Showing posts with label plant medicine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label plant medicine. Show all posts

Thursday, 14 November 2019

On the Radical Hospitality of Ragwort


I want to write a love song to Ragwort, so often despised and derided, endlessly at risk of eradication. I have fallen out with several people over my high regard for Ragwort as she is (unfairly) blamed for the deaths of horses & cattle. We so often value creatures in whose eyes we can see our own reflections, both literally and metaphorically, over the health of our planet. Ragwort is one of many teachers inviting us to do better, as are so many despised beings. 


As for horses & cattle, proven cases of Ragwort poisoning are rare. They will only eat fresh Ragwort if starving due to our own neglect, and so it is dried Ragwort in hay that is the real challenge, if a challenge there is. In this way, again, Ragwort calls to us to be more mindful, more present, to slow down. Instead of looking to ourselves, we fear her & try to wipe her out. Indeed, she is one of five plants named as an 'injurious weed' under the provisions of the Weeds Act 1959, which means that the Government can require a landowner to prevent her spread.

Recently, there has been petition to have this act rescinded, although this was closed early due to the General Election being called. The Government responded to the petition by saying that they have no plans to rescind the Act at this time, particularly as the Act doesn't call for the eradication of the five listed 'injurious weeds'. However, I would reply that it is not the Act itself but the message that it conveys which is injurious to Ragwort and her sister plants (Broad-Leaved Dock, Curly Dock, Creeping Thistle, and Spear Thistle).


Growing on the shingle beach, Folkestone November 2019


Writer Robert Macfarlane tells us that 'pharmakos' in Ancient Greek ritual is a human scapegoat, exiled at a time of crisis in order to purify the sins of a community. The related word 'pharmakon', from where we get our word 'pharmacy', means both 'poison' and 'cure'. Ragwort is one of our great scapegoats, like foxes, like Hogweed. We think of it as poison but it holds within its golden petals so many cures. And yet, here too, we find echoes of the crucified Christ, and so of the crucified Earth. I wonder how many scapegoats we will need before we begin to take back our power in thinking for ourselves?
 
A native plant to the British Isles, Ragwort is a member of the daisy family & considered one of the top nectar producing plants in our land. Abundant on wasteland and waysides,she offers at least seventy-seven insect species home & food, thirty of these relying on her, & only her, for their survival. Ten are considered rare or threatened. A further one hundred & seventeen insects, including solitary bees, moths, & butterflies, use her as a wayside hostelry as they travel between feeding or breeding sites. She belongs, she denies no one, and she matters.

Growing in the edge places


Once, Ragwort was much used medicinally by the people of the land as a cooling wash for burn or for inflamed eyes. Her juice was also used to bathe sores & cancerous ulcers. Hence, one of her folk names of 'Cakerwort'. A poultice of her leaves was applied to bring relief in cases of rheumatism, sciatica, and gout. She was also used as a gargle for sore throats. In Ancient Greece it was used to make an aphrodisiac, known as 'Satyrion', and the leaves and can be used to make a good green dye, with the flowers producing yellow, brown, and orange hues.

No doubt mindful of the many benefits of Ragwort, known in the Isle of Mann as 'Cushag', to insect and human alike, the Manx poet, Josephine Kermode, wrote; 


Now, the Cushag, we know,

Must never grow,

Where the farmer's work is done.

But along the rills, 

In the heart of the hills,

The Cushag may shine like the sun.

Where the golden flowers,

Have fairy powers,

To gladden our hearts with their grace.

And in Vannin Veg Veen*,

In the valleys green,

The Cushags have still a place.

Other than Cushag and Cankerwort, some of Ragwort's folk names are; Stinking Willie, Benweed, St James-wort, Stinking Nanny/Ninny, Dog Standard, Staggerwort, and Stammerwort. The penultimate name refers to the old belief that Ragwort would 'cure the staggers in horses', and presumably the last to a belief that the flower was a helpful remedy for stammering.

