flower essences and psychic wisdom
Small fraction of my flower essences collection that's slowly overtaken my fridge.
I never thought I’d be talking to flowers. That’s certainly where I’d have to tap out on the woo spectrum.
And yet, here I am.
In August, I ended up taking an online flower essences workshop without knowing a damn thing about flowers or why I was there. Sometimes you just end up at the right place at the right time.
Making flower essences has been a fruitful way for me to connect with the land around me and adjust to life in Illinois. Through ceremony, communication, documentation, and alchemy, I am leaning a lot about how we humans can be good stewards of the earth.
Here’s a condensed version of what I’ve learned from the floral realm.
Lone Sunflower
Message: Confidence and magnetism direcly correlate with the amount of personal darkness you’re willing to acknowledge, embrace, and integrate.
Lone sunflowers sprouting up in unexpected locations, like this abandoned school playground near my new home.
2. Chicory
Message: We all have past lives. And the moments that unexpectedly bring you to laughter or tears are often indicators or clues of you’ve been (or whom you’ve known) before.
Chicory is not native to Illinois, but its purple blooms pop amidst the otherwise golden and green landscape.
3. Prairie Dock
Message: To feel an emotion without attaching a narrative brings freedom from human suffering.
Prairie Dock grows to be x feet high, making it the most x
4. American Aster
Message: Nearly all human problems can be better resolved by slowing way, way down.
There are many variations of American Aster here in Illinois. These are the purple ones, but I made my flower essence using some white ones in my backyard.
5. Creosote
Message: All plant wisdom acknowledges both life and death, with a preference for life and an acceptance of death.
Creosote, my favorite flowering plant of all-time. I built a relationship with it during my 1-year residency in Joshua Tree, but only after I leaving the desert did I realize how much I would miss it.
I stopped by King Clone, the 13,000-year-old creosote bush in Johnson Valley during my 10-day west coast road trip last month and reconnected.
