Herbis Orbis

Seems like all I really was doing was waiting for love

I'm sitting on the floor in San Jose Airport, having just finished a week at my school's annual herbal seminar. This was my third and final one, and it was a stressful week of monitored herbal clinic and the usual group dynamics psychodrama exacerbated by the pressure to perform. Gratefully, I had friends around me to whom I could show my own weaknesses and for whom I hope I provided support in kind.

On the way to the airport I began a sort of free-association whine with my long-suffering buddy Pam about all my going-away angst -- a feeling of incompleteness, naive expectations that weren't met, my own foolish illusions, what in the world the future might hold, anticipating missing my friends, and wondering if I'd ever be back to this beautiful place.

"You're saying pretty much all the same things you said when we left for the airport last year," Pam pointed out. "You're pretty much in exactly the same place."

Oh fer Christ's sake. Let's hear it for progress!

I'm still processing a lot about this week, which in effect was the culmination of about three years of study at East West. But I do want to share with you the following, which is an e-mail I sent my fellow herbalist friend Tom about what happened the day I landed in California. I think it sums up the whole experience.

-----------------------------

Hey love --

Got in this afternoon and met up with my girls. We were waiting for the last of our party and decided to go into Santa Cruz to hang out. My friend Pam had a stuffy head and lingering cough from a bug she got three weeks ago. I said "Maybe you need some Minor Bupleurum" and we thought we could stop in at Michael's clinic to buy a bottle.

I called him to alert him we might come in. He told us to come on by and sit in on him doing an intake. A chance to watch the master in action -- Hurrah!

But then his 3 p.m. canceled. So he decided to make my friend the intake and I became the student clinician. "Fine, I can handle this," I thought, mostly because I had no choice.

So he did the intake and asked a few questions, then did some acupuncture on her. How awesome it was for me to know some of the points by heart! (They were easy ones though.)

Then he had to do a phone intake and left me to come up with assessment and treatment principle.

I was a mess at first but finally came up with Six Gentlemen plus magnolia bud, platycodon and some damp-draining herbs. Pam gave fine suggestions from the slab, stuck with needles as she was and without the benefit of a book to boot -- sign of a fine herbalist.

Michael came back in after 30 min or so and asked what my result was. I started to report my assessment: "Lung Qi deficiency, Spleen Qi deficiency with damp, corroborated by pulse and tongue..."...

He said, "No, you have to state your assessment in terms of her complaints, not what you THINK her TCM assessment is. It has to be 'sinus congestion due to...' or 'rundown energy due to...' etc." OK, so I tried again. He asked why I chose these patterns. I began to explain my proposed etiology, knowing her previous history of illness.

He interrupted me again and said, "Did you look in the books?" I said "Yes, but they didn't have the same patterns so I went on my own." Again I began to tell him my ideas about how she came to manifest these symptoms while he looked in the books under related patterns, which turned up the EXACT SAME ASSESSMENT as my original one.

"Lung Qi deficiency, Spleen Qi deficiency --" he began.

So I looked up at him and I said impatiently, "But Michael, I just SAID that!"

And his face fell and he said "I'm just trying to show you how to use the books; you'll need them one day, you know."

Not wanting to waste any more time on my impertinence, he asked me my proposed formula and I told him... he said it was perfect and what he really wanted to hear was that I'd choose to use magnolia bud in there somewhere. He un-stuck Pam and sent us off to the pharmacy to mix up powder.

My tail was between my legs as I slunk out of the treatment room.

After he finished with his next client he came out to the waiting room where we were gathered to say thank you and goodbye. He saw the pained look on my face and said:

"You did a great job. You're ready. But stop being so defensive. You don't have to be right all the time. It stands in the way of your learning. You are a student now and you should enjoy this time of your life."

Sound familiar, Tom?

xoxo

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Fast forward 10 days later to today.

