datura

datura inoxia

this was another meeting in liminal space.
a clear vision of traditional ceremony with this plant.
at that time, i was unfamiliar in the conscious mind with her.

my partner and i spoke about her at length. curiosity, a wondering of how and where we would meet.
when we pulled into the farm to cook for the first time, i looked out my window.
datura was growing just outside my door.
i had gone to the medicine, and the medicine had come to me.

she lines the inner circle, and greets the moon from rows, and along the south side of the garden.
presence.
unmistakable.

to be honest, i was a bit intimidated at first.
familiar with one of its compounds, bringing forward memories of my time as a critical care nurse, atropine.
in the body it signals fight or flight response of the sympathetic nervous system.
used strategically when the heart rate is too slow to effectively circulate the blood, waters, of the heart.
guiding us to the places where we feel most threatened- the illusion of protective anchors exposed to reveal the lifeline of truth.

there is much lore about her.
in many cases, fear mingles and colors conversation.

i am only able to speak of my experience, and it is an honor to share it.
a familiarity, reminiscent and inextricably intimate with grandmother.
illuminating.
flowers open at night, when harvested, dewy nectar gently washes my hands.
an exploration in.
to the hidden.
tender places protected by the sweet intentions of the mind, to keep one safe.

an invitation and question.
dialogue about how information would be communicated.
weeks of inquiry.
old, familiar, story observed from this time and place.
story of who i am.
questions of “what is wrong with me”?
stories of feeling “other”.
guided into remembrance of another plant that illuminated the same question.
opportunity to experience the challenge of the mind, overwhelm, and heartache,
with her as a dear ally and friend.
piercing clarity.
enough to interrupt ingrained patterning.

and the weightlessness of the pause.
the gift of transformation when one begins to remember that “i am not wrong”.
”my” innate desires, hopes, dreams, needs, body,
is not wrong.

there is a fierceness to this teaching.
it touches everything.

a song of what blooms in the night.

this medicine is an offering of gratitude.
it is a deep honor to share her with you in this way.
curiosity as a practice and a teaching.
she delivers the most perfectly unique invitations to meet in presence.

may you know the honor of the night.
all ways.
always.