(re)MO(ve)MENT(al)

A prayer. Sparrows, butterflies, ravens, hawks, turkey vultures soar overhead. I'm sitting where, a few weeks ago, I saw a Diamondback Rattlesnake stretched across the road, in the backcountry behind town, wedged between Mount Raisin and Red Mountain, surrounded by golden waving grasses, dirt, stones, and sand of multiple hues between tannish white and peachy orange. Junipers and Acacias, Yuccas and Mesquites, and a blue true dream of sky that yes, encapsulates my sitting here under it, on coppery Earthen soil, a road that I've walked on before, and today walked to--- the low guttural caw of ravens, awkwardly riding the thermals, with one graceful hawk soaring far above them, gliding with nary a wing movement, every so often the subtlest angling of wings or tailfeathers, to direct the air. Deer in the forest, nibbling neon green fresh grass growth, fresh grass under cover of mesquites, oaks, and sycamores, streamsides, hilly, vines hanging, herbs underfoot. I smile as I run through here, then slow to savor and appreciate it--- reminds me of other forests I love, this small one that I jogged down the dried river bed to get to, who I've not yet even known for one season, but already find familiar and comforting, in its abundance of shady trees, and plant life. Here now, hillside--- surrounded by grass and sky, no covering trees shading, supporting, protecting, hiding. Naked sky, bright blue, completely exposed. Ravens cawing excitedly, sparrows' alarm call, the final cicada, one headless fly, then another. Sudden realization/ appreciation of where I currently am. Sun warming back, hunger in belly, parched throat, gentle breeze, the smell of dirt with every inhale. I could walk forever. I could stop and sit here forever. Anything could happen at any moment--- this stillness is pregnant with possibility, the birdsong and wind echoing into forever, a slight whiff of some sweet final remnant of summer on the wind, the overwhelming dryness, the golden hues surrounding me, resplendent against the blue sky mystery that wraps us all. What hope? Where? Deer strutting through the forest, one leg in front of the other, proud yet aware, and cautious. Creaking trees, swaying in the wind. Seeds buoyed by their pappus parachutes, drifting to lands distant, neighboring, or both to replant. One little seed bulging with all the genetic material to create a whole new plant, more seeds. Purple butterfly, encircling my head, then away down the road. Biting fly. Onwards. 