Feeling sad and disconnected (as well as empowered, oddly) when I got to the airport, I realized that I'd left my still-hot cappuccino at the curbside check-in when I was already halfway through the TSA line. Geez -- what else could go wrong? I threw my head back and looked at the ceiling in exasperation when some very comforting recognizable muzak came on. Huh.

A few minutes later at the newsagents I looked for the mindless comfort of non-herbal, non-medical tabloid dreck. Lugging my carry-ons, I ambled slowly to the right, scanning all the celebrity 'news' headlines I'd missed in my week of media deprivation. Then came summer hemlines, outdoor entertaining, Bob Dylan on the cover of Rolling Stone.

Before I knew it I was at paperbacks and a hefty tome jumped out at me: "The Rainbow" by D.H. Lawrence -- one of my favorite books in college and one whose passages I remembered spontaneously when I met Michael Tierra and was reminded of why I'm on this path at all.

I bought "The Rainbow." I'm going to re-read it. It's my second copy, about half the size and a quarter of the weight of the copy I bought in college almost 15 years ago. I don't think it's any accident that the Universe sends you your favorite music and literature in swift succession just when you're feeling disappointed and free-falling in a small California airport.

No need to be afraid, Ursula Brangwen. It's real love. It's real.             

How many goddesses can you find in this post?

Last night in Experiential Anatomy class, a friend I hadn't seen in years said she enjoyed my blog.

Between two schools, two nights of classes per week and two jobs, I'd almost forgotten I had a blog! So here are some short(ish) updates:

Full Circle

The friend I mention above, Beatrice, was there from the moment I set foot on this path of studying herbalism. We spent many hours in class together, camping, driving, talking, eating in those days, and she showed me much generosity, both material and intellectual.

I can still remember one night when we sat in her van outside my apartment after school one day. I was trying to figure out where I was going with my future career, hopefully, in herbalism. I said, "I want to do something in herbalism that no one's ever done before! I don't know what it is, but it has to be different."

Beatrice sighed. "Oh, that's just your ego talking. When you get older you won't be so motivated by that."

I tell you, that moment has stuck with me all these years. Any time I feel the urge to be 'different' coming from some superficial ego place, I hear those words. It's made me a better student, a better herbalist, and hopefully, a better teacher in those rare instances when I might have some wisdom to impart to others.

She finished her course of study at our school before me, and went on to develop her career. When my school decided to offer an Asian bodywork program, she decided to go for it and expand her already formidable healing toolbox. How poetic it is now that she should return just as my long butt-in-seat academic journey nears its end. It seems a very auspicious omen indeed.

Hawaii and the 'goddess'

Lugh and I went on our (so far) annual trip to Hawaii last month. It was an odd sojourn, partly because it was so uncharacteristically cold (low 70s) on Oahu. Sweater weather, really, especially at night. I'd known this was going to be a working trip before going, and that I'd likely be stuck in the hotel most of the time, but I'd have appreciated at least the option of going out and snorkeling!

The one day we really had a chance to get any swimming in, it was still cool and windy. The waves at Waimanalo beach were wild. After eating pineapple and watermelon on the sand with my friends, I stripped down to my swimsuit and made my gradual entry into the water. My friend WaiWai appeared at my side.

We talked for awhile as we watched the waves trounce other swimmers. I'm no swimmer; she, on the other hand, was on the swim team in school. We are both Aquarians -- the air sign that carries the water of enlightenment. "That's the thing," I said. "We want to be able to carry the water and control how it flows. But we aren't comfortable being swept away by it." Of course in this sense I meant water in its broader aspect as the symbol for those often uncontrollable tides of emotion and dream. I think WaiWai agreed.

She taught me to dive under the large waves that day, flattening myself to the sand as the wave rolled over me. A useful tool indeed, in and out of the water.

We also talked about the old Hawaiian man who gave her her Hawaiian name. She told me he used to rub aloe on her shoulders, telling her how good it was for her skin. I asked if perhaps he didn't also just want to touch her. She said it wasn't unlikely.