I love too a new name for Ragwort, Benyon's Delight, coined by Dusty Gedge in 2011 in response to the wildly inaccurate comments by then Government Minister with a responsibility for biodiversity, Richard Benyon, who has a professed hatred for the herb. Oh, the irony! MP for Newbury Mr Benyon wrote that, "I hate Ragwort. And I am on the warpath for those who let this poisonous weed spread." His Facebook post was accompanied by a photo of him pulling up Ragwort, watched over by a benign cow. You can read more about why he was wrong on the excellent Poison Garden website here.

That Ragwort is known as 'St James-wort' (or herb) is intriguing. There are several possibilities for the St James to which this refers. One is the brother of Jesus, a leader of the early Church, although I can find no reason for Ragwort to be associated with him. One writer suggests that Ragwort's fluffy white seedheads are reminiscent of St James's white beard, although this seems rather tenuous even though the plant's former Latin name was 'Senecio Jacobaea' or 'Old Man James' (my woeful Latin translation skills notwithstanding).

Rather, it seems more likely that Ragwort is the herb of James, son of Zebedee, or St James the Great, who, again ironically, is the patron saint of vetenarians, equestrians, blacksmiths, and pharmacists, although there seems to be no particular reasn why. He also watches over those suffering from arthritis & rheumatism, both of which were once said to have been relieved by the medicine of Ragwort. It is to the shrine of St James the Great that the Camino de Santiago, or Way of St James, pilgrimage route leads. This was one of the most important Christian pilgrimage paths in the late Middle Ages and I like to think that its edges are graced by the shining petals of Ragwort. St James' Feast Day is on July 25th when Ragwort is at the height of her flowering. It feels relevant too to note that both the St Jameses were martyred, as Ragwort so often is too; a martyr to us seeking to deflect blame for our own behaviour to the beings of the wild.


During the long, hot summer of 2018, I was blessed to live closely with Ragwort when she came to live in proliferation in the hedgehermitage garden. She not only filled the air with sweet honey scent ~ who knew that she smelled so gorgeous ~ but taught me much about shame, maintaining boundaries without excluding, endless generosity in the face of condemnation, and how to endure scapegoating with grace & an ever open heart. All important medicines in these times.

Loving my first sniff of Ragwort for the year, 2019


I have watched Ragwort plants offer one another space to grow, sheltering other green beings through the long, parched summer, providing pollen, and sometimes dozing places, for bees when other flowers had succumbed to drought. It was incredibly noticeable that wherever the Ragwort was growing was a vibrant green, not just of Ragwort but of the other plants and grasses growing with them, where the rest of the garden was dry and brown. My husband informed me that, when he did need to uproot an occasional Ragwort plant, her roots were providing a home to all manner of invertebrates and were alive with life (which he carefully found new homes for). It seems, that where we are repelled, beings with more wisdom are drawn to her.

Ragwort in the Seabrook Valley, Summer 2019

2018's Herring Gull chick sits amongst the Ragwort



She has been less abundant this year, although I have particularly noticed her growing determinedly on the shingle beach here. I was pleased to be told that her growth has a two yearly cycle so I hope to be surrounded by Ragwort next year. I miss her when she's gone. Through the winter I will watch over the prayer of her roots until she comes again in the early summer. I am grateful and in awe of her spirit of hospitality and kindness, to both indigenous beings and migrants alike, and in the face of condemnation and risk to her own wellbeing when many of us would become stone-hearted and cold. She is an example to us all. I look forward to her return.


