[note, I am correcting this blog entry on July 1st. A friend informed me, correctly, that this plant is BORAGE, not Comfrey. So, mea culpa, and my bad, and I’m such a silly two-legged capable of such errors. Oh, well. Forty lashes with a wet noodle. And on with it.]
Yesterday was my birthday. I turned the ripe old age of 112. Or was it 5? Can’t really figure it out. In any case, Harold Blum, the beautiful-hearted, amazingly gifted photographer from Chicago, sent me this really stunning photo for my B-day on Facebook yesterday. And it is a balm. The photo is a balm to my tired eyes this morning. This is a photo of borage. At this link is more information about the healing properties of borage.
Here is a quote from that link above:
“The French herbalist Gerard discussed Borage by referring to the ancient Greek naturalist Pliny, who said that the plant ‘maketh a man merry and joyful.’ (Hoffman 1995) Dioscorides, the first century Greek physician, mentioned the use of Borage to ‘comfort the heart, purge melancholy and quiet the lunatic person.’”
I like that — “quiet the lunatic person.” There are days… hmmmm… days that perhaps some borage would be useful for me and my hyperactive mind.
Borage is also useful in relieving stress and boosting the adrenals. Life has been a bit stressful for me recently. This gift of borage (and not comfrey) is all good.
For those who still want to learn about Comfrey- read below:
And comfrey itself is a balm for healing. You can click here to learn more. According to this link:
“Well known and widely used by early Greeks and Romans, its very name, symphytum, from the Greek symphyo means to “make grow together”, referring to its traditional use of healing fractures.
[below is what I wrote thinking the plant was Comfrey originally]
I find this medicinal property very apropos this morning since I’m trying to understand a lover in my life who did not call me last yesterday or in any way communicate to me that he wished me Happy Birthday. He is my only lover. It’s not as if I have a multitude of them. And I am trying to wrap my head and my feelings around a man who is better at silence than most I believe.
Part of me wonders how long I can be involved with such silence. Another part of me is trying to hold my heart open to the possibilities of his being so emotionally wounded that he needs to pull back into his cave for extremely long periods of time, longer than the average guy. He is no average guy, after all. Perhaps my expectations need to evolve into compassion? Perhaps my needs to be idolized and communicated to on a turn of the dime, and desire for a Happy Birthday acknowledgment on the very day of my natal event are a form of narcissism?
There is such mystery in everyone. One can never completely know the mystery within another and what motivates them to do or not do whatever we think they should do. Byron Katie teaches about this so powerfully in her Work. Expectations are a hole that we dig ourselves to fall into ourselves. I suppose it is our choice as to whether to line that hole with very pointed spears that will bring on severe pain or to cushion it with lots of fluffy pillows and a big ladder to assist with the escape.
I’m choosing the fluffy pillow option. And I like the ladder that I’ve created too. A big purple one with beautiful vines of clematis winding up the side of it.
This whole Expectations trap is a mind-heart game that has sucked me under before. This time I’m staving it off with one huge spear, as best as I can.
At the same time, it would be so lovely to be loved in a way that does make me feel special… It would. I can own that. So, thank you, Harold, for gifting me instead. Along with all the other beautiful people on Facebook who sent me such lovely wishes and blessings. And ecards. Thank you Universe for blessing me with this one very life.
As Mary Oliver put it (full poem):
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
In this very moment, I choose to let go of Expectations and embrace Compassion toward a man of such great mystery and kindness and such a beautiful heart. He has all of those attributes and more.
And so I can allow my heart and psyche to heal. On my own, without that phone call. As Comfrey has come to land in my life in this very morning, with its healing energy of helping fractures bind together into one. It’s my thoughts that fracture me. Not someone outside of myself. I’m going to choose to come back to a oneness of acceptance of the mystery within me and within everyone else. Even Comfrey has a mystery unto itself that only it can share to those who will listen.
Comfrey… errr.. Borage! You can come visit anytime. Any time… ;~)
(Both of you. My lover won’t get jealous.)
[postscript#2 – turns out that my lover completely forgot. He thought it was later in the week and he was so swamped with his own projects, plus changing his diet which is making him extra spacey… so much for all of my stories above. I think I should actually become a fiction writer instead of some of this memoir stuff that I’ve been doing. Sigh… ;~p ]