Herb Walking

Herb walking with Doug Simons was a reminder of what it is to be truly human on the Earth today, now, as a living, breathing human animal. As we wandered by plants on the paths around San Francisco hot springs in the gorgeous, magical Gila Wilderness, Doug stopped every 10-15 minutes (sometimes less) to point out relatives, relations, plant people standing there next to us, silently waiting for us to respond to their sweet beckoning calls to pray, listen and be in relationship with them.

As Doug slowed on the path that first day of class, I sat next to a beautiful frosty-green leafed plant with just barely emerging purple flowers. As I sat there staring at these flowers and admiring the branches that held them, I started a dialogue with this plant. Like any conversation, there were the basic formalities of hi, how are you, who are you, what do you like to do...and not surprisingly, she answered. She was a little shy about her name, but she did say that her flowers were magical and lovely and could be used for something that I would certainly like. Doug's voice filtered back into my consciousness and I heard him say, this plant (the one I had been sitting next to admiring) is called Red Root. The primary medicinal uses involve the roots which must be dug carefully, and with honor, out from deep soil. I was waiting patiently to hear about the flowers while also enjoying the information about the plant's magic roots.

Doug started to wrap up and move on. I started to think, eh, yea, well, maybe I was just imagining this whole thing and I wasn't really communicating with that plant. Oh well. Just then Doug handed things over to his co-facilitator and organizer of the program, Deb Buck to talk about her experience with using Red Root. The first thing she said was that the flowers on the Red Root plant make an amazing hair rinse. Wow. It is real. I knew it! Again, faith restored, I continued my conversations as we walked on along the path to the next plant. The whole day and the whole weekend was filled with reverence, prayer and communication with a variety of plant people, here to help us heal in relationship with them, with ourselves, with each other.

Gentle and strong, our relations, ever supporting us to connect deeply, remind us what it is to be truly alive and in harmony with all that is. What plant medicine has to teach us is not always comfortable as it sometimes draws our attention to the ways in which we have lost our way in taking care of ourselves, others and the plant world. This includes all the ways we sometimes forget to listen...to our bodies, our minds, our souls...and all the living breathing is-ness around us. What a gift. We may not know why we can see and feel so much while we're here in these bodies, but if there's a way to make it more vivid, authentic and co-creative, I'm in. Doug embodies this way and opens it for all of us to experience each moment as wondrous and alive.

The rest of the weekend was spent mostly in this way, and there were other moments of recognition and illumination that happened for many of us on the trip. On Saturday we sat outside while Doug and other basket-making masters shared how to make a basket woven out of soaked yucca leaves. In some moments utterly frustrating, this was a chance to literally sit down on the earth and breathe calmly as we clumsily tried to weave these beautiful strands of fibrous plant into baskets that would hold our things, or catch a fish, or just sit lop-sided on our dashboard, a talisman of our efforts to live more closely with the land. The peace and sense of rhythm I felt, sitting there with 30 others, struggling and sometimes succeeding in making beautiful, functional baskets from materials found on the land surrounding us, was familiar and comforting. A coming home into my skin, and to a heart which desires so much to find harmony with things usually seen in the main stream as "out there."

After another herb walk one of the three days we were together, Doug offered to show a small group of interested folks how to bow drill a fire. Although I wasn't really sure exactly what that meant, I was eager to try. The idea of being able to make a fire using tools other than matches or liquid fuel has always appealed to me, but I've never been in the presence of anyone willing to actually show me. Starting a fire from friction of wood or flint was usually part of a story my brother or father told about boy scout days or camping in the windy, rainy forest with friends. I thought, well, how hard can it be? People have done this since forever.

Doug gave us a demonstration, showing us the stance of the body that he developed over years of perfecting the method. His body close to the ground and tools, the rhythm of movements and the order in which to place things down on the ground all seemed doable to me. In the dirt, he showed us a drawing given to his son for the spirit of fire and set us loose to try the whole process for ourselves. I set things up and started drawing the bow back and forth over the wood sitting on top of the tinder pile that would serve as the beginning of my fire.

My hands slipped, the wooden dowel fell and flipped off the bow. This happened maybe five times. Doug came by and gently adjusted a few things about my stance and coached me through it again and again for the next hour and a half. At one point I got smoke and was so excited that I forgot to keep the bow moving. Another moment when I produced smoke, I began thinking about how tired my arm was and I stopped out of exhaustion, laughing at myself. I heard one of my yoga instructors' voices saying, "Notice what gives out first, your body or your mind." Many might say, in the long run, the body gives out first. But really when we look at the thoughts that are dictating how we feel about life, it's a sure thing that they are the designer of our inability to trust the body. Thoughts like, "well I've never done this before, this is too hard, I'm hungry," and all the spirals of illusion they invite, tend to produce the moment of giving up much more than the body actually giving out on us.

As the light of the day dwindled away, I tried and tried once again, but I didn't get a fire started that time. Doug was so encouraging, gentle and supportive the whole way. And the next day he mentioned a few times, with a hopeful, mischievous glimmer in his eye, that maybe when we get back up to camp we'll have some time to try the bow drill again. "You were so close, seriously!" he enthused. We didn't end up trying the bow drill one last time, but I left feeling like I had tried hard and succeeded at starting a relationship with fire which I can rely on in the future.

Whether we choose to recognize it and honor it or not, we are connected to and are made up of the elements. I wonder, after this time spent with land, plants and people in this way, if recognition of this fact, whether through the ancient practices of Chinese Medicine, Ayurveda, Yoga or simple living on the land which nourishes us, would occur to people who, for instance, have lived in a city their entire lives, never experiencing anything beyond its limits. Does it make a difference for people to be outside in this way? What is the real point of city living if it denies these simple facts and takes us away from the subtle levels of experience we can have with everything around us? Can we experience these things in a city center? Do we need to?

This experience led me toward myself, and the larger whole of which I am a part, with ease and grace. This shared time together was a remembrance of what it feels like to live on the earth, but more importantly, what it can be to live with the whole earth in humility, integrity, harmony and true joy. As I embark on this next chapter of my life, trying once again to decide which big city I'll be stepping toward, the core of my being is questioning once again--where do I belong? Which land is calling me? What is the nature of this call?