brugmansia

brugmansia, angels trumpet

i was on near the beach in hilo, on the big island, when i stopped and smelled brugmansia for the first time.
hawaii has been an ongoing teaching in my life.
my saturn line runs through hilo.
i spent much time on the islands as a young girl, an unabashed loved affair with the people and ‘āina’, land.
in my early twenties, i lived on the island during a season that was a layered teaching of what it is to distrust innate instinct.
i returned with my partner the first time in exploration, following a call to deepen relationship with the land.
it was on this trip that i first encountered her scent.
standing under her tree, trumpets in open invitation.

we returned again, in the fall of 24, for my birthday.
i was acutely aware of her presence.
near the ocean, on the hillside.
potent, powerful.
that trip contained many lessons, illuminating attachments to
health, relationship, heirlooms, stability.
a dream- clear directive to visit kīlauea.
in my dream i was to go to the volcano, and offer obsidian from home.
visions of pele, the beingness of fire, carving completion through ties that bound me to trauma.
with six planets in sagittarius, the shiftings of fire is a life exploration.
in the dream, i placed the obsidian down and the volcano rose.
i smiled when i woke, with plans to visit pele, wondering what offering i would make as i had not brought obsidian.
i gasped and reached in my purse, pulling out a pouch that i share with my daughter.
she has been in ongoing dialogue with stone ones from birth.
tucked in the bag was a piece of obsidian.

i walked down to the edge of the lava field, and placed the obsidian down.
wholly holy land.

a few weeks after we returned home,
kīlauea began to erupt.
her echoes filling the rivulets trauma had carved in my being.

mutable fire. lava. pele.
unfixed. devoid of rigidity.
understanding of path.
carving necessary lines and establishing boundary.

blooming as the fire of day reflects into the night.
not two.

unspeakable gratitude.

as the summer of 25 was fading, she began to show up in my cards.
an offer to make whatever medicine felt alive for the farm.
a request to make a hydrosol with brugmansia that had begun blooming a few nights before we were to return.
smiling. of course. yes.
perfect. perfect. perfect.

may you make beloved relationship with the alchemy of fire.
all ways.
always.