Herbis Orbis

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)

"Every angel is terrifying"

I  was compelled to stay up late last night reading aloud Rilke's Duino Elegies and Sonnets to Orpheus.

I woke up this morning, saw the date, and realized to whom I had been reading them. Without him, my life's path would have been very, very different.

Rest in peace, Jeff. Sometimes I think the world cowered under the weight of your heartbreaking beauty... and in the end, one of us had to turn away.

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.

Back from Hawaii: A 40-degree difference

Just returned from a wonderful half work, half pleasure vacation in Honolulu, where I found my island ohana (family), a group of musicians and artists -- seekers all. Above is a picture of albizzia, also known as mimosa, or "the happiness tree." They bloomed under our hotel's lanai balcony toward the end of our trip. It was my first time meeting this fantastic plant, which treats depression and anxiety. Back with a full travel report and photos as soon as I recover from mild jetlag!

The Best Irish Music You Never Heard, Part III

Photo of Switchback performing one of umpteen gigs last St. Patrick's Day. Photo by JS Interactive.

To conclude this feature on Irish music (and shameless plug for Switchback) on Herbis Orbis, I leave you with two songs that highlight the polar extremes of Irish pub music.

Last week, Chicago Sun-Times columnist Richard Roeper wrote an article about "depressing" Irish pub songs, particularly the old standard "Danny Boy." Recently a New York pub owner banned the song from his bar for the month of March partly because it is so depressing, and partly because it was written by an Englishman who had never even been to Ireland. (Apparently the same pub owner also instituted St. Patrick's Day karaoke, so you draw your own conclusions about why the song was really banned.)

I remember my Dad once commenting that the only people to whom "Danny Boy" means anything are the Irish, and anyone else is impervious to its legendary tear-inducing qualities. That may be so, but I've seen Lugh perform it dozens of times and it never fails to impress. His version has received reactions ranging anywhere from standing ovations, to tears, to a wad of hundreds pushed into his hand just to sing it again, to a priceless look on the face of a gobsmacked music snob at Chieftain Matt Molloy's pub in Galway who declared that only Irish-born tenors could properly sing the song.

Anyway, here is the best version I have ever heard, and perhaps if you see Switchback at one of their Irish shows one day (mostly performed at Celtic festivals and during the month of March), you will get to hear it live too. It really makes a difference. Note that an extra verse is included, and certainly anyone who sympathizes with Ireland's struggle for freedom from British rule will see why this particular rendition is so moving.

But I can't leave St. Patrick's Day on such a somber note. At the other end of the Irish pub song spectrum we have the obnoxious comedic drinking songs! This one's called "The Rattlin' Bog" and was recently plucked from the Switchback vaults to be placed on the band's 10th anniversary anthology. Enjoy, and Happy St. Patrick's Day!

The Best Irish Music You Never Heard, Part II

Photo taken on tour in Killarney by Lora Howard.

You haven't heard traditional Irish favorite "Drunken Sailor" until you've experienced Switchback's drama-filled rendition:

More tomorrow!

The Best Irish Music You Never Heard, Part I

Photo by the awesomeness that is Tipsy McStaggers.

In honor of Spring Equinox and St. Patrick's Day, which I *never* celebrated until I married a full-time musician who also happened to be Irish (he works, I celebrate... sometimes), I want to share some Irish music with you. This is to last you through the weekend. I'll be back with more on Sunday and Monday, including a most amazing rendition of the lately-bullied "Danny Boy."

You've got three choices in this playlist, to fit your mood:

Try "The Galway Shawl," beautifully sung by my own Lugh, for your traditional romantic (yet sad, of course,) Irish ballad.

If you're in a jubilant, bouncy mood, check out the spare bar-room version of "The Wren." Lugh says it's actually a thinly disguised anti-pagan metaphor (the bird represents the Old (Druid) Religion in Ireland). I admit it's a strange fit for this blog but it's a great song and deftly performed.

Finally listen to a dramatic version of the traditional "Star of the County Down" with a distinct rock edge.

If you want to hear more, this trio of tunes is by these guys, (pictured above) and, why yes, I AM biased (espeshully to the one on the left)! Check 'em out... their repertoire only starts with trad Celtic music. Happy pre-St. Pat's Day weekend everyone!

Shopping for Seeds: A Pre-Ostara/ Spring Equinox Meditation

Above: Snowdrops on my front lawn. Photo taken this morning, at 22 degrees F.

