A deep affinity with nature awoke in me as a child, an unspoken bond that tethered my spirit to the wild. My world felt complete as I hung, carefree, in the branches of the wild cherry tree, or lay upon the warm embrace of Mother Earth, feeling her heartbeat echoing in my own chest. In those sacred moments, the veil between the physical and the unseen dissolved, and I experienced the profound sense of connection and oneness that my soul silently craved. Nature whispered truths to me that I intuitively understood long before I had words to express them.
Though I grew up in the heart of the bustling City of London, I was blessed with the companionship of the woodlands, the green havens that nurtured my sense of belonging. As I sought out those sacred spaces, I found solace beneath the towering oaks and graceful birches, breathing in the fresh, earthy scent of elder blossoms and tracing my fingers along the ancient bark of hawthorn and willow. On misty mornings, I would marvel at the delicate spider webs that glistened like woven silver amongst the holly, while the nettles and marshmallow lined my path in abundance, their presence a constant reminder that I was part of this living, breathing tapestry of life.
These trees and plants were more than silent witnesses to my journey; they were my allies, my teachers, the steady companions of my soul’s unfolding. I knew instinctively that we were intertwined—that their wisdom ran through me as surely as my own blood.
In 1997, when I was 20 years old, the call to deepen my connection with Mother Earth and her healing ways became impossible to ignore. It was then that I embarked on formal studies in herbal medicine, eager to immerse myself in the world of plant healing. I envisioned a realm where the magic and mystery of the plants would reveal themselves to me, where I would unlock their powers and walk the ancient path of healing alongside them. But the journey was not what I had imagined. Instead of stepping into a world of spirit and wonder, I found myself trudging through dense, scientific subjects like biochemistry and pharmacology. It felt like I was navigating a maze of sterile facts, far removed from the living, breathing essence of the plants I had come to love. Yet, I persisted, holding onto the hope that all this hard work, this ‘hakka,’ would eventually lead me to what I sought most—a deeper relationship with the plants themselves.
At last, the moment I had been waiting for arrived: the unit in herbal Materia Medica. My heart raced with excitement as I prepared to immerse myself in the healing properties of the plants that had accompanied me throughout my life. This was the apex, the culmination of all my efforts. I entered the classroom, brimming with anticipation, only to be met by a darkened room and a slideshow. Images of herbs appeared on the screen, each accompanied by dry, clinical information. The lecturer stood at the front, reading aloud from the slides in a monotonous voice that seemed to strip away all the vitality and spirit from the plants.
My heart sank.
No! This cannot be happening! I remember feeling a deep, visceral resistance. It was as if my entire body rejected this experience. The plants, to me, were alive—they had voices, energies, stories, and wisdom to share. How could their magic be reduced to a mere list of facts? How could a relationship so intimate and sacred be taught in this soulless way? I could have read this information in a textbook, alone in my room, without the sterile formality of a classroom that drained the essence of what I had come to learn. My spirit rebelled so strongly that I couldn’t return to the unit again, despite my deep disappointment.
In that moment, I realised something profound. My university studies, while important in their own right, were not where I would find the true heart of herbalism. The facts and figures of science could not teach me what I had been yearning for all along—the soul journey with the plant spirits. What I longed for was the aliveness of relationship, the heart-opening experience of emotional and spiritual connection with these green beings, the feeling of stepping into the mystical realms where plants speak, guide, and heal.
I craved a sensory journey that engaged not just my mind, but my heart, my body, and my spirit. I longed to feel the ancient pulse of the Earth in my veins, to experience the wisdom of the plants not as distant concepts, but as intimate friends and allies. This, I realised, was the missing ingredient in my formal education—the vital spark of relationship, the living dance of give and take, the gratitude of exchange between human and plant. It was this alchemical connection, this shared reciprocity of healing and knowledge, that my soul had unknowingly yearned for all along.
In that realisation, I knew I would have to walk a different path—one that honoured the spirit of the plants as much as their physical form, a path that invited me to listen deeply, to the whispers of the green world. And in doing so, I would find my way back to the sacred, heart-led connection I had known as a child, when every plant and tree was a wise elder, and every breath of wind carried the voice of the Earth.
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