"You know what the Sanskrit is for aloe, don't you?" I asked her. She didn't. "It's kumari," I said. "Kumari means 'goddess.'" It gave a new angle to her experience. "I have a big aloe in a pot on my doorstep," she said. "Maybe you are getting this piece of information about aloe so you can connect with it and the divine feminine more," I offered.

I may have been only half right.

That evening we were scheduled to go to a concert. It had been an overcast day at the beach and I was slathered with 70-SPF sunscreen. But after a few hours of resting in my hotel room, I started to get an itchy heat rash (along with a runny nose, headache and sore throat... Wind Damp invasion alternating between Hot and Cold). I asked WaiWai to bring me a few stalks of the 'goddess' when she picked me up for the concert. I put them in the mini-fridge and we departed for the show. Returning late from the concert feeling awful and exhausted, I went straight to bed.

The next morning I slit one cool aloe stalk down the middle, giving thanks. I told Lugh about my conversation with WaiWai as he drew the demulcent side of the plant over my shoulder, back, chest and face. It seemed a holy experience somehow.

"Wow, I wish you could see this," he said, as he smoothed the plant over my back. "The red bumps are going down instantly!" I'm convinced now that the best way to use the 'goddess' plant is to have it applied by a man who thinks you are a goddess, as well!

All Work and No Play Make Herbis Orbis a Very Dull (insert Homer Simpson drooling sound here)

I'm finished with the tedium and rigors of (acupressure) point location class, but that has been replaced by the aforementioned anatomy class. Which, so far, isn't anywhere near as maddening, though the tests are still challenging. This is joined by a shiatsu class and weekly 'client' intakes.

Meanwhile, I've got my big East West seminar experience coming up in a few short weeks, for which I am woefully unprepared. Basically we'll have three days of monitored clinic 'testing' where we interview, assess and formulate herbal preparations for various patients. Having fallen behind on other deadlines for work for the school, I will not be able to cram much studying in before I find myself amidst the California redwoods once more, feeling I don't know my own butt from a hole in the ground.

"But haven't you been working in clinic for the past several months?" you may ask. Well, yes, but not with Chinese herbs or patents, which I'll need to know. Suffice it to say, I'm going to rely on the books I'll bring and hope for a talented clinic partner.

And if I don't 'pass' -- well, there's always next year.

Or clown school.

Circling Beltaine

Unbelievably, I'm staring right into the wild eyes of Mayday again, which this year I will spend with my group here in the Midwest. Sometimes I wonder if anything could top the gentle magic of my Beltaine spent last year in the redwood forest, but I have no doubt it will be wonderful in its own way. It always is.

Beltaine is that incredible time of wild blooming desire -- desire on all levels. As I approach May in a much more subdued, introspective way this year, I wonder if I am just so full of desires for all aspects of my life that I'm having trouble focusing; or if the flowers and fruits of last year's desires have depleted and exhausted me so much that I need to lie fallow for a year.

We shall see what blessings the season brings. I submit to the tide, but I acknowledge that this time around, I am not bending to the wild hunt; I am Persephone emerging from my mysterious, dark time with Hades, rushing reborn into the strong, garlanded arms of a goddess who loves me even so.

Finding an herbal ally, daemon and/or genius

A couple of weeks ago, this video of Eat, Pray, Love author Elizabeth Gilbert was making its rounds on Twitter. In it, Gilbert discusses the idea of how the creativity of artists was perceived in the world of classical antiquity.

In short, artists didn't take all the credit for creating some incredible piece of work; transcendent artistic expressions were believed to be the fruit of a collaboration between the human artist and his or her assigned supernatural helper spirit, a daemon (as it was called by the ancient Greeks), or genius (as it was called by the Romans).

Gilbert says of the ancient Greeks and Romans,

People did not happen to believe that creativity came from human beings back then. People believed that creativity was a divine attendant spirit who came to human beings from some distant and unknowable source, for distant and unknowable reasons.

