Sacred Cells: Embodying the Feminine Divine

Every cell in our beautiful and amazing bodies contains the whirling wisdom of the universe. This is the journey of one witch remembering that, and celebrating the sacred and divine in beings of all genders and manifestations.

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What Poison Oak Teaches

It is cool this late June morning in the California Redwoods.  The path leading out of camp is lined with thigh high ferns and low patches of sorrel and wild ginger.  There are over a dozen of us, witches of all genders and generations, walking single file looking up the tall Redwood trunks through the green canopy of their branches, still wet with fog.  We stop periodically while our teachers speak of each plant and tree, and what these Greenbloods have to teach us.  Our teachers invite us to see and smell, and with permission from the plant itself, touch and taste.  I particularly love the taste of the tiny bit of Redwood I put in my mouth - it is sour and astringent on my tongue, then floods me with a deep sense of rootedness, vast amounts of time and history, and a promise of connection to what has come before, including  the possibility of deeply witnessing the lives of my own ancestors.

 

Also lining the path is a plant I have been familiar with since childhood, Poison Oak.  I have always loved its three leaf shape and its flame colors: gradations of yellow, orange, red, and purple - but most of the Poison Oak here is still green, the fire show still to come as the summer progresses.  One of our teachers points it out, and with a smile says, “Poison Oak teaches us about respecting boundaries.”  He goes on to remind us to be careful not to touch those leaves.  Later, my other teacher, herbalist and healer Seraphina Capranos, writes me more about Poison Oak:

 

“...plants communicate with us non-verbally though scent, shape, colour, and touch.  Their communication expresses their personality, and their offerings to us.  The itch that we get when we're in contact with them breaks our own boundary (itchy rash that breaks skin, oozing yuck from our insides to our outsides) and drives us crazy.  We move from being active out in the world, to often bed-bound and still (as much as possible) when we're "contaminated". 

Poison oak teaches us to be present, alert and aware of our surroundings. To walk more consciously through the world, and respect the habitat of this plant who doesn't live alone, but in community with other plants. This plant lives often at the borders, near pathways. I find this interesting.  Stay on our own path. Watch where we walk. Don't trample plants unconsciously. Pay heed.”

 

As a child there were times I was not so careful.  I remember once ending up in bed with a rash all over my body.  My mother did her best to ease my misery by applying calamine lotion and reading passages from Tolkien’s “The Lord of the Rings” to distract me.  It is one of my most precious childhood memories of time with my mother.

 

Then there is the apocryphal  story of my father, the logger who worked out in the woods and often got poison oak rashes.  He decided to see if there was any truth in the native wisdom that if you eat Poison Oak, you become immune.  According to his story he became violently sick, almost near death, but swore from that point on he never had another rash.  Given the storytelling culture from which my father’s people come, I can not vouch for the veracity of that tale, so please don’t try that method yourself, but this story added much to the legend that was my father, and that side of my family.

 

This summer I’ve encountered Poison Oak several times, and always go back to my teacher’s words, “Poison Oak teaches us about respecting boundaries.”  I officiated at a wedding in mid-July.  The couple chose a spot in the woods at a crossroads of paths, in front of a large Redwood Tree.  As we got ready for the rehearsal, I realized we were flanked by Poison Oak.  I wove that into the words I spoke, reminding the couple and guests that marriage is indeed a merging, but it also is about the careful and loving respect of one another’s boundaries.  The following week I got an invitation to teach a boundaries class at a seminary in Berkeley.  As I was weighing my response I happened to walk by a bank of ivy growing near some shops in my hometown, there, amid the ivy was the bright flame of a tiny Poison Oak plant.  I smiled and sent off an email accepting the invitation.

 

Days later I find myself again in the Redwoods.  I am collecting on the promise made at camp by my tiny taste of Redwood needles: the promise that Redwood will aid me as I continue working with my ancestors to discover and heal trauma and pain from far back in my father’s line.  Through my historical and spiritual research I have uncovered so much of their story.  They lived in San Francisco through the 1906 earthquake and fire that destroyed their home and whole South of Market neighborhood, and contributed to my great-grandmother’s death and my great-grandfather’s PTSD and alcohol fueled violence.  I have connected spiritually with the energy and story of my great-grandma Josie, but have held off connecting with the energy of my great-grandfather because of the sparse historical facts I’ve found that only reveal his violence.  This day, with the support of a dear friend, I am planning to go into deep meditation and trance and finally connect with my great-grandpa.

 

As I am led through the woods to an ancient Redwood, I am mindful of the proliferation of Poison Oak around me.  Again I hear in my head the voice of my teacher, “Poison Oak teaches us about respecting boundaries.”  As I settle in to meditate and go into trance, I petition Redwood to help me travel my ancestral time and space.  Then I ask the wise spirit of the Poison Oak to help me keep my boundaries, to help me stay on my path so I can be safe and clear in this process.  I focus on the Poison Oak leaves, they are the colors of the fire that destroyed the lives of my ancestors in 1906.

 

Deep in trance I feel and hear and see my great-grandpa’s fear for his family’s survival during the earthquake and fire.  I feel and hear and see his frustration as they cram into refugee tents in the Mission District. I feel and hear and see his sense of helplessness and anger as my great-grandma dies of cancer.   I feel his pain and despair, but am not engulfed by it.  I come to understand the years it took for him to get sober and move on with his life.  As I come out of my meditation and trance, I thank Redwood for help with the trip in time and space.  Then I thank the spirit and energy of Poison Oak for helping me hold the appropriate boundaries between myself and my great-grandpa Davey so that I can honor his experience, but not be swallowed up in it.

 

“Poison Oak teaches us about respecting boundaries.”  As you travel your path, may the boundaries be clear and well marked.

************

 

*For more wisdom from Seraphina Capranos to go http://seraphinacapranos.com/

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Lizann Bassham was both an active Reclaiming Witch and an Ordained Christian Minister in the United Church of Christ. She served as Campus Pastor at Pacific School of Religion in Berkeley working with a multi-faith student community. She was a columnist for SageWoman magazine, a novelist, playwright, and musician. Once, quite by accident, she won a salsa dance contest in East L.A. Lizann died on May 27, 2018.

Comments

  • Elizabeth Creely
    Elizabeth Creely Monday, 24 August 2015

    Beautiful Lizann! Poison Oak has its purposes, indeed.

  • Lizann Bassham
    Lizann Bassham Monday, 24 August 2015

    Thank you Elizabeth!

  • Steve Archibald
    Steve Archibald Tuesday, 25 August 2015

    Lizann -- Love the messages, the beautiful writing, the clear images. Thank you.

  • Lizann Bassham
    Lizann Bassham Tuesday, 25 August 2015

    Thanks Steve!

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