I recently spent a weekend in the semi-wilds of Wisconsin, studying and celebrating herbs with 300 similarly passionate people. What a wonderful experience! These gatherings are a precious gift for so many reasons: immersion in something that I love, the opportunity to learn from the best teachers in the field, and a setting in which I just might not be the weirdest person around. Perhaps the most important, though, is the community.
In this country, herbalism is still largely underground. While it's gaining in recognition and popularity, the predominant attitude is one of skepticism and often condescension. Partly for that reason, finding genuine practioners of the art - especially in the Midwest - is difficult. To spend time surrounded by them, among them, sharing ideas and experiences, engaged in the celebration of our work and planning for a hopeful future, is not only refreshing, but essential nourishment for both the mind and the soul.
But there's more than one kind of community. Most of the people I
talked to last weekend, I was meeting for the first time. If we had spoken before at all, it was only through email and facebook. That's good and well as far as it goes - a convenient way (often the only way) to keep in touch with our fellows who live in far-flung places. As more and more people are observing, however, it falls far short of having a face-to-face relationship.
As much as we need our like-minded colleagues and close friends, we also need our neighbors, our extended families, and our co-workers. Yes, they may think we're a little crazy, and we may have some doubts about them as well, but they are our community. And let's not forget those people who we don't actually know, though we may exchange a smile or a nod: the ones we see off and on at art fairs or our favorite restaurants or walking in the parks. The farmers who grow our food (at least I hope you know their faces), the musicians we go to see, your mail carrier. We share a commonality of place and experience. They know us, and we know them, in a familiar way that simply can't be conveyed through electronics.
It wasn't so long ago that travel and communication were limited, and our surrounding community was paramount. We gathered to socialize, to celebrate and to mourn, and not least of all, to help each other. Harvesting crops, building homes, and as the saying goes, raising children, were (and are) huge jobs, but many willing hands and hearts allowed us to thrive.
Now, of course, we have technology and businesses to help with the practical aspects of such things, but there is no substitute for the human element. We as a society are far along the road to losing something vital: connection. Connection brings knowledge, familiarity, confidence, and trust. A feeling of being grounded and at home in our surroundings. We are all hungry for that.
It goes beyond people, too. We hunger for our connection to the plants and animals, the turning of the seasons, the phases of the moon, the lore of the stars. We used to know these things intimately; being aware of rainy seasons, harvest times, the next full moon, and which herb would break a fever was second nature. After all, we spent hundreds of thousands of years evolving on this earth. Its workings are a part of our core being, and we are off-balance without them. They, too, are our community.
One thing I had brought home to me at the conference is that this, ultimately, is the work of a healer: to re-establish connections. There's an old joke that herbalists are nothing more than match-makers. We match the person to the plant, and let the two of them get on with taking care of each other. All types of connection, though, fall within our realm. We humans are interwoven with the earth and every living thing not only on the physical level, but the spiritual as well. The health of the two cannot be separated.
I could cite numerous facts supporting this claim: brainwave patterns consistent with physical pain when being excluded from a group, oxytocin production and cortisol reduction stimulated by social interaction, the use of exile as capital punishment in ancient societies. But there's no need; it's something we know intuitively.
So I urge you: put down the phone and go outside. Breathe the sweet air and watch closely the way leaves move in the wind. Be still; feel the heartbeat of the earth under your feet. In your heart, greet the world around you.
Make cookies and bring them into work for no reason. Climb a tree. Have your neighbors over for a cookout. Look at the color of a flower with more than your eyes. Play with your dog. Thank your usual waiter or delivery person sincerely. Spend a solid five minutes watching a bird or a squirrel. Let someone help you. Marvel at the sunrise. Give a gift to a friend just because. Plant something and watch it grow.
In whatever way seems best to you - and we all have our own comfort zones and preferences - nurture your connections. Celebrate your community. In many ways, they're the best medicine we have.
In this country, herbalism is still largely underground. While it's gaining in recognition and popularity, the predominant attitude is one of skepticism and often condescension. Partly for that reason, finding genuine practioners of the art - especially in the Midwest - is difficult. To spend time surrounded by them, among them, sharing ideas and experiences, engaged in the celebration of our work and planning for a hopeful future, is not only refreshing, but essential nourishment for both the mind and the soul.
But there's more than one kind of community. Most of the people I
talked to last weekend, I was meeting for the first time. If we had spoken before at all, it was only through email and facebook. That's good and well as far as it goes - a convenient way (often the only way) to keep in touch with our fellows who live in far-flung places. As more and more people are observing, however, it falls far short of having a face-to-face relationship.
As much as we need our like-minded colleagues and close friends, we also need our neighbors, our extended families, and our co-workers. Yes, they may think we're a little crazy, and we may have some doubts about them as well, but they are our community. And let's not forget those people who we don't actually know, though we may exchange a smile or a nod: the ones we see off and on at art fairs or our favorite restaurants or walking in the parks. The farmers who grow our food (at least I hope you know their faces), the musicians we go to see, your mail carrier. We share a commonality of place and experience. They know us, and we know them, in a familiar way that simply can't be conveyed through electronics.
It wasn't so long ago that travel and communication were limited, and our surrounding community was paramount. We gathered to socialize, to celebrate and to mourn, and not least of all, to help each other. Harvesting crops, building homes, and as the saying goes, raising children, were (and are) huge jobs, but many willing hands and hearts allowed us to thrive.
Now, of course, we have technology and businesses to help with the practical aspects of such things, but there is no substitute for the human element. We as a society are far along the road to losing something vital: connection. Connection brings knowledge, familiarity, confidence, and trust. A feeling of being grounded and at home in our surroundings. We are all hungry for that.
It goes beyond people, too. We hunger for our connection to the plants and animals, the turning of the seasons, the phases of the moon, the lore of the stars. We used to know these things intimately; being aware of rainy seasons, harvest times, the next full moon, and which herb would break a fever was second nature. After all, we spent hundreds of thousands of years evolving on this earth. Its workings are a part of our core being, and we are off-balance without them. They, too, are our community.
One thing I had brought home to me at the conference is that this, ultimately, is the work of a healer: to re-establish connections. There's an old joke that herbalists are nothing more than match-makers. We match the person to the plant, and let the two of them get on with taking care of each other. All types of connection, though, fall within our realm. We humans are interwoven with the earth and every living thing not only on the physical level, but the spiritual as well. The health of the two cannot be separated.
I could cite numerous facts supporting this claim: brainwave patterns consistent with physical pain when being excluded from a group, oxytocin production and cortisol reduction stimulated by social interaction, the use of exile as capital punishment in ancient societies. But there's no need; it's something we know intuitively.
So I urge you: put down the phone and go outside. Breathe the sweet air and watch closely the way leaves move in the wind. Be still; feel the heartbeat of the earth under your feet. In your heart, greet the world around you.
Make cookies and bring them into work for no reason. Climb a tree. Have your neighbors over for a cookout. Look at the color of a flower with more than your eyes. Play with your dog. Thank your usual waiter or delivery person sincerely. Spend a solid five minutes watching a bird or a squirrel. Let someone help you. Marvel at the sunrise. Give a gift to a friend just because. Plant something and watch it grow.
In whatever way seems best to you - and we all have our own comfort zones and preferences - nurture your connections. Celebrate your community. In many ways, they're the best medicine we have.