By the time the Renaissance rolled around -- regarded as the rebirth of the art and spirit of classical antiquity, ironically -- the human being was placed at the center of the universe and artists themselves became known as 'geniuses', signaling a shift toward the belief that creativity was indeed a singularly human phenomenon.

I shared this video with my friend @theogeer of Autumn Twilight. I mentioned that I had felt rushed in clinic the previous evening and complained that I wasn't quite sure I had adequately helped my new client. I joked that I sure could have used the aid of an 'herbal genius.'

Theo said:

I wonder about that idea of an herbal genius. Lots of practitioners, particularly of native or isolated traditions have a plant ally of some sort. Carlos Casteneda famously detailed the development of his alliance with peyote, and the Curanderos and Brujos of Mexico and Central America have a well known alliance with mint, which they use for everything. Maybe what you need is to find a plant ally to guide you in your work?

Now, when you live with one foot in the magickal world as Theo and I do, synchronicities are not only frequent but also consciousness-shifting. Those few lines of his above focused my mind on the events of the previous night at the clinic:

I was concluding a follow-up appointment when my teacher and herb clinic director, Althea Northage-Orr, popped her head in the room and politely asked me to hurry up; an unscheduled client decided to come at the last minute and she wanted me to take the case. I wrapped up my intake and ran to the pharmacy to tweak my follow-up client's herbal formula.

His formula originally contained white peony root, also known in Traditional Chinese Medicine as bai shao. I took the bottle of tincture down from the shelf. It had about a finger-width left at the bottom. I looked at the golden liquid and said to it (silently): "Nope. A woman is going to come in today who will need you." I put the bottle back on the shelf and subbed another Yin-building tonic into this man's formula.

Sure enough, my next case was a lovely woman dealing with exhaustion and family hardships at just the time she was beginning menopause, among other complaints. The white peony, which I had always considered a very feminine, softening, building herb, was among the medicinals indicated for her symptoms. I was happy to drain the last of the bai shao into her formula and mentioned it specifically when I tried to explain to her what my treatment principle was and why I had chosen some of the herbs that she would be taking.

That night I dreamed that I was drinking tea out of a wide bowl with a strainer pressed to the bottom of it to keep the tea leaves from floating to the surface. When I had finished the tea, I removed the strainer to discard the marc (used-up plant matter) and was delighted to find that the bottom of the bowl was covered with large white flowers, fresh and plump as if they had just been cut from the plant.

I hadn't thought of my little moment in the pharmacy with the white peony tincture or the dream at all, until Theo's question kicked my memory into gear.

White peony is now a definite herbal 'genius' of mine.

Althea (whose special plant ally is mugwort, not marshmallow, by the way), incorporates workings with plant devas into our education to help attune us to the spiritual energies of plants. In this way I've had wonderful experiences sitting in her garden with live plants which made them special 'friends' -- namely, skullcap (Scutellaria lateriflora), elder (Sambucus nigra) and St. John's wort (Hypericum perforatum). But I'd never had quite the same experience of communication between myself and a plant like I had with white peony.

Another teacher of mine, Michael Tierra, has mentioned several times on his blog that herbalists often happen to be artists as well. Being both myself, and knowing many herbal healers including Michael who fit the artist bill as well, I wholeheartedly agree. A paragraph in one of Michael's recent posts really resonated with me:

No matter how deeply one studies and enters into the complexity of healing, plant biochemistry and so on..., nevertheless there is always place for the irrational and the subjective. The poet's perspective of life, the musician's sense of harmony, the artist's eye of proportion and relationships - these are all shared by healers, especially the herbal healer who works with plants, which are the pure creative expression of nature and the healing process.

I challenge anyone to express it more brilliantly than that!

Herbalits are artists and therefore should create a special place in their practice for the help of their own little attendant plant spirit. Perhaps like animal totems these may change and cycle back and forth over time, but the idea of a divinely assigned plant ally, while by no means new, can really help an herbalist to co-create with the ultimate Divine source of healing.

