Through the Heartfilled Heart
Facing a tree I am consumed by its beingness in the world. The fact of the tree, regally steadfast in its stance, makes me but a pawn to its presence. My unarmed hands human me. I may touch the tree and experience its trunk on my palm but I cannot reposition its location by physical force alone. If I seek the other side, I must change my course. My moves are limited according to its habitation in the world of form. Exteriorly, the tree stands outside of myself, I outside of it; it appears as “other” to me, and I “other” than it. Conformed to the relationship of outward appearances, this ‘othering’ of ourselves limits the possibility of both our movements. I am forced to walk around, and away, and in that motion, the tree is obliged to stay along the path removed from my presence.
After weaving around endless trees truncated from the path of my longing for a true union with nature, I am moved to seek another way: through. A way through the tree in order to be united with its essence instead of away from the tree, affixed to a mind moving around its essence toward an ever aching heart. Allowing the tree to touch me inwardly as my palm reaches outwardly we begin to inform a habitus of interrelated imaginings. These imaginings taking shape as feelings, thoughts, colors, sounds, spontaneous images, and inner visions occurring within the imaginative faculties of my heart, body and mind, begin to inform a relationship between the tree and I. The I of me, in this touching, is allowed to become the eye of thee… (more…)
Viburnum Viburnum Viburnum, I say the name over and over to myself these days. When a plant is ripe for the picking of me I tend hear the name repeatedly, like a mantra peeking its way through the background clutter of the days dreams. Sometimes the name will pour randomly from a stranger overheard, or I’ll stumble upon some odd and old poem, some passing phrase, somehow the plant will peek out at me, and many times, quite literally, grab me by the seat as I try to simply walk by.
A dream…
A familiar cough that comes when my heart unable to receive arising as I put first drops in my mouth; the taste, a wave of bitterness with white-capped apple skin sweetness. The medicine washes down through my chest smoothly pushing cough aside, dissipating and erasing its energy. Memories of a family, friends of my family, with two boys younger than me who tortured animals and a father who had to leave because he was abusive. Very defined, clear visions. A stout bearded dwarf staying in place as my view rotated all the way around him. A smooth feeling, deeply relaxing, a layer between me and outer experiences and sensations. Maybe it is a more deeply felt inner awareness of sensory impressions. Lots of energetic release in abdomen, head pushed forward and down. 
During the plant meditation last night I experienced the presence of Cottonwood as an unshakeable, deeply grounded, completely firm, and noble being. I was immersed in a holy silence far removed from any thought or concern. I was aware of my body in that I felt my entire being becoming more and more solid–a heaviness that tuned me into the feeling of being a very large tree.
Working with plants on a spiritual level is a revolutionary act. In my mind and heart I perceive the fundamental disharmony of Western society to be the disconnect from the spiritual aspects of life. Many of us feel like we don’t belong on this planet or don’t deserve to be alive. As if we were parasites on the earth; taking but not giving back. Perhaps we feel guilty about the way this land was stolen or the way the original inhabitants of the land were treated. Some of my students are very hesitant to harvest herbs. They think they have nothing to offer in return. This attitude is certainly a better place to start than the thought form of “whatever is out there is mine for the taking,” but both of these perspectives arise from the same root—a feeling of alienation. Only after we reestablish a relationship with the lands in which we live will we feel a sense of belonging. Only then will we stop destroying ourselves and our planet. 
The Cascadia bio-region in the Northwestern part of the United States is blessed with a wide variety of medicinal plants growing in many diverse habitats. Huge stands of Oregon Grape cover the deep forest floor. Juniper dots the high desert lands where Sagebrush dominates. Sea Watch Angelica clings to coastal bluffs. Pipsissewa and Goldthread inhabit the pristine temperate forest while the lands scarred by human progress are home to St. John’s Wort and Plantain. Western Redcedar towers above, overlooking it all, Yarrow makes itself home in all zones, morphing from lush green at the coast to three-inch tall, grayish-green, barely-leaved stalks at timberline, and the mushrooms connect it all via underground mycelial networks. 