For the past few weeks, I have been collecting mental snapshots and chicken- scratched notes to share with you.
They haven’t coalesced into a brilliant blog post (oh the pressure of once-a-week brilliance!) and I was beginning to despair.
But then I remembered the last time I sent you scraps of my heart and bones of my truth. I’m remembering the flood of comments afterward. The relief you felt at not having to be perfect yourself.
So I am giving myself permission today (heck, I may just be giving myself permission and the nature of this blog-beast might be changing dramatically!), to simply share a ramble through this lush life.
Last week I had a meeting at Dobra Teahouse here in Asheville. The tea menu is a small bible of whites and yellows, blacks and puers*.
Standing at the register and surveying the tea options, I asked if they had Mulberry leaf. Andrew had once gifted me some and the flavor was high-tannin, like black tea or blackberry leaf, and stood up to milk and honey.
Dan, who was working the register, said they had none in stock. But, growing up in the Appalachian mountains, he had sometimes had fried mulberry leaves. Said they tasted like cauliflower.
In Chinese medicine, mulberry leaves are cooling and bitter. They support the liver and lungs, and cool a fever. Modern studies have suggested that the fresh leaves can inhibit a few forms of bacteria and researchers are looking more deeply into their use for diabetes.
I couldn’t help but wonder:
Do you think they maintain their medicinal properties fried? 🙂
*Puer is a type of fermented Chinese tea, also spelled pu-erh or pu’er.
This was taken by my friend, professional photographer Emily Nichols.
He let Emily and I walk right up to the tree he was sitting on… in my backyard.
Emily swears he was no ordinary bird.
Hawks can fly high and take the long view or focus in on details and count the hair on a possum’s back. That’s the medicine they share with us.
Whether he was flesh or spirit, our day was blessed by his presence.
She told me:
My whole life, I have been called overly-sensitive.
I was sitting in the kitchen of a new friend. She was flabbergasted and relieved and awe-struck by the phrase I had given her:
She was trying it on like a new coat, twisting this way and that, examining the fit.
And she was a bit overcome.
And so was I, as I realized through talking with her that I had learned to navigate these shoals; that, for me, working with plant medicine gave me the tools as a teacher to help others turn overly-sensitive to energy sensitive.
That the heart of my teaching, beyond learning the how-to’s of making your own medicine, is the deep inner knowing that comes from harnessing your energy sensitivity.
A lush life.
Big luscious hugs-