Since my experience with white peony, I've been keeping my intuition a little more open and trying to allow it to confirm or be confirmed by my usual bookish nature when it comes to choosing herbs for a formula. I pay attention to herbs I come across during the day, in the form of pictures or live plants or dreams, and more often than not these herbs step forward when I review a client's case. Sometimes their presence is specifically indicated for a certain condition; other times they help me decide when I am on the fence about two herbs that do very similar things.

I have to say, after only a short time with this approach, the results and the experiences I have had with clients have been very gratifying. I have felt a greater confidence in my formula selections -- a shared confidence greater than the reassurance I have gotten from books and research only. I keep the awareness of gentle, beautiful bai shao close by; she takes the edge off performance pressure and ego, allowing me (so far!) to be a more present and compassionate practitioner. I am as grateful for this blessing and gift as I am for my human teachers.

If you have a special herbal daemon or genius, I'd love to hear about it and how you came to know it was your ally in the comments section!

Where the Wild Things Are (or, When Things Go Pleasantly Against Your Expectations)

A peridot-colored May froggie near one of the water gardens.

I spent last weekend at Ima’s farm, a welcome respite from the city and work. I’d been having a hard time getting back into my routine headspace after returning from my wonderful trip to California (adult summer camp, as I described it to my friend and teacher Ben), and the idea of going deep into the somewhat familiar Midwestern woods and walking, singing, writing alone – seemed just what the doctor ordered.  Ima was hosting the first-year herb students’ inaugural trip to her farm.

But we third-year kids know our joe pye from our boneset, our blackberry from our red raspberry – so I figured we could goof off all weekend and maybe get away with a little light weeding.

Star Farmer and I arrived to find the campground full. (Herb students and massage students on the same weekend? We hadn’t had such a big group in years!) We went up to a spot we used to pitch our tents last year and found the mosquitoes hungry. Even worse – my barely used tent, a lone exhibit of rare evidence that I do sometimes make astonishingly poor investments, would not go up. (It is supported by inflatable rods. To inflate it I must labor away at a foot pump made in China. It is only good in theory. Like some kind of fickle performing animal, it only sets up for my husband. It is ridiculous. It is useless. Verily I say to thee, stick to traditional pole tents.)

In a show of solidarity (and maybe because he, too, had had enough of the mosquitoes), Star set his sleeping quarters up along with mine in the big upper room of Avalon Hall, an all-purpose building at the front of Ima’s land.

Ah, but what disappointment can’t be cured by good food and good spirits? We went out for dinner, anticipating the glorious tangy, mahogany, crispy-skinned duck at a restaurant in the nearest town, overpriced and ambitious in its culinary endeavors but boasting the most decent wine list for miles.

No duck. They didn’t even have the wine we enjoyed so much last time.

The next morning my irrepressible Ima showed up as I waited for a campstove frittata to set, and for my headache to go away. By now we had a small cadre of exactly five third-year students.

“Great, you guys can help me plant while I show the new students around!” Ima chirped, looking beautiful, sparkling, even. Apparently there were some several hundred seedlings waiting to go into the ground.

“You can be in charge of the planting,” she said to me.

Yikes.

(Keep reading)

Beltaine 2008: Mora et Amor

Mora: Latin for "delay" or "linger"

Amor: also Latin, "love"

A Beltaine reveler amongst the forget-me-nots 

I type now in the last minutes before midnight on the eve of Beltaine, from a cabin in the redwood forest above Santa Cruz, CA, where I am attending the annual East West School of Planetary Herbology seminar. I have looked forward to this week all year, and now I find myself bewildered and saddened to know that it is quickly coming to an end. Today in particular was unforgettable and awe-inspiring. We hiked into a beautiful nature preserve to meet new plants, each one more beautiful and unique than the last, led by our guide on hilly, sandy, winding trails, under the trees’ gracefully arching branches. Finally the already enchanting setting gave way to unbridled fairy tale measure, and we were suddenly surrounded on all sides by endless waves of violet-blue lupine in an open, sun-drenched meadow.