Ragwort seedheads


Mr Radical Honey clearing (some of) the Ragwort for winter
Notes:

Vannin Veg Veen is Manx for dear little Isle of Man


References:

Ragwort Advocacy ~

An excellent resource for Ragwort facts can be found here ~  http://ragwort-hysteria.blogspot.com/




and there is much reason to be found here  http://www.thepoisongarden.co.uk/atoz/jacobaea_vulgaris.htm 

and, especially, here in regard to the demonisation of Ragwort  http://www.thepoisongarden.co.uk/blog/blog160911.htm

Ragwort info ~


Ragwort as medicine ~   


On St James ~ 


Friday, 22 March 2019

Bewitched by the Blackthorn Being, part II ~ sacrifice & service


"Beloved, gaze in thine own heart, the holy tree is blooming there..." W.B. Yeats

I absolutely adore this stunning blackthorn pattern by William Morris, which was first sold by Morris & Co. in 1892. It is mostly the work of John Henry Dearle, as Morris was reaching the end of his life during its design, but it contains many of Morris's signature themes, such as daisies and entwined leaves.

I can see so many aspects of the Blackthorn Being here; owls, with shades of Blodeuwedd, foxes, stags, the presence of serpents in the snake's head fritillary which form the eyes of the Mother of the Woods; she is serpent-eyed indeed. In the Irish legend, 'The Pursuit of Diarmaid & Grainne', the deer goddess, Sadhbh, becomes pregnant as a result of eating sloe berries, the dark fruit of the blackthorn. Her son is born with a lump on his head, which contains a snake. Later, the snake is killed in sacrifice to save another man, underlining blackthorn's sacrificial service in mythology.

Since I wrote about blackthorn the other day, I have been reflecting on this sacrificial aspect which feels to be part of her purifying medicine. She is a great stabiliser of emotion & a bringer of hope & joy, a healer of depression. She does this by taking in negative, stagnant energies which are not her own; scapegoating herself, just as the, primarily Welsh, 'sin eaters' once did for the newly dead. How appropriate then that she was believed to be one of the trees woven into Christ's crown of thorns; the crucifixion as the ultimate scapegoating, sin eating for the world. Sacrifice and service. 

Blackthorn too seeks to transform despair into hope, death into life, just as winter transforms into spring. Indeed, the Buddhist practice of 'tonglen', or taking and sending, does much the same thing; breathing in the negative as a thick dark smoke and allowing it to settle in the heart chakra before breathing it out as transformed light. At its most powerful we are not working with only our own suffering but the suffering of others, whether of body, mind, or spirit, seeking to transform it as a gift, and a relief, to them. With our breath we can offer others a breathing space, an opportunity to also, at last, 'breathe out'. This turns on its head our usual human urge to avoid discomfort and seek out only what makes us feel good. Sacrifice and service. In this way we awaken compassion in ourselves for the suffering of others, whether human or non-human. Might we do this for humans with whom we vehemently disagree, as well as for those we love? Might we offer our heart breath to the victims of the badger cull, to trees cut down? 

But, of course, what we do for others we also do for ourselves, and vice versa. Pema Chödrön describes this as "breathing in for all of us, breathing out for all of us". It may be that we are too deeply entwined in our own emotional, spiritual, or physical, journey to feel that we have anything to offer to others. I have written about this before; the sense I have that some of us who feel a great deal are also feeling for those among us who are too overwhelmed, numbed, or disconnected to feel. This is the path of the serenydd, which I hope to write about more this year when I can find the words. Here is the path of the wounded healer, offering healing from our own pain & turning what seems like poison into medicine. Sacrifice and service. 

"You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal
of your body love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, 

and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on."


Mary Oliver, ‘Wild Geese


And this is the gift that the blackthorn also offers us; physiologically, as all trees do in breathing in carbon dioxide and breathing out oxygen, but also spiritually in the power of her deeper prayer. She is so often regarded with suspicion and fear, as all beings associated with death are. That is because we have cut death off from life. Still, she keeps breathing for us and offering us her medicine.




