Communing With Plants

communing cover

Since the dawn of time, humans and plants have had an intimate relationship, as plants have provided so much life for us in the form of food, medicine, tools, and more. They exhale and we inhale, doing a sacred dance of breaths between us. We have cared for them, and they have cared for us. Even today, 25% of pharmaceuticals are derived from plants, and the World Health Organization recognizes that traditional plant medicine is the main healing modality in much of the world. But we here in America have lost our way. Most people in industrialized nations are no longer in touch with plants. The human-plant relationship has suffered due to cultural disconnection and modern conveniences that always come with a price. When we no longer spend time with plants, and when we take them for granted, we all surely suffer. Generational wisdom is lost in the pages of time. When you can buy a plant under the fluorescent lights at the grocery store, wrap it in plastic, and drive it home to your refrigerator, you aren’t fostering connection with the plant the same way you would if you had spent time with the plant, your hands in the soil, communing with its pollinators, watching, listening, smelling, feeling, learning.

Plants are conscious beings, and they thrive with love and connection just like the rest of us do. There is something extra special about a well loved plant that has given its permission to be used by us, and is eager to help. That is where I find myself in my relationship with plants. Getting to know them, respecting and honoring them, and being truly grateful when they help me. My relationship with plants connects me with my ancestors and those who came before me. It connects me to my instinctual wisdom, and makes me a more conscious human being. Since I have opened my heart to the wisdom of our green friends, I have found them presenting themselves to me in funny ways. Right when I am in need of some blood strengthening and liver support, yellow dock appears in my herb garden. Birds must have carried her to me. Right when I’m defending pokeweed from those who disrespect her and fear her, I see a little pokeweed poking over my fence to say hello. Right when I’ve got a bleeding wound on my finger in the woods, I hear the whisper of wild yarrow at my feet. Every intention I set for the new year has coincidentally revolved around one common theme: Connection. I can only hope this means more connecting and communing with plants, too.

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