So. Another thing abused kids learn is that their own memories can't be trusted. After all, when your parents do something awful and then say that no such thing happened, or you misunderstood, or (my favorite) you're just too sensitive, it does stuff to a kid's mind. It's called gaslighting, is the official term; it means deliberately playing with someone's perception so they don't know what to believe. It is lying, of course, as well as, for real, a type of brainwashing.
I am coming to realize, more and more, that my parents' denial of the rotten conditions here, especially the way my mother frames things (she is never at fault, even when she very obviously is; she is a narcissist and so completely, appallingly allergic to responsibility), has done a number on my mind and my memories. I had always just thought I had a lousy memory; now I am realizing that that lousy memory has been deliberately trained into me. I have little sense of the surety of my own memories, and if someone remembers differently well then they must be right.
This rather bothers me, as you may imagine.
So, today then, on Memorial Day here in the US, the Day of Memory, I made this up.
It's a tea, the ingredients of which are all said to be good for the memory; mainly I sat down with a couple of herb books and looked at the lore, then picked out the ingredients I had, and then further narrowed it down to what I thought might taste decent. This is what I came up with:
1 teaspoon fresh rosemary leaves, chopped
1 teaspoon fresh lemon balm leaves, chopped
1 teaspoon fresh lavender leaves, chopped (I would have used the flowers but they aren't in bloom yet)
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon celery seed
1/4 teaspoon dill seed
Put the seeds and the cinnamon in a mortar and grind it roughly (you just want to break them apart, not pulverize into a fine powder). Wrap all the ingredients up in a square of clean cotton, tie it off and pour boiling water over it. Let it steep for a few minutes and sweeten with honey to taste.
That was my first guess at proportions and it worked so well I think I'll keep it. No one flavor dominates, though the cinnamon gives it a good warm base. I couldn't really taste them as separate flavors, but the rosemary gives it a good broadness that balances well with the sharpness of the lemon balm. It was quite nice, even though I don't usually drink tea, and it was quite calming (probably the lavender had something to do with that): I had been having a really aggravating day, a lot of little things driving me up the wall, but after drinking this I felt much better.
After I'd got the ingredients ground or chopped, I put it all in a bowl, and then, and this is the magicy part, ran my fingers through it to mix it (it smelled really nice), charging it with the ability to improve and strengthen memory and to remember the truth with certainty.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Next Step
So. Part of the reason I started this blog was to have a place to gather up my forays into the world of the hedgewitch. But it is taking me a little while to sort out how much I want to say.
Because I want to talk about all of it. That is my nature. But I get the feeling for some reason that I'm supposed to be secretive about all this, like Witches don't tell their secrets or something, and we all know how to read between the lines. Yes, well, reading between the lines is something I've always been total crap at.
There are reasons for that. The first may just be me: I am an ISFP on those tests, after all, and we really do just want stuff on the up and up, dammit. The other reason, and one which has probably influenced those letters above, is that I was an abused and neglected child.
Abused children learn pretty quickly that secrets are harmful: after all, we are told things like Don't tell anyone I hit you, or Don't tell anyone we don't have hot water, or Don't let anyone know there's no food, always, always with a helping of shame, guilt, and fear (You'll be in big trouble if you tell! We're poor and that's your fault!) So we learn, I have learned, that secrets usually benefit those who abuse power in some way.
And while I don't, really, want to have to include all that abuse stuff at this place, I don't, really, think I can avoid it: after all, it is the main reason I find myself turning down a path that looks to be decidedly crookeder than the one I've always thought I should be on. And so I don't think they can be separated, though I have lots of other places to talk, or vent, about it.
Coming to terms with, and trying to work your way through, having been abused will change your morals. Before I realized my childhood did classify as such, sure, I bought into the whole Do No Harm, have compassion for all &c stuff. But the more I look at the behavior of my parents, and my sister, the only other close relative I have, and see that they both cannot and do not want to ever change, the more I realize that in those circumstances fighting dirty is the only thing that will work at all.
And so here I am. And here I am still not sure just how I want to use this blog, though I know I want, very much so, to use it, and use it well. But I feel I should know more about this before I do.
Which is ridiculous; how else am I going to learn? So, I'll just write. I'll let it all come out, and we'll see how it, and I, evolve. I may very well look back on this in a few years and laugh. Ah well, a sense of humor is essential.