2014/ 10/ 26 - 2014/ 11/ 22

The satisfying feeling of going fast towards somewhere unknown yet known, with my Breath and Heartbeat echoing around the surrounding landscape, reminds me of personal promises made to this and other lands, and I recommit to running daily. Let this ending welcome a new beginning; let this new beginning be a solid reminder of the consistency of this cycle, and the humbleness it necessitates. I really want to run away, but really don’t know where I’d go, and how things could get better. Even if ignorance really is bliss, it’s already too late; I know too much to play dumb. Leaving is always an option; staying is more difficult, and questionable. Her fairy wings and pretty sparkles remind me that there’s no need to be so curmudgeonly all the time, if ever. May many more fun fantastic tea parties follow the one today, which was the first, under my care of the Herb Temple. My rapidly dying friend’s mysterious adventure into the unknown known fills me with sadness, but also an increased awareness and respect for the preciousness of this one transient life we have to live , with an increased inner resolve to not waste my time on anything unworthy of it, and live it it up. I quit my job, and am now embarking on a journey back to New Mexico and Texas, to collect seeds, explore relationships, renew my trust in how I dance with the Universe, and shake myself loose to allow the Wind to expose and revitalize my Heart again, and hear the echoes of our collective singing and screaming reflected back to me, across the canyon walls, as the miles blend together, and I fall asleep to the familiar, comforting, yet also deadening thud of rubber against pavement, the whoosh of the land rushing by--- and I pray. Sitting in the back of his steamed up truck with a misty fairytale landscape awaiting discovery outside, and our sleeping bags connected and the coppery coyote laying on my feet, anything can step out of the mist, declare me its child, and dash off with me into this wild wet wondrous world of unknowns; time to go for a jog, and key out some plants. Bitterly, I wonder if he forgot to introduce me, or if he just did not know how to introduce me? We’re camped next to a dried stream, with proud Mullein bearing second year tall golden flower arrangements still present, long dead candle-heads of flowers come and gone this season, and first year simple fuzzy basal rosette of leaves, all brightly arranged against the rocky soil under the Oaks with leaves already fallen, to the backdrop of more scraggly Oaks climbing a goldenly grassed hill, jacketed in its summer glory, ready for winter. Unable to sleep soundly due to colorful powerful dreams, I wake this morning to light incense and prayers for today, which lies between the Summer and Winter Solstice as the day in the year when the veil between the world is thinnest, transitioning between birth and death, heat and coldness, the known and unknown. After repeated self-affirmations of one’s own worthlessness and lack of belonging, these words sink into the strata of one’s deepest being, lodging themselves into the mythology of one’s life, and becomes true. Sky’s rapidly changing color from black into myriad rainbow colors, then soon into the bluest blue of simultaneous hope and the roof of all possibilities, unless you’re an astronaut; I’m just an herbalist, no astronaut, so the Sky really is the limit, but I’ll purposefully forget that, and ride on the wings of the nearest canyon wren, to the uplifting tunes of its soaring vocal melodies, to rise, weaving through, dipping under, and echoing around and far past all of these wild winding massive mountains, discovering their secrets, unveiling more, and walking, flying, and living through then back into the shattered infinite rainbows of a life of questions, lived courageously, joyfully, and gorgeously. Just when I thought a dream had fizzled out, there it stands again in the distance, waving at me with a wink and a smile, and wearing a super alluring costume of my favorite colors, laughing and dancing, pointing out the way, which has always been in front of me, but I’d just never really notice before, but had been walking it nonetheless, for it was a beautiful path to walk, and simply laid out ahead and below me, one step at a time. Water droplets showered down, veil-like, blown upon the wind, dancing elegantly with its elemental rawness of water rushing forward, lit by Sun, drawn down by gravity against the Earthen stones, tossed by windy air to dance as I too choose and wish to dance, as freely and elegantly, going with the flow while choosing my own route to follow. It was good to see your faces again, Mothers and Fathers, to feel your breath, hear your voices, and touch your hands. After eleven days away, tomorrow we return, but today I grieve the loss of travels and freedom, dread the return to what feels like purgatory or self-conceived Hell, and ponder the dreadful yet persistent, possibility laden question of where to go from here, what to do with my Life, and how to find joy, community, Home, belonging, hope, fulfillment, and make a meaningful livelihood, too. After waiting for almost an hour, the first gleams of sunlight have finally kissed the top branches of the Ponderosa Pine guarding our camp, with sunlight quickly sliding down the tree, and dancing through the pine needle strewn forest floor, jays arguing in the distance, the smell of fresh pines, and a stiff wintery wind calling me to step deeper into the unknowns of the forested wood, and bring my courage with. Everything has fallen apart, and is falling still; I have nothing solid to stand upon, and am sinking, falling, shattering, dying, getting crushed up and digested back into the primordial black mulchy unknown, and it’s painful, terrifying, heart-breaking, limb-wrenching, gut-tearing, tear-bombing, death-defying, because after all this, somehow I’m still alive, though feelingly only partially so, and partially wishing it weren’t so, but mostly not knowing at all, and knowing myself as utterly lost. Anything could always happen, but now, I’m preparing for all that could happen, to do it all at once, though I really just want to grow restfully and beautifully, and not too fast. With the sudden closing of our emotional connections, I wonder if it was ever truly there, to begin with. Once again, it’s packing time: things, emotions, all pieces of myself, all packed back into packages and bundles small and large, awaiting the next opportunity to open, blossom, and fall in love again, as we enter the winter of this year, the darkness of my Heart’s breaking, and the embittering pain of a million needles stuck into the rawest, most vulnerable places, the deepest chord of which is unrequited love. I am wholeheartedly grateful to the magical line that connects all things, that even though things are currently scary and uncertain in my life, I am still healthy, with options and welcomes, and ancestors that feed and watch me, especially as I sleep, through powerful story-telling and directive dreams that sometimes guide literally, other time symbolically, but always magically. My sadness has progressed, deep into the deepest, darkest part of my Being, to hide, weeping like a million Moons, with no Sun to illuminate their Beauty, or glistening tears, all drowned out by the sound of the rain bashing against stones, causing flash floods and landslides, washing the surface veneer of my external facade clean, with a hard flat smile that betrays nothing, but only to a trained eye, one that sees, all the dull heartbreaks of almost thirty years of existence, and much more beyond that, lie gleaming, polished and unpolished, yet blanketed behind eyes that are hard, yet beg to be softened by seeing, and being seen with honest acceptance. The heated waters slowly draw out, hour by hour, all the accumulated grief, stress, and worry lodged within my body, which I later toast out with the heat of the Sun and pureness of the blue Sky, walking forever into the Ocotillo covered hillside, into a landscape of prickly Acacias and hidden Chollas, a place where the abundance of surprises both painful and beautiful mirrors the wild gorgeous dangerous splendid nature of my own Spirit, untaming itself as quickly and painlessly as it can, quietly yet forcefully, with the shattering of a million false hopes to reveal, well, something. Walking the labyrinth during the pre-dawn thin-veiled hours of early morn, I watch the Sky changing colors, the shadows of the Stones contracting, as my own long shadow shortens, and I observe the tranquil inhale and forceful exhale of my Breath, measured to the steady rhythm of my walking feet, every step measured and calculated, one foot in front of the other, laying down my feet from toe to heel, outer to inner edge, noting the places where my feet contact the Earth, and that central rooting point through my sole, which extends itself all through my Body, a serpentine undulating powerful two-legged four-limbed twenty-fingered twenty-toed two-eye-eared one-nose-mouthed naked creature relatively skinny, quite healthy, somewhat gangly, and certainly awkward, lanking my way through this labyrinth, this symbolic microcosm of the great mandala macrocosm of Life, muttering prayers in my Mind, Breath, and Being, and watching them disappear with the dust of my footsteps, the frosted visible air of my Breath.

