Today was marvelously warm and docile, and a new carpet of green-- grass of every variety and stripe-- began poking its way through the brown haze of last year's growth. So too was it a day on the tail of the full moon, and on the wing-tip of a new cold snap sweeping in from the northwest. By day's end I realized it was the perfect opportunity, this space-between-times, not-quite-warm and not-quite-cold and not-quite-spring-but-not-really-winter, to set my intention for the coming year.
Rather, the intention seems to have set me for once, for I am all excitement about it, and the fact that this year I can broadcast it from a virtual rooftop? Well. A lot of people seem drawn to this inner exercise of intention-setting for the new year at the turn of the new year; using the quiet introspective nature of winter's chilly hoarding of light, folks like me hibernate a bit psychically, drawing in energy rather than putting too much out, meditating on what is in stock and what needs replenishing. The result buds out as spring's first leaves do, oftentimes with a quiet, "Ah-ha".
So here is my "Ah-ha". I have long wanted to make a serious study of herbalism, but I knew the time needed to be right; I knew I needed to have a few ducks in a row, to be clear about why I was doing so, and what methods I would undertake. I didn't want to learn about it just for another such notch under my belt.
Truth is, I read a lovely story in a Reader's Digest Condensed Novel once, of all places, and one image from that narrative has rested quietly as an inspiration in my mind ever since. I don't remember the tale, nor the author. But the image remains of a large room with old wooden cabinets, thick wooden countertops, and hundreds of gathered, dried herbs of all kinds hanging from the ceiling beams. I must have been all of 20 when I read that passage, and new to a more pagan orientation...and I knew that was the life I wanted-- or at least, the workshop of the life I wanted.
And now, I am excited, for I know a little more of just how I'd like to begin my study, and perhaps even a little more about how I'd like to use its benefit.
First, for inspiration, I treated myself to a copy of Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver. It is a lucky thing to have a birthday at this time of year, when birthing the ideas of winter's end can well use the energy generated by a birth-anniversary, and not to mention the little bit of cash flow that comes in as gifts. This is a political book, and an almost spiritual treatise to boot, of one family's decision to live off of only that which was produced in the vicinity of their home. I've decided to read this bit-by-bit, drinking in the inspiration and hardship of a life lived locally, and well. Their story begins in that springtime switch, when surprise snowstorms remind one that life is not posey and sing-song; I am determined to meter my goals this time with a pinch of realism, so the raw honesty of this book is called for and appreciated.
And while I was in that bookstore, I grabbed a hold of something completely promising: How to Cook Everything Vegetarian, by Mark Bittman. He lists 15 different tricks for cooking seitan. I am in love with this book. Our daily alchemy with the plant world isn't so exotic and removed; it lives in our kitchens, several times a day at our tables, and I am ready to be moved. It's those basic interactions with the beauty of the living world that deserve the most attention. I am curious to see what new relationships to food might transpire.
Of course none of this would be any fun without a more esoteric exploration, would it? Here my texts of choice are two that I have begun, but not had the time to dig too deeply into: The Secret Teachings of Plants by Buhner, and Healing Threads by Mary Beith. In the former, I'm hoping to recapture something of the magic that I lost long ago, when I chanced to have an amazing conversation with a sunflower, and I passed on it, because I was afraid, and ...well, it was a sunflower, so it felt a little like losing my mind.
Maybe that would have been a good thing.
So, I am eager to rediscover this world-- and this trust for what is in it, which surely lies beyond any thing I could imagine for it. "The world is too much with us," wrote Wordsworth-- too much getting-and-spending, and not enough being-with, and noticing. It is time to stop and not only smell the roses, but learn to converse with them.
I pray it is not too late. Already the sun today felt prickly and searing; the most direct spot on my porch thermometer read near-90*. What wisdom and beauty are we to lose in an era of Global Warming? Really, it makes me cry-- and it makes me afraid. Which brings me to the latter, Beith's book, which outlines the herbal tradition of the Celts of the British Isles, mainly what is now Scotland. I've no claim to be a Scots-Gaelic reconstructionist, nor a recon of any stripe, but what is essential is learning a wisdom that has been passed from generation to generation in my Celtic ancestry.
There was a cr person who once asked me why, if I was ordained in another tradition, weren't the gods of that tradition enough? Well, yes; and no. For there is no "Zen" healing art, and my fundamental belief is that one does not heal as a "healer" per se-- Rather, one heals in concert with the energy of the situation, the salve and spirit the herbs provide, and the co-action of the spirits in attendance. I've had some amazing interactions with one deithe and I feel an invitation by another who is willing to help me learn the tricks of my heritage-- should I be so bold as to just ask.
Along the way, I shall chronicle my efforts in learning relationship to plants here, and of my learning relationship to the deithe here. I welcome any wisdom or encouragement that my visitors might pass along...and I hope to impart something of benefit to those who also may use it when I'm done.
On the verge of my 39th year, as the wind howls and roots grow deeper,
Pilar
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4 comments:
My experience of Zen suggests that although it doesn't necessarily heal the physical body of its inevitable ailments, Zen does indeed heal the deep sickness of dukkha from which we all suffer. And if we can heal dukkha, then we can work with any body situation. It's ongoing work.
Thank you for a lovely post.
Gassho, Barry!
I agree. For those who don't know of it, Vimalikrti's "sick day" offers a nice illustration of that very point.
(& I always thought it would be kind of playful to set that story to the pace of something like "Ferris Buhler's Day Off" ;)
What I'm talking about is a more "gross" level, or immediate level, of healing work. But rather than investing in a study western medical practice, which I don't have the brain for, I'm choosing to explore a more "holistic" approach, which uses another sort of intellect altogether.
To illustrate the need for this: a friend who is a long-time zen practitioner was away on ango at a remote monastery in Colorado. After the lunch break, as folks were gathering silently in the kitchen to clean up, the teacher fainted suddenly and fell backward to the floor, landing with a loud crack! on his head. NO ONE MOVED. My friends noted that some students thought they should be stoic and "zen", and "meditate" on what was happening. Others were simply shocked; nothing in their lives had prepared them for that moment. My friend cried out, "Oh, for Pete's sake!!" and, as the only woman in the group I might add, began directing her fellow sangha members on caring for this man.
The point is, we can get lost in the idea of what Buddhist practice is and what it is for and lose sight of our simple humanity, and thus lose direction when simple attention is what a given situation calls for most.
My intention has to do with integrating a little Vimalikrti with a little Rosemary Gladstar; this is what my experience has suggested might be needed in times of trouble.
Oh, yes . . . any idea about Zen will make things worse - actually much worse than if we never stuck our fingers into the Zen tarbaby to begin with.
One time my teacher had a kidney stone attack during a retreat. After he returned from the hospital, he continued sitting with us, doped up on Demerol. When it was time for my interview with him, I asked him what it was like sitting while so heavily medicated. He just sat there and nodded back and forth.
Like Vimalakirti, he used his situation to teach me. I'm still trying to learn the lesson!!
I am curious, if you can clarify your position for me: Do you suppose that Zazen is the cure for physical sickness? I am having trouble understanding whether you think "herbalism is a waste of time-- you should devote more time to healing dukkha" OR, are you just pointing out the tradition of referring to Buddha as The Great Doctor, which I overlooked by my saying that "Zen has no healing art"?
Thanks, Barry.
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