I spent almost all four hours of my flight here writing out a Beltaine essay by hand, full of my philosophy of flowers and their special significance on this particular holiday, notes about the alchemical marriage between the Red King and the White Queen, the softening and blooming of the earth and the strengthening of the sun… etcetera.

But I’m not going to use any of that. You can read a bit about flowers and ritual in last year’s Beltaine post, and search for and find any of the plentiful and excellent content on the Internet about Beltaine folklore.

Instead, I’d like to talk about how Beltaine in its unique position on the calendar symbolizes mora et amor – suspension and desire.

Like its crossquarter partner Samhain on the Celtic wheel of the year, Beltaine is a point of no-time and no-space; a liminal place belonging to no temporal or geographic realm. One way of looking at Beltaine is that the year has one foot in youth and the other in adulthood. Not coincidentally, it’s exactly how I feel now, having been absolved of all my usual obligations except to get to class on time and soak up information like a sponge. Despite the academic direction of this gathering, my focus and concentration easily evaporate into dreaminess and disconnection here, where I am as likely to have a conversation with a flower or a caterpillar or a fawn as I am to have with one of my fellow students. As they say of Samhain, Beltaine represents a time when the veils between the worlds are thin.

So what does one do in no-time and no-space?

Pause. Take a long pause and pay attention. In my opinion, there may be no better time to be still than on Beltaine Eve, respectfully stopping to drink in the delicate and earnest beauty of the young goddess under the guise of the Earth. It is now that we see her in her early summer lingerie -- the frilly white and pink blossoms clinging to the still-visible sinuous forms of the trees; it is at this time that we are enveloped in her very first perfumes, coming sweet and clean from the ruffled lily of the valley at our feet or the heady romantic lilac brushing our shoulders.

The maiden goddess puts on this ravishingly lovely display in response to, and for, her consort, the god –- who, under the guise of the Sun, awakens her and draws near. This is the great, eternal romance, the never-ending dance of opposites: female and male, dark and light, moist and dry, still and moving, tame and wild, familiar and foreign, solid and etheric, yin and yang.

All my life I have felt my senses filled with the charge of anticipation at this time of year. Just think of the great shift at whose heart we sit: The Sun will reach its zenith in a few short weeks, while boughs heavy with nectar-rich blossoms herald the plethora of tightly closed buds and churning seeds waiting to explode onto the riotous summer scene. The Sun brings light and warmth but with a heat that is not unforgiving; the forest is still clad lacily enough so that we might see through to some other side.

We’re on the brink of great change.

And so with that in mind I offer to you another way of looking at Beltaine, one not literally about seeking dalliances with a secret partner while going a-Maying in the wood, or about hopping the fire for fertility or even about sex in general.

Well, all right, it is always sort of about sex.

But what I have learned about Beltaine this year is that it is about tension. It is about the forces that hold us in suspension –- mora --, the opposing energies that at once draw us near and keep us distant -- amor.

Seeing some opposite force outside of ourselves attracts us because oftentimes it is an energy we crave to have or to be, or one that can help us express something inside that has of yet found no outlet. This amor, or love, may be a person, state of being, a level of achievement, or even an object. The recognition of the distance between oneself and one’s inamorata defines the desire, and one seeks to close the distance, thereby lessening the feeling of tension. In other words, you go after what you want and claim it!

On the other hand, the same tension can hold things in suspension and act as a preserver of dreams or fantasies not yet born or set into motion, and it is a dynamic that sets a magnifying lens to our current place and time. By this I mean that the space between the desirer and the desired may do well to keep them apart, and that one may actually find nourishment in the tension. Gratification is not always the name of the game, and anyone who reads this blog could guess that I believe mystery is a nourishing component of one’s relationships with spirit, self and others. A full life is aligned with mystery -- to let go of one is to let go of the other.