Chiricahuas, AZ

Death

The nights grow longer. Time to go inwards. Describe your closest experience with Death. What happened? How did you feel? How did it affect your values and beliefs around Death and dying? What are you values and beliefs now, around Death and dying? 

Providencia Canyon, AZ (micro)

Providencia Canyon, AZ (macro)

The Weaving of an Herbalist

(This is the newspaper version shortened story, of how I became an "herbalist.") 

I was born into a world of plant medicine. The first month of a Taiwanese baby’s life is traditionally spent indoors. The father’s mother comes to take care of the new family, bathing the baby in herbs, and cooking nourishing broths filled with warming, tonifying, and healing herbs. These herbs infuse the home with a delicious aroma, and root into the baby’s body, heart, and life. I was thus nourished by herbs since birth, and surrounded by plants from a family that adored green living friends with multi-colored flowers.

Herbalism, or plant medicine, is deeply woven into the lives of Taiwanese people through their cooking, growing, and wild-crafting of plants. My parents came from a traditional Taiwanese culture, whereas I grew up in free-thinking southern California. Regardless of cultural differences, as plant-eating, plant-wearing, and plant-loving humans, herbalism is an ancient lineage from which we all descended.

My mom taught me how to harvest, eat, and appreciate the wild fruits that fell deliciously from neighboring trees, that nobody but us came to pick. I spent my favorite childhood days wild-crafting fallen fruit, hiking big mountains, exploring National Parks, climbing trees, playing games, and creating stories.

We refer to affinity or serendipity in Chinese as “yuan fen,” which represents the invisible red thread that ties people’s lives together, similar to the magical thread that the Fates weave, in Greek mythology. The simplest way to describe how I became an herbalist is to say that yuan fen immersed me in plant medicine, through my life and travels.

A respected elder once called me an herbalist, after I gave him an aromatic blend of beloved wild-crafted herbs. It was my first time hearing the term “herbalist,” and I didn’t know what that meant. But, something in my heart jumped in recognition. I realized that that’s who I was, and who I wanted to be. After college, I traveled around the USA and southeastern Asia for almost eight years, exploring diverse traditional healing modalities, and Earth-based skills and spiritual traditions. While in Taiwan, I went through a traumatic surgery to remediate the long-term effects of a near-death climbing accident. That experience taught me that healing is a multi-factorial process, and life-long dance. With no clear answers, life is what you make of it. I decided to focus my life on my deepest passion: herbalism.

I returned to the USA to study Western clinical herbal medicine, botany, and critical thinking with 7song, at the Northeast School of Botanical Medicine in Ithaca, NY. There are no degrees or certifications for herbalists; there is only life experience. Two years, two schools, and many adventures later, I met a Patagonian at an herbal conference near Tucson, which brought me here. I’m now involved with various organizations in Patagonia, including Borderlands Restoration, Revitalist Botanicals, the Global Arts Gallery, and Patagonia Creative Arts Association. I’m also teaching yoga, practicing Thai massage, and seeing clients for herbal consultations.

An herbalist is simply someone who effectively employs plants to help facilitate natural healing processes. I, as a clinical herbalist, work with diverse plants and people to aid healing, on all levels. During an intake, I ask many questions that include diet, lifestyle, emotions, and more. I then make suggestions that address root issues, surface symptoms, and, if appropriate, supportive plants and other therapies. Herbal medicine is especially helpful as a preventative, or lifestyle medicine. It may also be helpful for acute situations, depending on the individual concerned.