Because I want to talk about all of it. That is my nature. But I get the feeling for some reason that I'm supposed to be secretive about all this, like Witches don't tell their secrets or something, and we all know how to read between the lines. Yes, well, reading between the lines is something I've always been total crap at.
There are reasons for that. The first may just be me: I am an ISFP on those tests, after all, and we really do just want stuff on the up and up, dammit. The other reason, and one which has probably influenced those letters above, is that I was an abused and neglected child.
Abused children learn pretty quickly that secrets are harmful: after all, we are told things like Don't tell anyone I hit you, or Don't tell anyone we don't have hot water, or Don't let anyone know there's no food, always, always with a helping of shame, guilt, and fear (You'll be in big trouble if you tell! We're poor and that's your fault!) So we learn, I have learned, that secrets usually benefit those who abuse power in some way.
And while I don't, really, want to have to include all that abuse stuff at this place, I don't, really, think I can avoid it: after all, it is the main reason I find myself turning down a path that looks to be decidedly crookeder than the one I've always thought I should be on. And so I don't think they can be separated, though I have lots of other places to talk, or vent, about it.
Coming to terms with, and trying to work your way through, having been abused will change your morals. Before I realized my childhood did classify as such, sure, I bought into the whole Do No Harm, have compassion for all &c stuff. But the more I look at the behavior of my parents, and my sister, the only other close relative I have, and see that they both cannot and do not want to ever change, the more I realize that in those circumstances fighting dirty is the only thing that will work at all.
And so here I am. And here I am still not sure just how I want to use this blog, though I know I want, very much so, to use it, and use it well. But I feel I should know more about this before I do.
Which is ridiculous; how else am I going to learn? So, I'll just write. I'll let it all come out, and we'll see how it, and I, evolve. I may very well look back on this in a few years and laugh. Ah well, a sense of humor is essential.
The House of Fiori
In my dream last night was a woman; she was dressed in a heavy gown of dark brocade, embroidered all over in metallic threads, gold, silver, copper, and other colors. Her hair was nearly as heavy as her gown; and she sat there, queenly, royal, though she was not on a throne.
She said, 'I am of the House of Fiori, and we will help you.'
I woke then, my brain already translating, Fiori, Flora, the flowers, the plants.
I think it is a good omen.
She said, 'I am of the House of Fiori, and we will help you.'
I woke then, my brain already translating, Fiori, Flora, the flowers, the plants.
I think it is a good omen.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Garden Natterings
Been working on several more herb posts; mostly, though, I've been outside working in the garden, the formal one out back which is terribly overgrown, since due to a kitten explosion taking all my energy the poor thing was pretty much abandoned last year. The only thing I did plant, a pair of containers of sweet peas and convolvulus (with bamboo pyramids), was abruptly ripped up by my mother the first week of September, a good month and a half before the first frost, with no warning, no explanation, and no mention, even, after the fact, like she expected me to think it just disappeared. Or it had never existed, maybe?
So I've been out getting my hands dirty, mother or no; and I've been putting in some new plants, here and there. I have planted the little violas, heartsease, as they're called, which love to cross-pollinate and then self-seed in that garden, leading to all kinds of interesting new colors (though they do eventually tend to revert to the johnny-jump-up form); and yesterday I got some snapdragons, which, so the reference books say, are good for turning curses back on the one(s) who sent them.
And I bought some monkshood, also known as wolfsbane, with its poisonous root; I was looking for delphinium, which I love and which thrive, the first year anyway, but that was what I found, and I'll not complain.
So I've been researching, and thinking, and wondering; I took a drive yesterday to an herb farm that's a bit out of the way looking for agrimony, which they didn't have. And today I found myself standing out there, in the rain, looking at it all, figuring out what was next. And I thought: I'm officially obsessed with gardening again, like I had been several years back. And that's okay.
I've downloaded a pdf (damned things) of Culpeper's Herbal, that work from the 17th century by the guy over there on the right, Nicholas Culpeper. It's a rotten format, a book on the computer; and the urge has crossed my mind, more than once, to make my own version, hand-lettering the entries in calligraphy, painting pictures of the plants myself and tipping them in, and binding the whole thing up in say green leather. I could do it, with a little bit of research on bookbinding; and I could do it up like a grimoire, almost. It should, I think, be treated like that, with the respect it deserves. And I would certainly learn about herbs. It would take a long time to make, though, and be quite a commitment.
