Herbs to Ease Transitions

by Meg McGowan

In one of my past lives I was married briefly. While we were getting divorced, I began to garden. I planted flowers rather than vegetables, seeking nourishment of my spirit rather than my physical body. Vegetables, I felt, might require too much regular attention, might produce harvests that would demand to be prepared and preserved. (My nurturing was, at that time, reserved for my small son. The point of the garden was to nurture me.) Flowering plants simply rewarded my sporadic attentions with blooms. They offered themselves to be gathered up into vases or not, as time permitted. Creating my gardens gave me a focus for re-creating beauty and joy in my life.

On the outside, the gardens helped to transform what had been our home into my own home. The work itself had unexpected benefits on a deeper level. The time I spent in silent communion with the plants helped me to reestablish my connection to the natural world, and, though I had no language to describe my experience at the time, to the plant spirits as well.

Eventually, I was compelled to create an herb garden just outside my back door. Herbs were as undemanding to grow as flowers, yet they acted as a bridge between my spirit and body, adding nutrients and flavor to the food I prepared. I found that the energy of my herb garden was different than the energy of my various flowerbeds. In the front of my house the energy was playful and exuberant. Columbines, in shades of magenta and tawny gold, waved in the breeze like elaborate Japanese kites; sky-blue balloon flowers unfurled their petals to become stars, and snapdragons sprang to life under the fingers of neighborhood children. Bordering the south side of the house, my white garden, like the herb garden, depended on texture rather than color for interest -- yet its energy was airier, more ethereal. The herb garden had an energy that was solid, grounded and sacred, quite unlike any garden I've had since. In retrospect, I don't think it was a coincidence that the placement of the herb garden separated my back door from that of my next-door neighbor, whose energy was similar in many ways to that of my ex-husband.

In times of transition, rediscovering the gentle support of the plant spirits can ease feelings of being alone and adrift. Even those who may not recognize divinity in nature have felt stress and anxiety leave and peace descend when cocooned in a forest or lost in a meadow. Stress and anxiety often accompany major transitions; it makes sense that bringing the plant spirits into our daily lives can help us to cope more effectively with change.

Not everyone will find their connection to plant spirits through planting. No matter. Finding a sacred space in nature to walk or sit quietly can be a point of connection. So can enjoying a garden someone else has planted. Holding a leaf or a flower and meditating on it (best if picked with the plant's blessing), focusing on its life force, can be a powe