You’ll see a monthly herbal medicine article in this paper: philosophies, plants, stories, and more that will hopefully inspire you to deepen your relationship with your own health, and the natural world that surrounds you. I look forward to meeting you at Borderlands, and around town. I’m grateful for these plants threading us together, like the threads of yuan fen weaving, weaving. 

2014/ 09/ 19 - 2014/ 10/ 25 (A Sentence a Day)

We must go through the dark forest, not around it. My entire being is spinning with ideas, inspiration, and excitement. I want to remember this feeling of empassioned and bold aliveness, with hearing Wolf and so many other acclaimed herbalists telling us to be bad, not be afraid, and go out and create lasting positive change in the world and our communities. It feels so nice to be this comfortable, and to truly rest. I feel so tired, excited, stressed, inspired, overwhelmed, overworked, overstimulated, and just ridiculous right now. Herbalism is about establishing relationships with plants and the world around us, and facilitating that for our clients and community, too. The mountains told me to stop for a moment, so I did. While the winds stir up dust, clouds, and emotions, I sit under the shade of this large stone, watching the landscape do its dance of the day , and listening to its stories. I stayed awake all night to feel the wind toss my body across the stern granite ocean, to go prancing and howling across the desert mountains, hills, and plains with my coyote brethren, and to watch the stars dance across the sky, with lightning illuminating the neighboring mountains, breathing the deepest breaths of peace, delight, and truly Earthen blessings. I feel terrified yet delighted, ecstatic to scale these dangerous fourth class Arizona canyon walls that take me seemingly nowhere but up, dangerously up. During the in-between hours of dawn and twilight, there’s a certain timelessness and transience that permeates the landscape with a magic and beauty that is explosive yet subtle in all its vibrant potential. Is this the peace before the storm, or is it just peace? The first step of my journey of a thousand miles began today, by painting our/ my future/ upcoming clinic a deep/ bright earthen red. I possess an obsessive compulsion to complete what I’ve started, even though I still can’t fathom just how it will all work out. I am building a temple. I love working with mental illness. Living off-grid again might be an upcoming reality, which I embrace. Clouds feel protective right now, as I hide. I found a hawk feather, golden Cottonwood leaves, a dried river bed that flows into more, Osage Orange fruit, apple butter, a dead mouse, a massive black walnut tree, a field of Yerba Manza, a killed javelina, and how to renew life and hope from what feels like a deadened spirit: time. I woke up dreaming about labels. Today the Herb Temple, albeit incomplete, opens its doors to the public. Today’s our six month anniversary, between spring and autumn, and two hearts, two paths, two lives that converged and mutually decided to continue dancing together, to the clapping hands and delight of the Universe, herself. This morning, I promised this wild western winding muddy magnificent river of the Gila watershed, with its Heathen’s Baptismal hot springs, to unleash my tongue: as “good” (societally acceptable) me floats down the river, “bad” (societally overwhelming, alarmingly wild and untamed) me dances boisterously, naked and howling. Transition is a funnel: death to one life, purgatory, then rebirth into a new life. The fairy dusters have blossomed for the second time this year, late in the season, testament to the surprising amounts of rain, coupled with the encroaching cold via wintry nights, yet sunshiny days. The nights are now cold enough that Akimel, our coyote-chow puppy, sleeps on the bed with us, most notably wedging his little coppery golden body between my legs in the middle of the night. I just said, “yes” to something that I don’t wholly agree with, and find confusing yet alluring, but don’t feel like I have anything else fitting to say, “yes” to with my entire being, at the moment. My fears rise up like a flock of birds, lifting to cover the sky of my heart with their fluttering wings of questions, doubts, confusion, and the bones of despair, an underlying feeling of complete inadequacy. I’m glad to cry, rest, write, and take a day to myself to dream, be, emote, and dive into the waters of teary eyed emotional creativity with many pots of tea. We laughed, danced, cried, and had a really good time taking a chance and having a blast, to remember this moment for the rest of our lives. We walked across the starlit landscape hand in hand, surveying the Milky Way while discussing the mundane challenges and triumphs of our busy yet banal lives. I really don’t know anything at all, for there’s really nothing to know--- and that’s it. Gravity drew me, bike and all, down the gully and into the gravelly wash; pendulumatic motions and muscles drew me back out again, screaming and laughing with unfettered delight. I’m not sure what happened, but all has suddenly lost meaning once more, and I’m drowning in my own tears. That trip brought me to my knees. I have questions that revolve around culture, belonging, place, home, being, purpose, choice, meaning, and possibility.