This last bit is even more abstract, so practically speaking: Are you ready to take that leap? Did you set into action a plan that will carry you safely to your love-to-be, your idea of health or contentment, the next level in your career? Are there other contracts at stake? Risks are exciting but should be handled with care. If it is not the right time to bloom, the mystery may sustain you for now . . . or even forever.

One gift I see is that the dance and tension of opposing forces symbolized at this time of Beltaine serves as an opportunity to evaluate which way to go forward (or stop, or change direction… in any case it is a going forward). After all, the brink is often the best place to pause and study the lay of the land, and the silence before the music begins is the best place to find your center before taking your first step.

For me, personally and practically -- seeing so many successful herbalists and teachers created a real and tangible tension between where I am now (perpetual student) and where I wish to be (having cultivated enough wisdom from plants to be able to help myself and others heal and stay healthy). Quite literally, as an intermediate level student at our gathering, I am safe within the mora -- the cozy in-between, the suspension. I was not an anxious beginner facing the unknown, nor was I an advanced student under pressure to prove my skills.

But soon the scales will tip and I'll have to either deliberately move forward or choose to entertain the mystery of what would come with a year of waiting before gathering enough confidence, sensitivity and knowledge to treat anyone under the watchful eyes of my mentors. It was funny; we had finished eating the most divine chocolate ganache, fresh strawberry and whipped cream birthday cake when I suddenly realized that at this time next year I'd be sweating bullets!

My classmates in a field of lupine 

I hope that whether you let out the slack, walk carefully the tightwire, or find another way around to view your desires from a different perspective, you revel in your loves and lovers this Beltaine and every Beltaine. Men and women alike: wear the seductive mantle of the early summer goddess and be the rousing, warm and activating Sun – and in any case let yourself be attractive in the most guileless way, in the way that is your true nature.

I was away from my own group this May Day, but I am pleased to say that I had a wonderfully gentle and magical time in the forest with my fellow herbalism students and teachers. We celebrated the end of our week of study by singing and dancing and telling stories, playing music, eating ice cream and luscious strawberries and playfully rejoicing in each other’s unique energies.

And at the end of that long, lovely night, I slipped back into the silent, starlit wood, holding a purple flashlight borrowed from my tenderly beloved teacher . . . who in so many beautiful ways illuminates for me the path back home.

Photo Post: Medicine-Making: Pills, Liniment, Oil

Some people spend frosty weekends inside baking cookies. I make herbal medicine.

Last weekend I restrained myself from computer work so I could catch up on some medicine-making projects required for completion of the East West Herb Course.  It was gratifying to return to working with herbs in the less cerebral sense. After months of flash cards, charts and reading, the opportunity to smell, touch and taste plants was a welcome change.

Click on the above photos to see larger versions. The top pair are the herbs and newly-macerating tincture of Dit Dat Jiao liniment, a topical treatment for bruises and other trauma. The second and third pairs are different stages in the production of some tonic pills including licorice, lycii berries, black atractylodes, astragalus, dang gui, and panax ginseng, bound with honey. The first of the last pair are the completed pills rolled in slippery elm powder. The final photo is of gotu kola, calamus root and sesame oil, the ingredients for a simple Brahmi Oil, which is an Ayurvedic topical preparation that treats nervousness and exhaustion, among other things. When it was finished, the golden oil shown above had turned a lovely shade of green.

Ramping up for el Dia de los Muertos

Once again, it's been a rather long break here on Herbis Orbis. I've been AWOL thanks to all my spare moments being devoted to preparations for Lugh's Day of the Dead show this Friday. Altar-building, sugar-skull hunting, beloved volunteer-wrangling and general art production (see this year's poster artwork above; Sharpie on drawing paper!) have all been on my Dia de los Muertos plate. On top of that we have our Mystery School Samhain celebration and ritual tonight, for which Ima asked me to bake saffron- and cinnamon-scented soul cakes and possibly reprise my role as a goddess who somehow gets trapped in the Underworld (last year I was Inanna; this year Persephone). My acting skills are flimsy at best but I go into it with gusto.

