This I Believe

I believe that herbs can heal. To me, herbs aren’t just parsley, sage, rosemary, oregano, garlic and thyme. They’re chickweed, cleavers, burdock, dandelion, plantain and Queen Anne’s lace. They can be cultivated or they can be found in the wild. Many herbs taste delicious, their flavors perfectly blending with food to love and marry it. Others are bitter or sour and not added to foods at all, but are useful for becoming strong medicines. They all have the power to heal in various ways.

I began to believe in the healing power of herbs when my body was sick. I discovered there was an herbal tea, tincture, salve, stew, soup, liniment, poultice, fomentation, capsule, tablet, elixir, or decoction to fix it. As I healed I learned, and felt destined to share that knowledge with others.

Each herb has a healing persona. There are the warrior herbs that dig deeply into a sick body to find and fight the most serious illnesses. Burdock root, pau d’arco and medicinal mushrooms are armed with the strongest weapons against some of the very worst diseases. Nurturing herbs like lemon balm, chamomile, lavender and motherwort are used to soothe, settle and gently caress away the minor ailments we suffer. They wrap me in hugs that make me feel lifted and loved. The herbs I call the worker bees are echinacea, peppermint, dandelion, ginger root, garlic, thyme and sage. They are my steadfast, reliable regulars. Each is versatile and can always be counted on in a pinch to perform their healing magic. When I can’t decide on another, more specific remedy, I turn to one or more of these. They haven’t let me down yet.

Mother Nature, consistently perfect in her reasoning, has given many herbs a logical appearance that leads me instinctively to their uses. Hawthorne berries, which are effective for cardiovascular health, are red like our heart’s blood. Dandelions work on kidneys, bladders and livers. It isn’t hard to imagine why their flowers are yellow. And mullein, that tall, stately, on-the-side-of-the-highway prolific weed, appears to have spots that resemble diseased lungs. Its use as a bronchial remedy has rightfully earned it the nickname “lungwort.” All of this makes such amazing, perfect sense to me.

I’m incapable of merely touching or feeling an herb but am compelled to taste it, too. I close my eyes and chew slowly so I can learn its unique flavor and identify its healing characteristics. When bitterness makes my face scrunch up and become prune-like, I know I’ve found an herb that may dry and detoxify. Spicy herbs like black pepper, that often set my mouth on fire, can burn through obstructions that block our paths to wellness. The sweet tastes aren’t merely delicious. They’re strength-building, nourishing tonics that make me feel empowered. Sourness stimulates sluggish digestion, dries dampness and breaks up congestion. I love brewing rose hips tea to savor the sour richness of the rosy-colored liquid Vitamin C in my cup. Finally, herbs that taste salty will lubricate and soothe, healing by hanging onto moisture inside the core of our cells. The herbs whisper their tastes in my mouth, teaching me their healing ways.

So I, from learning their secrets, have become Nature’s medium. My job is to channel this healing power of herbs to those who can’t hear them talk. The herbs tell me which of them to choose: warrior, nurturer or worker bee. All I do is listen to what they say.