The Art of Listening

There was a time when I scoffed at the idea of using anything other than understanding the body in a clinical way when it came to my application of herbs for clients- clinical as in the Western biomedical model. 

I understood there were different traditions of herbalism which leant themselves to using other methods when knowing what herb to choose, but I felt these were meant for practitioners who have those traditions as part of their heritage. Being of European decent with no deep roots in any particular culture, I decided last year to begin my journey differentiating my practice through working with Margi Flint studying the teachings of William LeSassier, Matthew Wood, among others. I am now incorporating drop pulse testing and facial diagnosis to help guide me on which herb best supports a client. 

But there’s a folk tradition that I have been missing- part of my lineage somewhere back there that I know my grandmothers used in my Appalachian past: getting out in nature and letting the plants speak to you.

And so, this past Sunday when I came home from another handful of days away from home and from my woods, I tried something. 

I listened. Just a test.

I walked down one of our paths through the woods. I stopped, letting the dappled afternoon sunlight play on my bare shoulders, damp from the muggy heat of early July. I grounded my feet. Closed my eyes. Cleared my mind. Breathed in deep. Let it out.

Listened, and asked "What is it you want me to see? What do I need right now?"

Taking a few moments to sink into the setting, to blend into the background, I picked out each bird I could hear. Felt the air on my skin. Breathed in the sweet, dank woods. Tried to drink it all in and send myself back out.

Then I continued my walk while working to keep all my senses open.

Walk. Listen. Smell. Feel. 

Hawk feather in my path. Perfectly centered. Just for me- nice and obvious, like I need sometimes. Picked it up. Thank you. 

Directly across from where the feather lay, into the woods, something catches my eye. Walking over to investigate the white clump toward my left, I see it. 

Ghost Pipe

Ghost Pipe. Monotropa uniflora.

In the six years I’ve lived here and explored my property, I have never seen Ghost Pipe. And I’ve definitely never seen it here before, in one of my favorite places to sit and watch the sun go down.

The Medicine. 

Aaah, but not enough to take. This is a protected plant. A sacred plant. I don’t harvest Ghost Pipe, but I can still learn from it. Good enough for me. Just happy to see it.

As soon as I stand back up, Hawk swoops by overhead- just a few feet above me. That was intense! I followed to where she had been perched. Look down. Another Hawk feather. This time, lying next to more Ghost Pipe. Lots. Maybe enough to tincture a couple of aerial parts? I’m going to spend some time sitting with this plant, listening, so I know for sure whether I should harvest for medicine. 

This might not even be medicine for me- it may be for a client or someone else in my life. The plants show up this way, but they’ve never shown up for me before like this. Hawk was leading me to this Medicine. But there is more than one way to take Medicine. The folklore and cultural uses around Ghost Pipe, also known as Indian Pipe, contain many lessons to be learned and places to reflect in our lives. Healing happens in both body and mind. I'll go into more detail about Ghost Pipe in another post. But for now, it's all about gifts that come with listening.

I’ve been yearning to incorporate a deeper folk approach to my work with herbs and with people. I feel the land calling me in this way. By keeping my foundation of herbalism and its clinical application in the background while immersing myself in this new (for me)-  which is not new at all - way of seeing, listening, and knowing the herbs through folk practices, I will be able to serve everything and everyone in the best way possible.

To work for the highest good. 

Letting the plants speak to you. 

I’ve heard my herbal elders speak about this. Going out, asking the plants to tell you which one to use. 

To be honest, I would much rather spend my time outside listening to them than scouring through my bookshelf of herb books, research, and pre-planned formulations when working with a client. 

However, at this point, I still have more faith in the stability of books and of other renowned herbalists than in myself. Maybe one day I’ll be able to lean into my knowing and trust myself enough to know that the plants will lead me in the right direction. Or, in this case, Hawk. I have no problem using this approach to finding my own medicine, but I'm not sure how comfortable I am using it for clients yet.

Later that same day, as I walked out to the field to harvest some Holy Basil, a Hawk sat perched on my (unfinished) bamboo teepee- otherwise known as my Sheepee.

Wow. Another sign.

I walked over to it as she flew away, and saw another feather left for me.

There is some crazy medicine happening right now. 

I used to think that folk medicine was mostly just in the way one uses an herb, but I’m learning its value in the finding of herbs. The knowing. The space between the thought and the spirit to let the plants guide you in their wisdom. 

It’s time to spend more time sharpening skills in the art of listening.

Hawk Feather