loaded up my pack basket with my camping gear, weighed my car down with snacks, and headed to the wilds of Florida for a week.

I’ve been in a love affair with Florida for years. An entanglement that never fails to set my heart aching whenever I think upon that pastel stretch of earth whose very name, the land of flowers, is a droplet of poetry. Florida, wild Florida, is a dreamscape in hues of tropic— hibiscus, emerald and aquamarine. There are roadside thickets full of tangerines and crystal clear springs so deep, blue and clean that they’ve been likened to the eye of an angel. Upwellings of water straight from the heart of the earth that form entire rivers, clear as glass and warmed to a perpetual 72 degrees.

Florida itself is something small, and infinitesimally bright. A disappearing peninsula gifted from the sea, submerged, revealed, shaped and changed countless times over the eons by the touch of ocean waves. What we know of as Florida is just a tiny flicker in the monument of time. A coastline that will always return, sooner or later, to the sea. It is a place of microhabitats, hammocks filled with dwarf-sized trees, middens made from shell fragments, and springs that glitter in the shards of a thousand crystals.

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I went to Florida to remember, in blessed relief, what I truly am – something small and infinitesimally bright. And it was a kind of bliss. To strip down my thoughts to simple, light-filled things. Like how far I wanted to paddle for the day or when to feed the fire with palmetto fronds. Noticing how much closer to the horizon the north star is this far south, the tiny diamonds of the Pleiades. Small things, like the whole constellation of seeds in a single wild tangerine. Or the tiny bits of Spanish moss the cormorants carry, beak by beak, back to their collective rookeries.

I gathered seashells, one at a time, and at night I gazed up at the sky, remembering that there are more stars in the universe than grains of sand on all the beaches of this earth. Before sleep I found myself repeating, I am cozy inside this world. And every morning I woke up, clear as quartz.

When we become small, when we acknowledge that we always have been, a truly incredible thing begins to happen. We can allow ourselves to be cared for. We remember that to be on this earth is to live in a cradle of nourishment. And Florida, land of flowering abundance, is a place that shows you how very deeply we can be cared for when we cherish our minuteness.

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The Calusa, the native people who built a complex and enduring civilization across Southwestern Florida, lived inside this knowing. The Calusa are unique among the large civilizations of native North and South America in that their vast society was never sustained by agriculture, but by the sheer bounty of the ocean. With nets and boats and vast estuaries, they lived solely off the shoals of the sea. The water teemed with such life there was no need to spend much time cultivating fields of sunflower, corn or squash. They ate heartily, with their hands, from what was offered. Which was, in short, everything.

It is a luxury that is hard to imagine these days, but it is also not a luxury at all. It is what it means to relish the seed of one’s being, to embrace one’s smallness in the wider orchard of this world.

Our perceived bigness in this time of human history is a burden that ripples out devastation in its wake. A cultural ethos of primacy and grandiosity that is a heavy weight indeed. So what a relief it was, for a week, to put aside being anything but tiny, being anything but me. To let go of the feeling like I must always be wide enough to hold all the responsibilities of the world. As if it were up to me to change the unchangeable, to shift the tides.

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Like many indigenous peoples, the Calusa believed in reincarnation, but their hue of rebirth looks very different than what has become our common vision. For the Calusa, reincarnation began with being human. And instead of getting larger, wider, and more expansive with each go around, our selves, instead, got smaller. Once you shed the skein of being human you could become a jaguar, an alligator, a deer. From there you might pick through the marsh as a heron, run under the waves as a pinfish and finally, alight upon the world as a mosquito, the ever-present wetland companion that is known to those who live here as swamp angels. Until, one day, you became so small and so bright you simply disappeared into the vast light.

There is something so liberating about this to me. Instead of the pressure to become larger, what if we are actually here to get smaller?

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This one idea has helped me so much upon my return. To let go of multitasking, the impetus to be always expanding my attention out to what will be, what might be, what I should make happen. Instead, since I’ve come back, I’ve let my attention be small and bright. Alighting only on the task at hand, moving like an egret, one foot at a time, through the pond of my day.

I let go of big ambitions, the need to be grandiose or successful or even seen. The endless scrolling and complexity. I let it be simple. I let it be… just me.

So if you are feeling overwhelmed, join me in this place of the small and bright. Give yourself permission to take on tiny tasks, one at a time. Go outside to feel the sun on your face and remember how deeply you are cared for.

It is a blessing to be a grain of sand with you here in this wide and wondrous world.

 

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