It's tempting, though.
So I've been out getting my hands dirty, mother or no; and I've been putting in some new plants, here and there. I have planted the little violas, heartsease, as they're called, which love to cross-pollinate and then self-seed in that garden, leading to all kinds of interesting new colors (though they do eventually tend to revert to the johnny-jump-up form); and yesterday I got some snapdragons, which, so the reference books say, are good for turning curses back on the one(s) who sent them.
And I bought some monkshood, also known as wolfsbane, with its poisonous root; I was looking for delphinium, which I love and which thrive, the first year anyway, but that was what I found, and I'll not complain.
So I've been researching, and thinking, and wondering; I took a drive yesterday to an herb farm that's a bit out of the way looking for agrimony, which they didn't have. And today I found myself standing out there, in the rain, looking at it all, figuring out what was next. And I thought: I'm officially obsessed with gardening again, like I had been several years back. And that's okay.
I've downloaded a pdf (damned things) of Culpeper's Herbal, that work from the 17th century by the guy over there on the right, Nicholas Culpeper. It's a rotten format, a book on the computer; and the urge has crossed my mind, more than once, to make my own version, hand-lettering the entries in calligraphy, painting pictures of the plants myself and tipping them in, and binding the whole thing up in say green leather. I could do it, with a little bit of research on bookbinding; and I could do it up like a grimoire, almost. It should, I think, be treated like that, with the respect it deserves. And I would certainly learn about herbs. It would take a long time to make, though, and be quite a commitment.
It's tempting, though.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Herb Musings
So, this new hedgewitchy blog is the perfect place to continue writing about herbs, something I'm only finally getting into as a Witch, even though I've been a gardener for years. I know, I know, some of us are late bloomers.
The subject of herbs being a very large one (it's basically all the plants on Earth, you know?) I've decided to start, as I said at the other place, with what I see in my own yard and neighborhood. And because I am a beginner, these are for the most part going to be, well, book reports. It kind of can't be helped. I do not, at this time, have enough experience to be able to say what I have learned myself through use, or through communicating with the plants themselves.
I find I am also having rather a difficult time with that last bit, right now, and not because I don't have experience with visions or journeying, because I do oh ho trust me I do; but because I'm not used to doing it outdoors, which seems to me the appropriate way to go about things if I'm looking to talk with a plant that is outside. I am a very visual person; and I have found, so far, that even just trying to meditate out in the outside world, with the sunshine, and the noise, and the cars going by, is very difficult, even with my eyes closed, though I don't tend to feel safe without them open, and I'm sure that doesn't help. I'm not sure what to do. I know there are such things as walking meditations; I thought I might look that up, see if there were any ideas there that might help. I suppose I could, if it came to it, just sit up in the attic in the dark, in that safe and private place, like I am used to, and extend my feelers out to the yard. Maybe that would work; I don't know. It seems kind of, well, armchair-y, if you know what I mean.
But for now I'll start with the book-learning.
The subject of herbs being a very large one (it's basically all the plants on Earth, you know?) I've decided to start, as I said at the other place, with what I see in my own yard and neighborhood. And because I am a beginner, these are for the most part going to be, well, book reports. It kind of can't be helped. I do not, at this time, have enough experience to be able to say what I have learned myself through use, or through communicating with the plants themselves.
I find I am also having rather a difficult time with that last bit, right now, and not because I don't have experience with visions or journeying, because I do oh ho trust me I do; but because I'm not used to doing it outdoors, which seems to me the appropriate way to go about things if I'm looking to talk with a plant that is outside. I am a very visual person; and I have found, so far, that even just trying to meditate out in the outside world, with the sunshine, and the noise, and the cars going by, is very difficult, even with my eyes closed, though I don't tend to feel safe without them open, and I'm sure that doesn't help. I'm not sure what to do. I know there are such things as walking meditations; I thought I might look that up, see if there were any ideas there that might help. I suppose I could, if it came to it, just sit up in the attic in the dark, in that safe and private place, like I am used to, and extend my feelers out to the yard. Maybe that would work; I don't know. It seems kind of, well, armchair-y, if you know what I mean.
But for now I'll start with the book-learning.