And of her association with death, blackthorn is a tree of the 'warrior's journey' helping us to face our own dying, perhaps the bravest journey of all. But she also teaches us how to be fully alive. She is a wise, wild teacher to anyone who has an enduringly negative or pessimistic attitude, interpreting their life story through the bad, rather than the good. Blackthorn reminds us that the stories we tell ourselves about our lives matter, that we can re-frame them & change everything. I dislike intensely the 'New Age' view that we are somehow to blame for the terrible things that happen to us, just as we would not blame a blackthorn if she were mindlessly cut down. There are many with power in this world who do not use it well but it is good to be reminded that we have some power. On a day when we are feeling particularly compassionate we might choose to breathe in their suffering. Again, blackthorn teaches us that we don't need to rid ourselves of our 'thorns', or let go of our protection against what wounds us, in order to offer healing to that which wounds.

As for our own power to interpret our stories, I once read, I think in 'New Scientist' magazine, an article which talked about the disturbing trend for aid workers seeped in our cultural way of thinking to go to other parts of the world where natural, and other, 'disasters' had occurred and think that they were being kind by persuading the victims to take anti-depressants, of course encouraged by pharmaceutical companies who were keen to increase the market for their wares. But the issue was the assumption that the people who had experienced the death of loved ones, the destruction of homes and livelihoods, would be depressed. But often this wasn't so. They may have been in shock, desperately grief-stricken, angry, horribly sad and distressed, all entirely appropriate in those circumstances, but they had ways of framing their experiences within a worldview that we can scarcely even imagine. Anti-depressants just weren't the sort of medicine that were needed.  Indeed, our propensity to medicate perfectly valid human reactions to experience is to be questioned in our deepest core. It might be also be suggested that, increasingly, natural disasters due to climate change are caused by the rich Western world disproportionately effecting the poor elsewhere, and that, rather than seeking to truly offer healing, we wish to numb victims in order to avoid seeing, or engaging with, the pain that we ourselves have caused. Even medicine becomes the tool of oppression in the wrong hands; a colonisation of the heart. Unfortunately I have been unable to trace the article but there is an equally interesting, and more recent, article here on similar themes.

In our culture happiness has become a tyranny, but in so many ways victimhood is becoming equally attractive. The inauthenticity of emotion is a disease; the denial of grief, when there is so much to grieve, the burying of anger, when there is so much to rage against, and the refusal to see beauty in spite of, and because of, our grief & anger when there is so much that remains beautiful. Grief AND gratitude is increasinly the wild edge that we must walk upon. As in so many fairy stories, we perhaps need a jab from the sharp thorn to wake us up to reality and then the medicine of her petals to help us forgive it. There is so much that needs to be re-written and re-framed.

Tony Benn comes to mind. He said;

"There is no final victory, as there is no final defeat. There is just the same battle. To be fought, over and over again. So toughen up, bloody toughen up." 

A true warrior of the blackthorn speaking truth to power! No one said that it was meant to be easy. That's why we need to befriend the dark and the beings who understand its medicine, lest we should slip into a fairytale of denial or depression.

Interestingly all of this is a conversation that often arises here in the hedgehermitage, most recently today even before I had fully thought about blackthorn in this way. There is always a reason why our attention is drawn to a sister or brother being at a particular time and blackthorn is so rich with medicine and meaning. There is a lot to share, but of course it is personal too.


Returning to this lovely pattern, Morris & Co. tell us that, "the face of the Mother of the Woods in the wine red version gives life to the tree & the forest ~ a sort of a Morris 'green man'". They also note that, "sometimes children are afraid of the Mother of the Woods, kindly though she is, & so it's possible to place the daisies in the centre to 'ofset the crone'. I'm not at all sure that that's but I wish them much luck!


References:


William Morris Blackthorn pattern images, Wiki Commons.

