“Nobody at any time is cut off from God.” Meister Eckhart
I’ve always wanted to be magic. Not DO magic, although that would be lovely too. But to BE.
As a kid, walking through the scrub oak of my northern California home, I would step as quietly as I could, trying to sneak up on rabbits and birds. If I caught them off guard, I was certain I would catch their conversations, the ones they hushed when they saw a human coming. Or perhaps if I loosened my gaze just enough, I could catch a sight of faeries out of the corner of my eye. Maybe if I got smart and skilled enough, I could do ESP. I knew my pet chickens understood what I was saying. I felt the sentience connecting myself to other, and I suspected that if I tuned my ears and eyes just right, I would see, hear and understand what was right on the otherside of my sensory experience. But how to pull back that curtain, how to tune the antenna?
Hours of searching leaves me without the ability to tell you exactly what kind of everlasting this is, whether or not it is medicinal like the pearly, or if it’s cudweed. However, what I can tell you is that all flowers that look like this are called Rabbit Tobacco. So that’s what I’m going to call it and you can too.
I tried various things over the years, with varying success. LSD when I was a teenager. Wicca as a young woman. Often I would have an experience that seemed to be outside our everyday consensual reality, and I would feel lucky and blessed. Inevitably however, I would then come into contact with someone who was psychic out the wazoo. I would be regaled with stories of lucid dreams that led to daylight experiences, messages like the voice of god from plant spirits, visits from animals that may or may not have really been a shape shifter.
And I would pack up my little connected heart, tuck my tail between my legs, and wonder if special-ness was a gift from birth or if I was somehow unworthy.
This is for Jen. These are sea fig fruit…give ’em another two or three weeks and they’ll be ready in all their mucilaginous glory.
For the most part, these past few years have seen a reclamation and clarification of my personal brand of mundane magic. Mostly I don’t talk or write about it, since words shrink what feels boundless into something too trite. But I feel it, right here, in this space behind my ribs. A knowing, but not a thinking. And a friendliness, a quiet hum. Thoughts cease, joy blooms, the ground reaches up to cup my feet softly, and I know my place. I, too, am alive here with you little flower friend, with you, hummingbird sister.
Still, a recent encounter with someone who definitely lives on Planet Way Out Psychic WOW! left me again with my little stone of inadequate earthy love sitting in my lap, my head hanging low. So when I woke up last Sunday morning with that little “Pssst…” from the Evening Primrose, I didn’t quite believe it. Playing the game of compare and contrast, especially when it comes to “spiritual ability” has very, very bad odds. And I was definitely not winning.
We walked the sandy trail through the fog, and while I still greeted plant pals along the path, my heart was heavy from self-disparaging. I hadn’t found the primrose yet and I watched the world lose its shine as I let my own blinders come down. Yet, there they all were, the plant beings who felt like my allies. The trees who felt like they were waving hello. A hawk with missing flight feathers, who I have seen there for years, swooped into view and called, and I felt me heart go up in greeting. I felt…felt…felt…
And then I remembered. I don’t live on Planet Way Out Psychic WOW! I live on Planet Earth. I feel. I relate. I trust. I see. And I am friendly. I experience Other beings responding to my openness, my friendliness, and I am connected, I have company. Sometimes I get a blast of extrasensory insight, and that sure is fun. But mostly, I’m just folks. Simple and loving.
Hooker’s Evening Primrose
I stopped Jeff and asked to borrow his i-phone. I googled the medicinal use of evening primrose. I expected to find what I already knew, that the oil from the seeds was the useful bit. But I wanted to check, just in case.
What I found was this write up by one of my favorite online sources of herbal wisdom, The Medicine Woman’s Roots. I noticed all my cells come alive as I realized that using this plant as a tonic was exactly what I need for the long standing issues I am working to heal, right now.
Just around the corner I found my patch of primrose. I offered out my need in the form of a friendly, heartfelt prayer, and asked if any of the plants were interested in offering their whole selves to me? Immediately, one just to my left let out a little extra glow. She was beautiful, in full bloom. I used a fork to dig around her roots, pulled her out (leaving some tubers so more can grow) and carried her home. I felt like a homecoming queen with a giant bouquet, bequeathed by the earth.
I took her home and did this.
And masticated her with an entire bottle of vodka. Now she sits on my pantry shelf with a little firefly glow, where I give her a good shake everyday. The tincture will be ready in another three weeks or so.
I honor the sacred. I see the sacred. And everything is sacred.
“If the only prayer you said in your whole life was, ‘Thank You’, that would suffice.” Meister Eckhart
Have a great weekend!