Imagery is the language of dreams.  Dreamscapes are pulled from life, childhood; what you read yesterday, what you did.  They also urge you to see that you are a universe, aren’t confined to a single planet, or only one country, much less to the inside of your skin.  However, the dream maker seems to think it is important to know this truth while you are still alive in the body.  

Dreams clearly point to a spirit that knows you well, that is watching from the background and sees your life unfold.  Her language is poetic, but you are meant to understand.  More than understand, you are meant to trust what the dream maker brings, to believe in yourself.  If you establish a strong resonant communication with dreams, events in your dreams will show up symbolically in your waking life.  This spirit, the dream maker, is rooted, or elevated, deep in the mystery of the Other, but she is always trying to break through, to become an active spiritual ally to your waking self. 

Compassion for our humanness, our fears and anxieties are a frequent theme of dreams.  It is true that the dream maker is primarily concerned with the big picture, the journey of the soul, the expansion of your world, the fulfillment of purpose.  But she also cares about your particular fears and loves, the day’s problems and delights.  Just when you think she’s forgotten you, she arrives – a behind-the-scenes angelic presence shows the supporting structures holding you. 

The dreamer travels an arcing path high above a city. She is terrified as she cannot see a road.  The view shifts.  Now the dreamer sees that underneath is a supporting bridge, a road that underpins the path.    

Our acknowledgement that food has a spiritual nature is built into our traditions.  We pray, not only to express gratitude, but to ‘bless the food.’  Or we sing over it, or speak.  In this way we influence what we eat to our benefit, to disperse contention that may have arisen among the cooks, or among those gathering.  This tradition shows up in our practice of carefully choosing our cooks, when we ask to know the identity of the hunter or the fisher-person, where the plants were gathered and by whom.  In these entrenched habits we can see old knowledge, that our food can affect us beyond its chemistry, the vitamin and mineral needs of the body.  In these behaviors we see the belief that we eat the intention, consciousness, mood and emotion that were part of each stage of preparation. 

If we do this in relationship to our food, how much more careful should we be about our plant medicines.  I don’t only mean where and how they are grown or wild-crafted, but the ethics and sophistication of the person making the tincture or tea, or salve.  The reasons are obvious – we want our medicines to have maximum support for our health and well-being – and nothing else. 

Some plants – maybe all, I am not sure – have a variety of potential characteristics that can be invoked.  Some can be used to harm, and yet also have elevated spiritual possibilities.  What is pulled forward, so to speak, depends on the practitioner, and on your own relationship with the plant. 

Maybe we wouldn’t need to know all this if there weren’t so many people calling themselves plant shamans, invoking power they might not know well.  Or people who are too naive to understand what is possible – unintended consequences – I remember a woman who talked about this – what she didn’t mean to cause. 

Plants are an old nation, here before humans, and they are complex.  It is useful to know a few well, to pull the spirit of those to you when there is a question about a practitioner or new medicine, and give them time to answer. 

Into the novels, The Blue Child Series, I have woven some of this old knowledge.  Here is an example.

Mugwort.  Agnes wonders, are she and her sisters being cleansed?  From the world outside?  The addition of the second plant confirms her suspicion.  Wolf Medicine.  From the corner of her eyes Esther is watching Agnes’ reaction.

“To erase your tracks,” Esther says, her voice as harsh as the scrape of metal on metal.  Or the call of a night hawk.  Not reassuring.  Any appetite Agnes might have had leaves.  She dips her head to drink from the cup placed before her.