William Morris Blackthorn tiles information ~ http://williammorristile.com/textiles/blackthorn.html



Mary Oliver, 'Wild Geese' ~ http://rjgeib.com/thoughts/geese/geese.html

Buddhist practice of tonglen ~ http://awesomemindsecrets.com/healing-meditation-tonglen/

Pema Chödrön, 'How to Practice Tonglen' in 'Lion's Roar' ~ https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.lionsroar.com/how-to-practice-tonglen/amp/

'The modern epidemic of sadness destroying heart and soul cannot be solved with anti-depressants', Yasmin Alibhai-Brown, International Business Times,  23rd February 2018 ~ https://www.ibtimes.co.uk/modern-epidemic-sadness-destroying-heart-soul-cannot-solved-anti-depressants-1663346





Tuesday, 19 March 2019

The Blackthorn Being and Vashti's 'Great No'


It was lovely to see a froth of blackthorn blossom at the edge of our church field on Sunday. A member of the rose family, she is one of the first trees to blossom in the hedgerows after the dark of winter and so she is a powerful symbol of the determination to return to life from the frozen places. I love that her blossom appears before her leaves, which reminds me of the blackbird singing before the dawn. They both know that what they long for is coming, so why not just start singing now? “Why wait?”, they say, “open your petals, sing your song, the light is coming!”

Blackthorn, whose magic is deeply woven into the folklore of winter, is sometimes known as 'The Mother’, or ‘Dark Crone’, of the Woods and grows prolifically in the British Isles. She is often planted in boundary hedgerows as a protection due to her sharp thorns. Her folklore is equally thorny, and it was that that I sat down to write about this afternoon but, as so often happens, in the writing of it I somehow connected to a deeper ‘river beneath the river’ of what the Blackthorn Being* might want to say. As well as their stunning blossom, blackthorn also has striking deep blue/black fruits called sloes at the beginning of winter. It was when I read that the expression ‘sloe-eyed’, which refers to someone with beautiful, dark eyes, was first written of in Augusta Jane Wilson’s 1867 novel, ‘Vashti’, that the lightning struck.


Vashti is one of the little known women of the Bible, who appears only in the first chapter of the Book of Esther. I’m not sure that Augusta Evans’ novel has anything to do with the Biblical Vashti, but I was reminded just by seeing her name how compelling she is. In Esther we are told that Vashti is the Queen of Persia and the first wife of Persian King Ahasuerus. In the third year of his reign, Ahasuerus held a celebration for visiting nobles, together with his officials and servants, to ‘show the riches of his royal glory and the splendour & pomp of his greatness’. This lasted for one hundred & eighty days, at the end of which he held a further seven day feast in the garden of his Royal palace, to which everyone was invited. There, drinks were served in golden vessels and ‘the royal wine was lavished’. However, the king made sure to declare that no one was under any compulsion to drink as, ‘the king had given orders to all the staff of his palace to do as each man desired’. At the same time Vashti, his queen, was giving her own feast for the women in the palace. But she was not to be offered the same respect as the men.


On the final day of the feast, the king, who was ‘merry with wine’, told his servants to summon Vashti, ‘in order to show the peoples and the princes her beauty, for she was lovely to look at’. But Vashti said no. Her defiance infuriated the king, who then consulted his officials on what should be done. Afraid that Vashti’s 'great no' would encourage other women to also say no to their husbands, and considering her refusal to comply a wrong against not only the king but all the men of the king’s provinces, an order was issued that Vashti was never again to come before the king, that she should be ‘replaced by someone better than she’, and that ‘all women must give honour to their husbands, high and low alike’. When the king’s anger had cooled he 'remembered Vashti and what had been decreed against her' but his reaction was not to mend what had been broken but to send out his officers to ‘gather all the beautiful young virgins in his kingdom’ and bring them back to his harem. This is when Esther appears and the story continues. But Vashti is gone, disappeared. And most people, even those who read the Bible regularly, are unfamiliar with her name.

