Safe to return
A feeling that can occur
The planets always return.
And the flowers re-appear.
I am gazing out the window at my perennial dye garden. One whole half of it is dyer’s chamomile - the brightest, happiest yellow flowers. And the plants are relentless, they come back so strong each year and bloom all summer. (Anyone want one? Tell me, I should thin them). The west portion is madder - it is in its 4th year. This means it might be mature enough to harvest now. Might. Will I be courageous enough to dig up some of the long awaited red-pigmented roots this year? Is the madder plant a symbol of the my own growth over these years, my developing understanding of fear, my curious inquiries into hesitancy and action? How about my confrontation with power and discomfort? Right in the middle are bundles of coreopsis that I don’t yet know the color of. To the right are some Michigan native grape vines I planted with the intention make purple ink with, but when I juiced them last year, well, I haaad to taste their deep violet syrup, and I drank it all. All 4 ounces. It was the most euphoric taste. Pure f*cking ambrosia. The kind of taste that shudders you back into knowing how much of a miracle life on earth is.
My grapes will never see a life of ink. Always juice. Too bad, but so good. Can’t wait.
There is something I love about a perennial, about something that returns and reminds. When I was little, the daffodils where the first signal of spring in my yard. It wasn’t the yellow flowers, but the determined spears of ultra lime green that jetted out of the mulch - just an inch of glowing arrival that made my whole chest cavity burst with a dormant feeling stirring alive again.
The feeling that makes me want to do a cartwheel.
This is the feeling I am finding with my natural color practice this season. After a season of only holding it in my heart and not in my hands.
What is it like to let a part of a practice rest, but to feel like it is not at rest at all because it’s so integrated inside of you?
I have not processed a pigment in months. Ugh, I don’t like that this is the truth. Winter can be hard for this, and family and work have both been in a season of survival-level care that now seems to be settling into more of a balance. But I pray about color every day in small gestures, some outward, some inward. I have gifts (bags of dried marigolds from Lindsey) and obstacles (poke berry seems to have disappeared from my life. Let me just tell you because 1. The secret poke weed forest by the b2b bike trail - yes, the one where I have to be careful about stepping on or walking into the low, live power lines - risky! exciting! - seems to have disappeared. I would ask if it ever existed outside of a dream, but I know it did because the leftover ink is degrading slowly in my studio fridge door. Color as proof, sap as reminder. 2. Poke berry used to live right outside of my studio door, but a professional human excavated the whole plant when they installed the new boiler. I actually can’t tell if I am sad or mad about this or both. 3. The poke berries and the wild grapes that used to decorate (enchant) the rundown tennis courts in my neighborhood have been removed as well. Unseen earth-editors are (doing their jobs) tearing down the good guys (plants) from my reach! It’s probably not their fault. I guess I thought these guys would be around me forever and I took that assumption for granted. I am trusting that nature will find its way to where it wants to be, or that I will just need to go on more adventures, but right now magenta does not want to be at my finger tips. Fine. But a visual reminiscence is called for:
What I want to say is… I think I feel safe enough to channel color again, and that feels big.
Why do I need to feel safe to channel color? I don’t actually know. I just know I feel safe, and relaxed, and capable, and for some reason this means I am suitable for color transformation assistance. This kind of relationship - one of both play and seriousness - requires a certain state, I feel.
It is important to note that channeling color is not creating color. These colors are not me, not mine. The human is a conduit in many ways. I feel nauseatingly self-important when I talk about “being a conduit for color”, as if I am trying to say I am a special wizard. I think we are all special wizards though, we just don’t always find ourselves in the right states for alchemy.
My question is this: What is a human’s role between earth and the possibility for expression? The color exists in the berry already, but it doesn’t squeeze and filter itself out. The marigolds don’t extract themselves in pots of hot water. The rocks don’t grind themselves into the perfect micron size dust. Humans have a role in beauty just as much as we have a role in destruction. We get to choose. Earth and human are equal collaborators. We each have our own individual propensities, but when we come together we can create something even more unique than we could alone. We can opt to blend and amplify energy through togetherness.
Most plants and earth want to be shared. I feel it is a joy for them to be plucked and chosen, to enter the hands of another being to assist in their transformation. It is not my job to control, but it is my place to turn the plants back onto themselves, to expose their inner wisdom with just enough presence, just enough intention, just enough surrender, and just enough of what I can do with my two hands. So much is not mine, but being a part feels meaningful.
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Returning to this part of my practice is perfectly timed for this season. Today at my studio I will bring something to a simmer. But I just had to tell you about it first.
How to return, a non-exhaustive list:
Don’t make a big deal out of it
Alternatively, make a big deal out of it
Make small contact first
Let go of the idea that you’ve been bad
Say yes
Notice the doubt
Remember that rest is part of process
Realize you never really left
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Sending you love, and more soon.
-Kristen
P.S. I am so grateful for my new paid subscribers who have chosen to support this project and receive the field note! In case you missed it, read more here about my mail club attached to this substack. I have been enjoying sending out little welcome packets - eeek! ♡
I loved every bit of this. Thank you for sharing. ❤️
Hi I signed up a couple weeks ago. I am excited to receive the Field notes. Do you have a timeline when you send them out? Thank you :D