Morus alba: Healing the Heart

 

I've been put up and put out for the past two months in Missouri. Several tragedies have befallen the family I've found here, and I'm still struggling with loss.

This morning, as I walked down the dirt road with Brutter, I meditated on the transformation of my relations. I regarded the anger and resentment that has been tinting my world and eating away at my body.

As I took notice of the parallels in my past and present, I collapsed to the ground, struggling to fill my lungs with air.

When I managed to steady my breathing and settle my heart, I picked the parallels apart. After finding fear hidden behind the anger and resentment, the tears started pouring. Eventually, Brutter urged me back to my feet.

Walking back down the road, we stepped up to the Morus alba (or more commonly called, "mulberry"). I took my time finding and picking off the ripe, easy to pluck off berries and popping them into my mouth.

There was a certain sense of ease that settled into my heart as I accepted the Morus alba's gifts. Then, I had recalled when one of my husband's sisters had been died. He'd been so withdrawn and stuck in his head, so I'd invited him to visit the mulberry trees with me. We walked down the road, plucking and eating berries. I saw him open up a bit more again. He had even expressed to me that his heart felt less heavy.

In that moment, I had the notion to gather some leaves to dry and burn when our hearts need them again.

I'd moved to gather some grass to weave into an offering, but I heard the Morus alba say that the grass bracelet I'd offered last week is enough. They guided me to place my hands on the branches that I had planned to harvest and say a prayer before taking them.

In summary, I've found that the medicine of Morus alba helps to open and heal the heart. They've helped me especially overcome indifference.