Tincture
"Imagine, when a human dies, the soul misses the body, actually grieves the loss of its hands and all they could hold. Misses the throat closing shy reading out loud on the first day of school. Imagine the soul misses the stubbed toe, the loose tooth, the funny bone. The soul still asks, Why does the funny bone do that? It’s just weird. Imagine the soul misses the thirsty garden cheeks watered by grief. Misses how the body could sleep through a dream. What else can sleep through a dream? What else can laugh? What else can wrinkle the smile’s autograph? Imagine the soul misses each falling eyelash waiting to be a wish. Misses the wrist screaming away the blade. The soul misses the lisp, the stutter, the limp. The soul misses the holy bruise blue from that army of blood rushing to the wound’s side. When a human dies, the soul searches the universe for something blushing, something shaking in the cold, something that scars, sweeps the universe for patience worn thin, the last nerve fighting for its life, the voice box aching to be heard. The soul misses the way a body would hold another body and not be two bodies but one pleading god doubled in grace. The soul misses how the mind told the body, You have fallen from grace. And the body said, Erase every scripture that doesn’t have a pulse. There isn’t a single page in the bible that can wince, that can clumsy, that can freckle, that can hunger. Imagine the soul misses hunger, emptiness, rage, the fist that was never taught to curl-curled, the teeth that were never taught to clench, clenched, the body that was never taught to make love-makes love like a hungry ghost digging its way out of the grave. The soul misses the unforever of old age, the skin that no longer fits. The soul misses every single day the body was sick, the now it forced, the here it built from the fever. Fever is how the body prays, how it burns and begs for another average day. The soul misses the legs creaking up the stairs, misses the fear that climbed up the vocal cords to curse the wheelchair. The soul misses what the body could not let go-what else could hold on that tightly to everything? What else could hear the chain of a swing set fall and fall to its knees? What else could touch a screen door and taste lemonade? What else could come back from a war and not come back? But still try to live? Still try to lullaby? When a human dies, the soul moves through the universe trying to describe how a body trembles when it’s lost, softens when it’s safe, how a wound would heal given nothing but time? Do you understand? Nothing in space can imagine it. No comet, no nebula, no ray of light can fathom the landscape of awe, the heat of shame. The fingertips pulling the first gray hair and throwing it away. I can’t imagine it, the stars say. Tell us again about goosebumps. Tell us again about pain."
Andrea Gibson
Notes on Pine
by ANA
I spent the last week in southern Georgia, home of the native longleaf pine forest, which is one of the most endangered ecosystems in North America.
Its native range once stretched from southern Virginia to east Texas, covering almost 90 million acres. By 2006, only 3 million acres of longleaf forest remained in the South, and of that, only about 12,000 scattered acres retained an old-growth component with a biologically diverse understory.
I stayed on my friend’s family land, just north of Chattahoochee. 1 square mile was taken from the Choctaw Indian tribe and given to colonists in the 1700s. This particular portion was given to the Whiddons in 1795, who were loggers and proceeded to deforest most of the square mile. Today, only a few old growth pine trees still stand. Some of them were also destroyed in a hurricane that went right through their property 2 years ago.
My friend has decided to dedicate his life to reforesting the land. His goal is to plant 400k trees in his lifetime. In the last 13 years, he’s planted so many trees that most of it looks like a forest again — not an old growth forest, but a forest. He’s mostly planted other native trees, such as live oaks, which has allowed the old growth pines to spread their seeds and grow underneath the canopy of the young forest. You can see saplings sprouting everywhere. I had the joy of planting a few live oaks as well.
As I walked amongst the trees, I picked pine tips and chewed on them daily. We even made pine tea.
Pine needles are widely used for their medicinal properties. They’re a great source of vitamin C and can be used to treat many things, including headaches and tummy issues, as well as topically as a salve for pain
They’re properties are anti-inflammatory because of the presence of antioxidants and flavonoids. They’re also anti fungal and antibacterial, enhance immune function and brain health.
Currently, on top of making a tea with pine, I’ve been boiling it with rosemary in a big pot to purify the air in my parents home to help with the hazardous toxic air from the Canadian fires that’s made its way down here.
All you have to do is look around and realize that there’s medicine all around you :).
Comments