I dreamed I was in my hometown drinking all night with R's autistic friend, working through grief together.
He frowned and said he got the death tarot card. "Endings are also beginnings," I said.
A shaman came to our table, burning what she called "yerba santa" in a long hollow stick (tobacco pipe?) for us to inhale, then dabbed a bit of herb on our tongues with her finger. Then I woke up.
Googled yerba santa. Apparently it's for grief, releasing stuck emotions, and psychic stuff. A mild stimulant, it causes sweating. (I woke up sweaty, and an hour earlier than usual.)
I researched deeper. I learned it was used by indigenous shamans, smoked and taken orally. I found one obscure article about a specific healer who lived in my hometown long ago. Her tribe called her a saint because she was known to help anyone who needed healing - including outsiders of any race - and never charged money. Tribal members knew of her healing abilities for miles around.
So I bought some of this herb. Because when a shaman visits in a dream recommending a specific herb, you heed her advice. It'd be irrational to ignore, as the herb does what I seek.
My dad called later that day. I asked him about the herb, assuming he'd heard of it, because he's a plant encyclopedia, but he didn't know this one. He wrote it down. He didn't question that it appeared in a dream. He didn't question my sanity.
Unrelatedly, he said he ordered flint online, to make fires for cooking on flat rocks in his yard. The badass Stone Age way. I reminded him that his Aztec birth sign is flint. "It is?! I must be getting back to my roots." Indeed, it seems like we both are. :) "You always have to do things differently," I teased. "You are the same way," he said. I laughed. "I know."
<3
sunday - 2023-08-04