Becoming a Herbalist
by Susun S. Weed
www.susunweed.com
~ Part Seven ~
It was a beautiful autumn day: the purple asters were in full bloom, five-finger ivy leaves flamed red from above, the maple leaves had just begun to turn yellow and orange, and scores of mushrooms of every variety -- from delicious black death caps to lurid sulphur shelves that taste like chicken -- were peeking through the moss and forest floor litter. But I couldn't see the beauty. I was too upset about the prospect of losing the land I had just moved on to.
The tax bill had arrived that week and it was enormous. Unexpectedly, absolutely, unfairly huge. Where would I get the money? How could I get the money? My pockets were bare after buying the house and land and doing the renovation. What with the down payment and the closing costs and the lawyer's fee and the title insurance and paint and wood and wallpaper and nails and plumbing parts and more things had demanded money. Money, money, money. The house seemed to be eating it. And now the town wanted a huge pile of it, too.
I sat for a while at the edge of a little stone cliff and looked out at the lovely wild land that I was just beginning to love. I could feel the plant spirits, the devas and fairies, moving about, tending to the rich complexity of life around me. I was fascinated, I reached out to them with my heart. But I was also restless, nervous, agitated, and unable to just sit there, unable to wait patiently for a response. I was so distressed and agitated.
It made me feel easier to walk, so I walked. I walked around, not going anywhere in particular, just wandering. I wandered until I came to a place between the road and the house where there were many white pines. They were tall and thick. I felt safer and more peaceful in their presence, though still scared and frightened and uptight about the tax bill.
I felt a strong urge to be among those pines, as though they were calling me to come nearer. I laid down in their needles and closed my eyes. Patches of warm sun laid on my brow and eyelids. My nose and mouth seemed to be gradually suffusing with the strong scent of pine sap. Suddenly visions of butterflies and bluebirds and rainbows and sparkling crystal stones played across the screen of my closed eyes and I noticed I was feeling positively joyful.
"Am I imagining this?" I wondered. "I certainly didn't feel like this when I arrived here a few minutes ago." To test it out, I got up and walked over to some young red maple trees and laid down under them with my eyes closed. I felt a little sad, worried, tense; there were no visions. I went back to the big pines, put my belly on the earth and shut my eyes. Slowly at first, then building in intensity, my entire visual field filled with flowing bands of colors and feelings of joy. Amazing! Could it be that the white pine trees were actually communicating with me?
No sooner had I thought this than a low rumble of laughter rippled through my mind. "Oh, yes," a deep voice said. "Yes, we are indeed communicating with you." I hardly had time to be surprised before the melodious voice continued. "We are the pine trees of this land. We look healthy to you, but our roots are cramped for lack of soil, and the span remaining to us is short, shorter in fact than your life. We want to help you remain here; you have work to do here with the land. We want to offer ourselves as a way for your to make money. Cut us down and sell us for lumber. This should solve your problem with money. But if it does not, then we have a further message for you."
I expected the further message to be forthcoming, but all I could hear was the sound of silence ringing in my ears. And the drone of a mosquito coming in for a landing on my cheek. Then it hit me: I had found a way to get money to pay the taxes! I ran for home as fast as I could. A tumult of questions competed for space in my mind, but I didn't need any more answers right then. I had a way to get the tax money and that was good enough for me.
The pines were right, of course. After the careful logging had been done, and the logs measured and the monies paid, we were still somewhat shy of the full amount we needed for the taxes. So I went back to the place where the pines spoke to me. It was winter and very cold, too cold to lay on the ground, though the sun was warm on my cheeks and forehead. I leaned against one of the biggest stumps, a little apprehensive. Would the trees be mad at me because I had brought death to some of them?
Once again my mind was filled with butterflies and shimmering sounds. "We are not individuals like you humans," the warm resonant voice vibrated in my mind. "We are honored that you cut us down. Now we will be used to make furniture, we will become beds and tables, chairs and shelves. We are happy. You have nothing to fear. You did as we asked you to."
"We understand from you that there is still not enough money. So here is our second message to you. Teach here. Bring to this land those who wish to know about the green nations. Heal this land with your songs and the land will sing back to you. Bring abundance to this land and it will repay you with healing herbs. Heal this land with your footsteps and dances, and the land will become a beacon of healing energies."
So that spring, for the first time in my career as a teacher, women came to my home to learn herbal medicine, spirit healing, and the Wise Woman tradition. And the taxes were paid!
Is this the place where I get to live happily ever after? Is it finally time for me to settle into my home and relax? Not quite yet!
September 27, 2012
