Herbal Celebrations

by Meg McGowan

As the holidays approach, we long for a sense of connection. However we celebrate, whomever we celebrate with, our yearning is to connect with ourselves, with others, and with something larger than ourselves -- our God or the universe. Perhaps it is an innate urge to discover what is divine in life before we surrender to the darkness of winter, hedging our bets in case we do not emerge in spring, gathering our strength to ensure that we will.

We send and receive holiday greetings, hoping to patchwork the remnants of our past into something whole and meaningful. We unpack decorations that, for better or worse, carry energy accumulated over years or even generations. We try to bake and make the best of our childhood recollections live again for our children and friends. And if what we know does not work, we create surrogate families and invent new traditions drawn from other cultures or from another's past. We begin again with a new to-do list.

Before the leaves have fallen from the trees, the whispers begin. This will be the year that we find the perfect cookie recipe, the one that will fulfill Maslow's entire hierarchy of needs from basic sustenance, through love and belongingness, culminating at creative-spiritual realization. We will be adored for our efforts, lauded at the annual cookie exchange -- and each cookie will be not only delicious, but also a miniature work of art. The magazine-slick promises continue to entice us because they contain a kernel of the truth. We do have the power to create, with our hands and with our hearts, the sense of connection we envision for ourselves and for others; and somewhere encoded in the articles are the vestiges of a map. Yet inundated with directives, it is easy to lose our way. What matters is not how much we do, whether we do it perfectly or choose to do the right combination of activities. What matters most is how we do it -- slowly, with attention and intention. While the picture-perfect packages piled under the tree are not the most important part, allowing ourselves the opportunity to wrap packages beautifully (if that is something we enjoy) is important.

The traditions -- singing, cooking and baking, decorating, selecting or making gifts and wrapping them -- are opportunities for immersing ourselves in the art of creation. But we must surrender to the process and allow ourselves the time and space in which to have the experience. "When you are involved in the artistic process, time consciousness evaporates," said art therapist Pat Otto, when I spoke with her about the connection between creativity and spirit. "You become like a five-year-old child looking at an ant. That's because time consciousness exists in the left brain. When you accelerate or slow down time, the left brain can't handle it, and the right brain takes over."

If we simply try to cram holiday preparations into our existing schedules, we end up frustrated and exhausted. If we forgo the festivities and do nothing, we miss the opportunity to hold traditions up as vessels to be filled with grace. We remain empty, wondering why the holiday season has passed us by again without touching us. If instead, we change what we are doing and make time for those holiday activities we choose, we open a space to be blessed with true connection.

So you can line your cake pans with scented geranium leaves if you like, and sprinkle lemon thyme into your muffin batter. You can garnish your holiday platters with the last fresh sage leaves from the garden or snip chives grown on your windowsill to enliven individual servings of soup. You can present your friends with essential oil blends or homemade herbal soaps. But the value of these touches exists only when they are imbued with your intention, and intention is created not amidst a frantic flurry of holiday preparations, but in the sacredness of time out of time.

Slowing down transforms the swirling, often chaotic energy that surrounds us into a self-contained bubble of peace. The delicate glass spheres of Christmas ornaments -- blown glass, originally created with breath -- represent this transformation, this state of grace. They are outward symbols of meditative mindfulness, a moment suspended in eternity.

Experiment to see what works for you, finding what allows you to experience transcendence. Including children in an activity such as baking only works if you are truly able to shift into child-time and child-mind while you work with them. If you cannot relax and focus on the process, if you cannot pry the tentacles of control loose from your vision of an intended outcome, then try a different activity -- one in which you are not as invested.

Sharing an activity with a friend may create a space for expanding time. When I am unable to find my own focus, free from distractions, scheduling an activity with a friend can create a structure I can relax into. Finding a friend with similar energy is nice, but not necessary, as long as it is understood that you are showing up for a play date without a serious agenda. (Do steer clear of friends with a competitive streak, at least initially.) One year I spent a day creating gift baskets with a friend who had, for a while, made them professionally. Our schedules cleared for the day, we met with materials to share and proceeded to make a mess. The result was both efficient and enjoyable. Freed from any concerns other than the task at hand, the activity utterly absorbed us. For a space of six hours or so, there was no sense that I "should" be doing anything else.

Similarly, one of my family's traditions for a number of years was to hold wrapping day at the beginning of the holiday season. The adult children all congregated at my parents' house for a day or two and wrapped presents, addressed cards or baked cookies. No children, no spouses, just open time and space in which to work. It seemed less like work than play, however -- much more enjoyable than trying to cram those chores into odd moments after work.

As long as you are fully present, you will be making your own memories, not attempting to re-create a scene based on someone else's script, whether alone or with friends and family. For myself, playing a soundtrack of holiday music while performing the rituals of the season sometimes feels stifling, as if I am in a commercial rather than my own life. Trimming the tree while listening to REO Speedwagon might not work for everyone, but it was great fun for me last year.

Scent can serve as a reminder to stay with yourself in the moment. Consider using essential oils as a signal, clarifying your intention to create a sacred time-space. Light a candle or a diffuser and add a drop or two of sandalwood, frankincense, myrrh, vetiver, pine, spruce, or ginger. Breathe the timeless scents of the season and know that the past is a guide offering clues on how to truly give ourselves presence.

DISCLAIMER:  Choosing a holistic approach to medicine means choosing personal responsibility for your health care. "Herbs for Health" offers a doorway through which to enter the realm of herbal healing, an invitation to further investigation on the part of the reader. It is in no way intended as a substitute for advice from a health care practitioner.