Eight years ago I let the plants take what my mind was still gripping.

It wasnot easy.

I was caring for my mother in her final years. Watching the woman who taught me to name wildflowers slowly stop being able to name anything at all.

When the plants said stop.

Told me: stop trying to fix this. Stop insisting on it ‘making sense’. 

Just sit by the marsh and listen, they said.

It was the hardest thing I'd ever surrendered to.

The not doing.

Just kneeling in the wild and staying.

And it was the Plant Spirits who made it happen.

They weren't afraid of what I'd lose by stopping — the certainty, the control, the old way of holding grief like there was a resolution. 

They were insistent on it.

Because they knew that losing my grip on "solving" was the portal to ancestral wisdom.

A knowing not beholden to what I thought healing was supposed to look like.

Again — none of it was easy.

But the wild weeds held me. My apprenticeships in herbalism and plant spirit medicine nurtured me. The Wise Women offered their lineage to me. 

And eventually, in the grief, I felt a tug.

I started to whisper,
"I just want to sit with the plants and let them speak."
"I just want to learn from the green ones”
"I just want to be a portal, not a healer."

And here we are.

It's happening.

I'm no longer the one with the answers. I'm the one who gets out of the way so the plants can give you theirs.

I hold the container. I translate what comes through. I get to witness people meet something older than both of us — every single reading.

I want to help you meet that, too. 

By remembering you were never separate from the plants in the first place — just distracted from the conversation.

You bring what you're carrying.

I’ll tune into the plant spirits.