I have been in a Bible study group studying the Book of Esther and Vashti was almost glossed over entirely, with perhaps a disapproving mutter. It seems that the church prefers Mary’s “Yes!”, which is so often painted as passive submission rather than the radical act that it was, to Vashti’s “No!” Where Vashti is remembered she is an ambivalent figure. Occasionally she is written of as a feminist icon; Harriet Beecher Stowe called Vashti's disobedience the "first stand for women’s rights’. And, author of ‘The Women’s Bible’, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, wrote that Vashti "added new glory to [her] day and generation...by her disobedience; for 'Resistance to tyrants is obedience to God.'" The African American poet Frances E.W. Harper, who considered the queen’s refusal to come from self-respect, wrote of her 1895 poem ‘Vashti’ that she was, "a woman who could bend to grief, but would not bow to shame." In contrast, the ancient Judaic interpretation of her story in the Midrash considers her to be wicked and vain, rejecting the possibility that her refusal was made for her own dignity and instead speculating that she must have been afflicted by a disfiguring illness, such as leprosy. Another interpretation suggests that the angel Gabriel had visited her and given her a tail!

But what of her connection to the Blackthorn, other than the suggestion that she may have been ‘sloe-eyed’? In many ways, Vashti reminds me of our own ‘hawthorn Christa’, the Welsh Blodeuwedd, who is described as the most beautiful woman on earth, having been created by enchantment out of flowers as a wife for Lleu Llaw Gyffes, without of course ever asking her what she wants. When she falls in love with another man, Gronw Pebr, whilst Llew is away she plots with him to kill her husband in order to free herself from this enforced spell and is punished by being turned into an owl who is ‘shunned by other birds’. Again, there are many interpretations of her story. To be ‘turned into an owl’ might not be seen as a punishment at all, but instead as Blodeuwedd’s decision to reclaim her claws after years of submission. This is Blodeuwedd’s ‘great no’. As Alan Garner writes of her in ‘The Owl Service’, “She wants to be flowers, but you make her owls. You must not complain, then, if she goes hunting.”


Nevertheless, again I was once in a group, comprising only women, which was discussing the Blodeuwedd story and it was suggested to me that her meaning in myth was as, “a warning to women not to give in to our fickle and unfaithful natures!” I wrote more about Blodeuwedd, and her connection to hedgerows in my article, ‘Boundaries and Blodeuwedd’. Then, I had only thought of her in relation to hawthorn, which is one of the flowers purportedly used in her creation, but perhaps there was a petal or two of hawthorn’s hedgerow sister, blackthorn, included too. They are both after all so wonderfully willful and wild.


Blackthorn is often associated with witches and with spells used to 'bind or blast’. In South Devon witches were said to carry blackthorn walking sticks for use in mischief making and, in Irish folklore, Blackthorn is the home of the Lunantisidhe, or moon fairies, who are unfriendly towards humans; and with good reason when one considers the devastation we have brought to hedgerows. In medieval times the Devil was said to prick his devotees' fingers with a blackthorn & heretics & witches were burned on blackthorn pyres. She is also one of the trees said to have been included in the crown of thorns at Christ's crucifixion. What a heavy burden to bear.

In older Celtic lore blackthorn is said to symbolise a warrior's death in service to a higher cause & to provide aid to heroes who, if they threw a blackthorn twig, would find an impenetrable hedge between themselves & their enemies. In Scotland too she is associated with warfare, & with the 'Old Hag of Winter', the Cailleach, who calls in winter by striking the ground with her blackthorn staff; a long & difficult winter being named a 'Blackthorn Winter' in her honour.


