The Portal of the Senses
Romancing the Plants
~~~~~
I can’t seem to keep
my nose out of anything. I smell my friends, my kitchen mugs, my mail, my cat …..
I may as well have born with whiskers. My sense of smell is on equal footing
with the rest of my senses. Even though it doesn't drive my car or find my keys
when they’re lost, they are without a doubt navigating me through life.
As I kneel by the
cold rushing river with the newly warmed rays of sun beating down on my
winter skin, I let the world enter my body. I deeply Inhale the effervescence
of the humid air, I feel the resins lured from the bark by the warmth and reach
wide from the tree trunks as if to court the fairies with their perfume, the
earthly expressions of the moment speak to me in a wordless language. I am
touched by the elements; the air in my eyelashes, the moss warming in my hand,
the humming of stone, the secrets of the soil. Animated in my nerves is the
life force of the land.
My pulse, perhaps
synchronizing with the memories of drums or churning of magma. My iron blood
hears stories in the rocks. Medicine drips, milky and bitter, from collected
stems, sticking unapologetically to my fingers. Cleavers tags along on my hem,
while thorns give warning to slow down. Soggy leaves hide waking pupa. It still
might snow. It would be a cruel thing for the fruit trees, but humbling yet
again for us two-leggeds with the curse of hubris. In the meantime, my mouth gives
health orders: green, yellow, sharp, salty,
sour and bitter! I listen. I eat.
In the same way my
eyes feast on flowers and my skin drinks in rivers, my skin dessert is touch
and my emotions ride the waves of ecstasy through plant oils. Delicate honeyed
Elder flowers, sexy Jasmine absolute, the enlightenment of Rose attar, and the
seduction of a good, dark patchouli. I’m servant to the muse and the nuance of
emotional evocation. Goddesses call to me, stories write themselves, images
dance in my mind. My heart pumps and moves closer to the little bottles of
heaven, asking for more. More linden, more fir, more amber. Yes.
Rapture of the
senses lets me sink. Beyond the forces of duty, of chore, of old wounds.
Sinking like a shaman’s journey down a wet root into a sacred spring where the
wise woman waits. She touches my throat with her herbal wand, invites me to
rest my burdens in the salty pool. Gems and singing minerals glisten as I
breathe. I breathe in the memories of Juniper. The touch of tulsi on my arms
and legs. The splash of the water ceremony and lingering smoke of palo santo. Memories
of Artemisia bundles and blue glass bowls and women shivering and hugging and
laughing. Sandalwood oil soft on my feet helps me stand. I’m wrapped in a warm
flax blanket and handed a blank book, with a wooden pencil. In my portal,
through my senses, I am taught, healed, loved, touched, safe, connected, and
ripe with possibility. Experience becomes play, skill flirts with luck, and joy
sneaks up on me often.
Cocoa ~ Rose ~
Ambrette
Elderflower ~ Rose ~ Silver Fir 