Also, I just returned from a brief trip to Columbia, Maryland, where the American Herbalists Guild held their annual symposium.  The content from such famed herbalists as David Winston, Christopher Hobbs, Bob Duggan, Simon Mills, James Duke and Candis Cantin was excellent, and I wished I could have attended all the concurrent sessions. Still, a real feeling of "tribe" eluded me, much unlike the comparatively dreamy -- in a good way -- East West seminar last spring. In an e-mail to my friend Ben, the best way I could find to describe the AHG conference experience was that "I felt like the out-of-town visitor in a Tim Burton comedy set in a Whole Foods."

A highlight of the trip was getting to spend a bewildering and yet totally satisfying less-than-ten-inconsecutive-minutes with my teacher Michael Tierra, who reminded me to go back to the Kybalion and meditate upon the hermetic Principle of Rhythm. In other words, "Stop being so damn sensitive all the time."

When I wasn't sitting in lecture or being bewildered and sensitive, I was in my hotel room with my buddy Christina, eating cold pizza and giggling over bathroom humor... which was really the perfect foil for spending eight hours surrounded by more batik-printed, patchouli-scented, vegan-thin, surprisingly touchy people than you will ever meet in a lifetime in Chicago.

More on Samhain tomorrow!

Calgon, Take Me Awaaaay! Botanical Nervines to Soothe Your Frazzled Nerves

It's Wednesday, or "Mercury Day," and Mercury rules (among other things) the nervous system. I briefly addressed the benefits of nervine herbs in Monday's post on PMS and dysmenorrhea, but the soothing effects of such herbs can be a godsend to anyone in times of physical, mental or emotional stress. (There are stimulating nervines, too, but this fast-paced world it's usually the relaxing ones to which we turn.) Nervines may strengthen, relax or even sedate the nervous system. Many of them are analgesic and antispasmodic to boot. Here are a few links to some great articles by some very qualified herbalists on nervines, their actions, and body system affinities.

 

• "Herbal Nervines" by Christopher Hobbs, author of A Field Guide to Western Medicinal Plants and Herbs

In his fantastic clear, conversational writing style, Hobbs provides us with a solid introduction to how the nervous system works, nervines, why we need them, how to choose them, and gives us some case histories as well.

• "Nervine" by David Hoffman, author of Medical Herbalism: The Science and Practice of Herbal Medicine

Hoffman's article maps out different nervines and their properties, secondary actions, and affinities for different body systems (i.e., reproductive, circulatory, digestive sytem, etc.). His book mentioned above is an indispensable resource for any herbalist or student of herbalism.

• "Planetary Formulas and Herbs for the Nervous System" by Michael Tierra, author of The Way of Herbs and The Way of Chinese Herbs

Tierra (Herb Dad) offers a very comprehensive and detailed look at nervines from the Western, Chinese and Ayurvedic traditions. He provides the herb's energetic, properites, dosage information, specific indication, and, best of all -- a comparison of it to other nervines, which can really help you choose exactly the right herb for a given condition.

How to Treat a Cold or Flu with Herbs

Herb Week 2007 continues! It's Tuesday, or "Mars Day," and Mars is all about cutting out what isn't needed. In other words, if we're talking about the physical body, Mars represents the immune system. Here's a link to my Squidoo page, "How to Treat a Cold or Flu Naturally," that discusses how to treat different kinds of colds and flus with some really basic, easy-to-find herbs.

Herb Week at Herbis Orbis: Herbs for PMS and Dysmenorrhea

In honor of Herb Day 2007 (Saturday, Oct. 13), I've decided to feature common conditions treatable by botanical medicine all week long here on Herbis Orbis. It being Monday, or "Moon Day," I will take a look at a few common herbs for painful menstruation (dysmenorrhea) and PMS. Continue on for Herbs for PMS and Menstrual Cramps...