Meadowsweet (The Wise Woman's Folk Herbal Series)

Heads that are heavy, hearts that are weary.

Meadowsweet growing in frothy abundance in country lanes this time of year. It reminds me of snowy woollen bonnets on babies. Hand-knitted clothes by some doting grandma or great-grandma always make a baby look loved.

As wise women infuse their needles with their devotion to innocence that can only come from knowing how difficult life can truly be. Dressing the sweet babe in their hopes and wishes, old arthritic fingers moving in loving service to clothe fresh chubby limbs.

Meadowsweet, a bride's trailing lace, I have been known to remark I cannot believe we ever get married at all these days, that there are still people willing to take on the challenge of a lifetime of patience and compromise.

When I talked about my wedding dress with a friend I said I envisioned the traditional values of fidelity, honour, hope, a country bride crowned with orange flowers, something of that nostalgia...

I want to wear innocence like a petticoat.

I am tired, and my body is creaking and flaring from the exposure to adrenaline that has weakened me as if it were a drug. I fight back tears today as I have to accept there may be some things I cannot do any more, at least for a time.

My husband-to-be goes home and lovingly returns with my basket and some small shears to the place we have eaten lunch, where I am nearly falling asleep on the table. He has remembered exactly where it was growing, where I exclaimed in delight, and he patiently waits while I gather. He remarks, with a laugh as I snip away, "you're singing to yourself!"

"I always sing prayers to plants, but today I am a bit shy because you are watching"

Meadowsweet says to me today;

Innocence is never lost. Nothing is lost which cannot be found. You can gather, and sing, and love, and you will be strong again. Let me lighten the load.

Ahava

Jenny xxx

Wild Rose (The Wise Woman's Folk Herbal Series)

Wild rose

Grief is a funny thing. It is not always about the death of a person but the death of a way of life, the sadness we feel as the wheel of fortune spins for us again.

In pregnancy this can be the grief of leaving the freedom of our maiden self behind. As we leave behind the relationship we had with our partners when we were child free. It can be the emotion when we look at our first-born while we are heavily pregnant and know their life is about to change forever, it will never be just you two again. It is the grief of perhaps not finding the women to hold us, that we never knew we needed before.

It is the joy with the pain, the flowers with the thorns. It is the healing of wounds and the blossoming.

Wild rose is a tonic for grief, heartache, trauma. The grief you feel when that pot you planted yourself in, that seemed roomy and homely at the time, now feels confining. It's an out-growing, a wild spreading out. It's the dread when we know we need to be brave. It's the bittersweet experience of only loving something or somebody more when you know you are about to say goodbye.

Petals stored like memories in jars. Open the lid and take a deep breath.

Then - leap!
Into the unknown.

Ahava
Jenny xxx

Self-Heal (The Wise Woman's Folk Herbal Series)

Humans have a huge capacity for healing. The body is always trying to repair. I think of the sunburn now peeling across my nose, my thumb I caught on the cheese grater, my skin knitting itself together because my body knows how to fix these careless errors of mine, in its immense wisdom.

So I sit, and I drink tea, in the way that all women do when they need to take stock.

I am a doula and the wisdom of the body is evident to me in all my work. I have a cross-stitch on my wall that says “vaginas open babies come out”. So simple and so obvious, yet so often we try to look anywhere but inside ourselves for the answer. I think of myself even now wanting validation for my choices from those closest to me, like their approval makes what I am doing safe, like their reassurance is the permission I need to follow my inner guidance.

I found this self-heal growing by the river, the vibrant purple making me stop in my tracks. Purple, the colour of the third eye, the colour of intuition, royalty, destiny. So innocuous, another ‘small yet mighty’ plant ally. I am a believer in fate and in signs. I remember what the psychic told me last year. I made a phone call this morning to a woman who sounded like home. I know the feeling of barriers lifting, I know it so well by now. My heart makes that slow thud, thud, that it does when the path clears. The calmness that descends when the universe is conspiring to give you what you asked for. When you surrender and let yourself be carried by the river of change.

When I think of the specific anxieties I have at the moment, I think of a friend of mine who sold all her belongings to travel the world. I think of the way I prop myself up with objects and safe spaces like one big coping mechanism. I think of my father remarking “sometimes you just have to take a chance or you’ll never do anything” and how it was exactly what I needed to hear at that moment. I think of Kali-Ma and that secret desire all women have to decimate egos, lifestyles, ways of being. I think of the spaces we make for safety becoming confining and limiting. I am not who I was, and yet I am not who I will be…

Self-heal, to remind yourself that you have all you need within. For bravery, for courage, for transformation. For resilience and trust. For the power of change - the power TO change. For releasing coping mechanisms that are no longer required. For coming home to your innate healing power. The power to expand, to ask for more. To outgrow old stories. To become.

Ahava

Jenny xxx