But, of course, Blackthorn is also a healer. She is not only a protector but a purifier. Medicinally, like hawthorn, sometimes known as whitethorn, she is wonderful for the circulation, for stimulating the metabolism, & for 'cleaning the blood'. Her dark sloes, ripen & sweeten after the first frost, which puts a rather different slant on the Cailleach's cold prayer; just as we are warned after the first frosts not to eat the remaining blackberries because the Devil has spoiled them, the sloes sweeten & help us to settle into the dark. As we emerge into the very early spring, her flowers help to purify the blood, soothe the stomach, and lessen the apathy that we can sink into in the winter. Drinking water infused with blackthorn bark is said to relieve fatigue and increase vitality and the fresh juice of her sloes when gargled can relieve a sore throat. The pulp of her berries, when combined with other ingredients, has also been used to make face masks to maintain skin elasticity and so ‘enhance beauty’. I’m sure that both Vashti and Blodeuwedd might have been said to have skin that was ‘blackthorn blessed’. And, of course, her sloes make the most delicious sloe gin.

And so, here is Blackthorn, a most wonderful healer, a provider of protection and much needed boundaries, and a bringer of joyful intoxication, yet there is such ambivalence towards her. Despite being acknowledged to have her uses, she is associated with the Devil and with witches’ curses, and linked inextricably with, the often terrifying Old Woman, the Cailleach, and so with winter, that most ambivalent of seasons. Perhaps with her stunning froth of flowers, which belie the ‘savage thorns’ beneath the prettiness, she just isn’t ‘friendly’ enough?



Which brings me back to Vashti, Blodeuwedd, and another Biblical woman who refused to say a submissive “Yes”, Adam’s first wife, Lilith. Lilith was said to have been ‘created from the same clay as Adam’ and at the same time, or even sometimes before him. This is in contrast to Eve, who was created from Adam’s rib later. In Jewish mythology, Lilith is often described as a sexually voracious demon who is banished to the desert but returns in the night to steal babies. Shades of Vashti’s ‘tail’ here perhaps? And what of Lilith’s crime? That was to refuse to be subservient to Adam, or in some versions of her story, to refuse to have sex in the missionary position! Here then is her ‘great no’. We might then find meaning in the knowledge that her name translates from the Hebrew as ‘night hag’, or ‘screech owl’. Indeed, Lilith is sometimes depicted with the feet of an owl. Sometimes she is also described as ‘the serpent in the tree’, but that is another story and another thread to follow. Isaiah 34 tells us that, “Her castles shall be overgrown with thorns, her fortresses with thistles and briers. She shall become an abode for jackals and a haunt for ostriches. Wildcats shall meet with desert beasts, satyrs shall call to one another; There shall the Lilith repose...” Again, she is often described as beautiful, but, like Vashti, like Blodeuwedd, like the Blackthorn she just isn’t nice enough. She has claws.

All of these stories provide inspiration for women not living the lives that they themselves have chosen, and to all living without liberty. Vashti, Blodweuwedd, and Lilith, all had status, at least in relation to their men, and all were valued for their beauty. And they all said “No” to living a life without power over their own bodies and destinies. But it isn’t really about being able to say no. Rather, it is about being counter-cultural, taking back our power to choose, just as Mary took her power by saying her ‘great Yes’. The Blackthorn Being, both blessed and burdened by the meaning that she has been given, can teach us about the strong boundaries that we need in order to make these clear decisions over our own lives and, if we are met with resistance, how to use our claws.

In response, we too might be regarded with, at best, ambivalence; thought of as unbeautiful; too willful, too wild, too fat, too thin, too waspish, too sharp, too unruly, just not friendly enough, but the world is changing, slowly, and Vashti, Blodeuwedd, and Lilith, queens of the Blackthorn Being with their ‘great nos’ are flowing through our veins to make sure that it does. They know that what we long for is coming, so why not just start singing now? 

“Why wait?”, they say, “open your petals, sing your song, the light is coming!”




References:

* I borrowed the phrase 'Blackthorn Being', slightly adapted and with much respect, from Sharon Blackie's wonderful article, 'The Blackthorn Beeing' at https://www.sharonblackie.net/theartofenchantment/the-blackthorn-beeing/

Blackthorn, and other plant lore ~


Vashti ~



Blodeuwedd ~

Lilith ~