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Sacred Plant Medicine: The Wisdom in Native American Herbalism
Sacred Plant Medicine: The Wisdom in Native American Herbalism
Sacred Plant Medicine: The Wisdom in Native American Herbalism
Ebook311 pages5 hours

Sacred Plant Medicine: The Wisdom in Native American Herbalism

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About this ebook

• Explains the synergistic process of communicating with a Plant and how the Plants help us overcome anxiety, grief, fears, and limiting beliefs and teach us to trust, forgive, and embrace self-love

• Shares teachings from a variety of Plants such as Yarrow, Mugwort, Maple, Dandelion, Poison Ivy, and Japanese Hops

• Presents step-by-step activities and practices that allow you to actualize each Plant’s teaching in an immediate way

Everyone has the ability to consciously communicate with Plants. Jen Frey shows that if we are willing to listen, we can hear the Plants speak to our Hearts and teach us how to heal. With the support of our Plant allies, we can be our truest selves and remember our intrinsic wholeness.

In this step-by-step guide, Frey shows how to awaken your ability to directly receive the unique wisdom and healing gifts of Plants. She describes how communicating with Plants is more like a communion than an exchange of words. The primary language we share with Plants is through the Heart, and Plant communication brings an expansion of Heart intelligence and emotional growth. She explains how the Plants help us overcome anxiety, grief, fears, and limiting beliefs and teach us to trust, forgive, embrace self-Love, and enjoy the sweetness of life.

Sharing teachings she has received from a variety of Plants, such as Yarrow, Mugwort, Maple, Dandelion, Poison Ivy, and Japanese Hops, Frey follows each Plant ally’s wisdom with a step-by-step activity or practice. She includes both native and invasive Plants because all Plant Spirits have valuable lessons to share. She concludes with Tulsi, showing how this Plant is essential to helping us recover our Sacred nature, especially in a time of great Earth changes.

With the wisdom of Plant Spirits, we can have support and guidance whenever we need it and live in co-creative partnership with Nature.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateFeb 24, 2006
ISBN9781591439639
Sacred Plant Medicine: The Wisdom in Native American Herbalism
Author

Stephen Harrod Buhner

Stephen Harrod Buhner (1952–2022) was an Earth poet and the award-winning author of many books on nature, indigenous cultures, the environment, and herbal medicine. He comes from a long line of healers including Leroy Burney, Surgeon General of the United States under Eisenhower and Kennedy, and Elizabeth Lusterheide, a midwife and herbalist who worked in rural Indiana in the early nineteenth century. The greatest influence on his work, however, was his great-grandfather C.G. Harrod who primarily used botanical medicines, also in rural Indiana, when he began his work as a physician in 1911. Stephen's work has appeared or been profiled in publications throughout North America and Europe including Common Boundary, Apotheosis, Shaman's Drum, The New York Times, CNN, and Good Morning America. www.gaianstudies.org

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    Sacred Plant Medicine - Stephen Harrod Buhner

    1

    THE SACRED AND THE EARTH

    All mystics speak the same language for they come from the same country.

    —SAINT-MARTIN

    During the 1950s, the time in which I was raised, the extended family was still alive. Most Americans were farmers, and many people lived close to the land on this North American continent, a continent known to many of its native peoples as Turtle Island.

    I was raised in Louisville, Kentucky, still a rather small town at that time. I knew four of my great-grandparents and with two of those I was especially close. These two people, Cecil and Mary Harrod, had been born and raised in the latter part of the nineteenth century. They were filled with a spirit and approach to life that is now, in our time, extremely uncommon.

    My great-grandfather trained as a physician before the allopaths achieved a monopoly in medicine, before the advent of penicillin and other antibiotics when, among other things, doctors still used herbs in their practice. He was a horse-and-buggy physician in a small town, and he delivered babies at home. He knew the people and they knew him; his office was in his home. He helped babies into the world and he was there when they left it; he’d been present during much of the life that was sandwiched in between.

    By the time I was born he and my great-grandmother lived in Columbus, Indiana. They were mostly retired, though there was still an office in back of the house. They also owned a small farm outside Columbus where the family would gather most summers. To travel to that farm meant entering another world from the one in which I lived most of my life. The farm house was a converted hand-hewn log barn that had been built about a hundred years before. It had been disassembled, moved to the farm, and rebuilt. There were two good-sized ponds, the smaller one in the deep woods.

    My great-grandparents came from a different time. That time, connected to the roots of what I think of as the heart of what America could have been, soaked into my bones from the day I was born. It was a time of horses and of making what you have. A time of slow pace and rural life, of being close to the land and being a simple people not hung about with high-tech designer equipment. A time of the grain of wood sloping down the line of a hundred-year-old hand-hewn log. A time of the deep veins on the back of a man’s hand. A time of walking in the deep woods and hearing its call—the taste of freshly picked blackberries, the sucking sound a cane pole makes when pulled out of the mud in sudden response to the hungry pull of a fish. A time of finding secret hiding places, and heeding the call of a woman’s voice urging haste so the meal will still be hot. The taste of too-sweet iced tea in big, sweating glass jugs. Laughter around the table and tales of times past when these grown elders were but children themselves. And most of all there was the feeling of being loved deep into the soul and not caring a hoot about the shape of a person’s body or the irregularities of their personality.

    My great-grandparents’ way of life soaked into my soul and every fiber of my being. My bones fed on it as did my mannerisms, language, hopes, and dreams. But even more central and enduring was the deep connection with the land that they had shown me. That connection reached into my spirit and told me in its own special language that there was a deeper world, far older, than the human one in which I

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