Sludgy Lung Elixir

Spring tends to evoke maladies of the lungs, especially in those who are of pitta - kapha constitution. Something of the watery-warm thaw creates a synonymous action in our bodies. Of course it isn't the only way in which our bodies bring us back to the awareness of the fact that we are inseparable from all life on Earth.

A simple elixir of Earth's healing herbs can bring us healing and relief in our lungs, whether a viral and swollen throat or painful, persistent, spasmodic cough.

Lung Elixir

To a 1 Quart size mason jar add:

1 Tbsp Cloves, dried

2 Tbsp Elecampane root, dried (double for fresh rt)

4 Tbsp Wild Black Cherry bark, dried (double for fresh bark/twig)

6 Tbsp Cinnamon bark, dried chips (if you have fresh cinnamon you are lucky!)

1/2 Cup Ginger root, fresh sliced (1/4 cup if dried rt)

Fill the jar of herbs 3/4 of the way full with brandy or alcohol of choice.

Fill the remaining 1/4 of the jar with god local honey.

Apply label with details and record in your herb journal or calendar.

Variations can be made to your liking, for example you may want to add a little fresh turmeric if you tend to get bronchitis or if viruses set into your muscles and make you ache all over.

If you're making this for your children, you can add dried elderberries and reduce the amount of ginger and elecampane to improve the taste and add the immune and lung strength of elder.

If you have a favorite lung herb, of course you can be as creative and intuitive as you wish. If this sounds like too drying of a remedy for you, add it to a demulcent mallow, violet, sassafras leaf, or elm infusion and sip it that way. Remember that our mucilage carries our antibodies, so befriend the good snot and keep it working. And remember too how slippery cinnamon can be.

If you need immediate relief, these same herbs at approximately 1/4 of the recipe can be steeped in 2 quarts simmering water for 30+ minutes and drunk as an effective decoction.

Allow one moon (month) for the extraction of your elixir to take place. Sing to it, shake it, admire the changes. Set it out in the full moon to absorb the healing powers of the water element.

Use small amounts in hot water or tea as needed.

Happy Spring

Make it Your Own

What's there that I missed?

In the mist the whisper

the list of the missing

things I ditched

and left? Or things

I feared and ran

from before I landed

in quicksand in locked

eyes with danger or wit

too great, never mind

fate. I hate

the longing that haunts

and shows up to taunt

my every blinking

breath, my wanton

heart

I sew words in hopes

of a better suture

My life's true suitor

green in curly scapes

in summer

shapes make their ways

through my daze

Dancing plays

and tumbleweed

where's the feed

for souls

like me

Lost in wondering

singing silent

where's the insatiable quest

the drive in my chest

the blindness to test

Lest I wake in another life

with tails untied and tasks

untried

Denied of dreams

of rose petaled streams

of bamboo leaps

and leaf colored leotards

Scribbled in air

scripted in sinew

imprinted on eyes

on karma's long thighs

How the waiting narrates

story lines

arabesque lies

of no pain but inside

as the pages they flip

on waiting's hip

I trip up and hiccup and

skip

ballerina

run

flat face first into muscled tree arms and soar

beyond writing OR

So write AND

dance-pick flowers-make life all yours.

Betula

Betula

Saplings all over my yard

I reach my heart out

Listening for hers

I can taste her tingle

just by thinking

She opens

says hello

says 'welcome daughter'

we start again

Fearless

in the arms of Mother

and the sky of father Sun

we re-create

I am sweetest

on a warm day

after a deep sleep

I am strongest

with my family all around me.

I am most happy

when there is sun on my skin

and space for me to claim.

I am versatile

but never a pushover

I have my place in this world.

My Medicine is new

and it is old.

I heal the wounds

unhealed by time.

Open your heart, child,

we are all in this together.

~~~~~~~~~~

Song for Together

The water-like ripples of the bird songs wake me

lifting my eyelids from their slumber

like a miniature sunrise

My quaky bones stretch like cold birch limbs

into the courting air of March

humming silent murmurs to the hidden flowers

My heart reaches for the melted ground

where the leaf litter crumbles

into muddy compost

Yet my ears still search

for the calling home

for the welcoming.

Where's the village song?

Where's the calling down

of the rain

and the blissful chant of the grain?

Where is the Daughter when the Mother falls ill

Where is Grandpa when the Son's heart breaks

Where is the feeling of together.

Far away we fly

on metal wings

slicing through flocks

to get to the beach or the jungle

"to see the world"

To see that it's true in some ways

in some pockets far away

that we do call with our voices

the rain, the sun, the agony, the blessings

We sing in the spring

And chant our mourning

until the haunting dissolves

And in our pocket here

where bounty is expected

and freedom reigns

we wake lonely

with the bruising of far away pains.

Where is the Daughter when Mama falls ill?

She's flying overseas calling home on her cell

Where are the Grandpa's with stories to tell?
They're back at the homestead; abandoned home-shell.

We're selling our souls to the mortgage Gods

and breaking our backs to feel worthy.

We're starving for wholeness of wheat and of tribe.

We're selling our fancy new knowledge

for what? Cars? Fashion? Pride?

I rise from my sleepy blankets and listen

for that call of the red bird

to sing me back home

to the vision of whole

where I can rest my birch bones.

Where the sunrise is sung

up by children

and the stories are still told

where the trees are known from each season's skin

and the senses stir wisdom from deeper within

I call out my voice to the wandering souls

to the hearts lost on the islands alone

to sing yourself home to the land

you call home

and sink in to the flavor of each moment born

How we long for the leaves to speak

to us

for the roots to tell us when to plant

How we long to belong

to feel safe

and yet free

How we long to sing

our wild heart song

to the wind and hear her call us hers.

How we long to shed our costumes of "independence"

and fall hopelessly in love with togetherness.