If you're lucky, you've been blessed with at least one glimpse into the approaching spring season this year. You know what I'm talking about -- one of those days when Mother Nature parts the veil between seasons, allowing a break in the unforgiving cold, and the sun shines and the ice melts and the birds get excited and catch up on gossip outside your window (which may even be open!).

 

Even if you're gritting your teeth through the tail-end of a tenacious Arctic winter like I am, the good news is, Spring Equinox and its gentler breezes are not too far away. What do we do while we wait?

 

Signs of spring are here, but the winter, feeling cheated, can still snatch tender things away (including your health) in its last attempt to hang on. In this way, the spirit of watchfulness and rekindled work from Imbolc continues.

 

But specifically, these weeks before Ostara (Spring Equinox) are a time to begin thinking about what seeds to plant for the growing season.

 

Having been with Ima for going on six years now, and having attuned myself to her rhythms, I know Spring can't be far off when haphazard stacks of seed-starting units materialize in different spots around our school. She reuses them from year to year, and they show up still dirty from last spring's seedlings, a bit worn perhaps, but always somehow looking cheerful and eager for another season's work. This year, they appeared in the hall next to a shelf of macerating tinctures. I know that soon we will spend a weekend or two charging the seeds, purifying them with the elements, chanting over them and finally planting them in their little cells according to the planetary hours. These seeds spend their first weeks of life on Ima's inner-city roof in a mini-greenhouse until they are thinned and ready to be planted on her farm in the country. There they are tended until they can be harvested as medicine for the clinic.

 

But I'm getting ahead of myself here.

 

Take delight in your cozy winter bed flipping through the colorful new seed catalogues, dreaming of the lovely garden you will create from those pages. But while you're at it don't miss out on the larger spiritual lesson of what it means to prepare for spring.

 

This is the time to "shop" for seeds you will plant in yourself. These may be extensions of New Year's resolutions you made in the Yule season, or of promises you dreamed and spoke aloud at Imbolc, when that critical transformation from crone to goddess, from winter to spring, was underway.

 

So what's the difference between this meditation and the Wheel of the Year's other endless opportunities for renewal? Let's go back to Ima and her seed catalogue. The whole point of saving, selling and buying seeds is that you know exactly what sort of plant you're going to get when you put it in the dark ground. In other words, you choose specifically what you want to cultivate because that is what you want to grow. If you wish to grow echinacea, you don't plant spilanthes seeds and hope it'll all work out somehow.

 

From a magical standpoint, being able to visualize a specific result is key to success. We are talking about internal alchemy here, which works the same way. It doesn't mean you become inflexible about the end result, but having a goal you can envision, taste and feel is a powerful motivator and sustainer of effort. If, for example, you decided some time after Yule that this year you would "be more creative," now is the time to think about two or three ways in which you will specifically be creative. Will you plant seeds that will grow into a recommitment to quilting, perhaps, specifically in the form of a coverlet made of fabric from your beloved grandmother's dresses? Or will your seeds grow into finding a fantastic partner who goes with you to ballroom dancing classes? Maybe you'll plant seeds that will turn into a beautiful newborn baby come next Yule.

 

When you choose your seeds deliberately, you know what sort of care and nurturance they require. And if you know that, you can provide the best growing conditions for them, thereby ensuring a successful crop -- a healthy, verdant crop of exactly what you intended.

 

You've got a couple weeks before it is time to harness the magical force of the Spring Equinox to plant those seeds and set in motion the wonderful journey of the light time of year. It would be hard to overestimate the importance of this pre-Ostara meditation. It is the one time of year where the pressure to really choose your path is ratcheted up considerably; the Spring Equinox affords a very finite opportunity during which we may partake of a rare and powerful universal force -- the force of birthing and being born!

 

Timing is everything on this one, folks. Choose your seeds with prayerful love, care... and gusto!

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.

"The Gaze": Happy Birthday, ... Whoever You Are

For my birthday, my teacher, a wonderful man who has become very important to me and my formation within the past year or so, gifted me with an existential challenge. It was one line, and appeared in my e-mail in box in his characteristic blue:

So, who are you? -- who who probably are you?

Since the moment I met him, he has shown a peculiar skill for bewildering, even vexing me – I think, surely he takes pleasure in it – and this one line of text, so naked, so blunt, so "unfond," was no different.

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