My great grandmother was Malke Schluger and it was she who taught me that ancestors often communicate in strange ways. She died when she was 96. I was no more than 9. We called her G.G. – for great grandmother. I can discern the scene of her memorial now, though with some effort. Her shelves were emptied of the delicate tea cups she treasured, her ancient, sweet smelling volumes of hebrew and yiddish had been packed away or passed on along with family photos. All the pieces of her life were gone, except for a small handful of items which lingered, no one quite knowing what to do wth them. I remember the smell that permeated her home. It was the smell of burnt pots and the staleness of age. I don't remember what I felt then. Curious, perhaps. I wandered off from my family to trace my small hands along the edge of her bathroom counter and sit alone in her closet, studying the articles of clothing which remained. Many years passed and I rarely thought of her. When I did, I saw her as the young girl who came to this country from Ukrain, barely sixteen and totally alone.
In the last few years I have found myself periodically overwhelmed with an anxiety that seems to come from nowhere at all. It is a feeling that I will have to flee at a moment's notice and that I may lose everything I own with no warning. It makes me nervous just to write it. For a long time I didn't know where this fixation came from. Each time I left my house, I made peace with the possibility of losing all the things most precious to me, and each time I returned home, I felt relieved and surprised to see that the windows were unbroken, the doors still locked.
My great grandmother, Malke, was robbed numerous times throughout her life and as a young woman, was forced to leave her home in Buznevetsia. As a result, she had an obsession with knowing where her purse was at all times – an idiosyncrasy so pronounced that it has woven itself into our family mythos. This persisted into her later years and became a terrible problem when her memory began to wane. She would hide her “pocketbook”, as she referred to it, and immediately lose any recollection of where she'd put it. She absolutely refused to leave the house without it. After countless hours on their knees, searching beneath couch cushions and behind bookshelves my relatives had had enough. At the suggestion of a family friend, my grandmother sewed a small key-finding device into the lining of her mother's purse so that it could be easily located using a remote control. This proved a good solution, though she continued to find evermore unlikely hiding places. When Malke died in 1999, she was cremated. We buried her ashes in her purse.
When this feeling comes, this anxiety that does not belong to me, I have learned to I speak her name, over and over – a mantra to welcome and honor her Spirit. The feelings quiet and I am filled with comfort and a subtle sense that she is present within me. I didn't understand all of this until last Summer and it happened quite by accident.
Last May that I made a Pilgrimage to the redwoods and where I spent a week in the company of five hundred other women. There were countless small shrines among the ancient trees, flowers laid carefully upon the forest floor, mossy offerings of hair and stone carried across many hundreds of miles. A sense of timelessness filled the space between all of us, our feet bare upon the earth, our voices softened, trusting that we would be heard. It was ceremony to simply be there.
One afternoon, nearing dusk, I found myself in those woods, standing before a cavernous redwood stump, hollowed out by time to form a chamber large enough for many people to gather within. I was alone and something drew me into the darkness that lay within the tree. The walls formed by the inner bark were covered with photos and keepsakes left by other women. It was a shrine to honor all those who had passed into the next world. With little awareness of what was happening, I was suddenly kneeling on the ground, my forehead and palms pressed the Earth. In a state of deep peace and surrender, I wept effortlessly and the spirit of my great grandmother filled me. She spoke in a language that had no words, explaining the way in which she had been trying to communicate with me. The foreboding sense of loss I had inherited. I understood.
It was a singular experience and one I have tried to honor in the months since. Our ancestors live inside of each of us, and most of them truly wish to be of service. I leave photos of her out now. And try to create space for the messages she shares with me. So much is inherited – wisdom and fear, passion and grief, memories and smiles, and the subtlest of mannerisms. Though we may, at times, feel worlds away from our living relatives, no matter how painful and complicated our relationships with them may be – somewhere in our bloodline there are Ancestors reaching across time and space to make contact and offer us healing. Recently my great uncle has sent me stories he dictated while my great grandmother was still alive. In reading them, I see and understand many aspects of my personality, my tastes, the plants and animals I feel a natural connection to. It is healing to know where I came from; to see myself reflected in generations passed, when I come up empty handed in searching for such traces in my living relatives. The more we can understand the experiences we have inherited from those who came before us, the greater compassion and gentleness we can afford ourselves. Be curious about the past, and remember also that one day we too will become the ancestors.
In every thing that you do, in every choice that you make—take the time to ask yourself, how will this effect my children's children, and theirs after that, and on down the line for as far as you can reach through time and space . It is a great many challenges and atrocities we have inherited. May we be the ones to once again leave this world filled with more beauty, more love, and more meaningful connection to bless all our relations as they walk their paths, in hopes that they will do the same for all generations to come.
Redwood Elixir
with Quartz Crystal Essence
The Redwood connects us with the timelessness of Life on Earth. It re-sets our inner clock to the ancient rhythm of the forest & the trees. "Old As Time, Old As Time," is the refrain heard in the gentle rustle of Redwood boughs. The medicine of this tree has a profound ability to heal long-held and inherited grief, particularly as it relates to loss of home, loss of place, loss of way of life. It is a valuable remedy for connecting with one's own ancestral roots as well as finding communion and harmony with the Spirits of the Land where one lives. The greatest gift offered by the Redwood is sense of ancient support, one which exists beyond time or space. It's effect is at once grounding & enlivening, making it a choice companion for meditation and tasks that require both careful focus and relaxed attention. We recommend enjoying a single drop of our Redwood Elixir directly in your mouth to savor the flavor of the forest and ancient Earth.
This Elixir is made from an alchemical combination of the green Spring tips of old-growth
California Redwoods [Sequoia sempervirens], the essence of six truly special quartz crystals,
rich amber wildflower honey, and the patience of many Moons spent infusing...
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Wildcrafted
Redwood Oil
Something familiar, implacable and warm, comes to mind each time you catch a hint of our Wildcrafted Redwood Oil. It is the scent of memories; of hazy honeyed Summer days and crisp cool Autumn mornings. Those moments when everything around you feels somehow more alive, illuminated from within.
Redwood Oil encourages circulation to the periphery of the body and offers such sweet relief for cold hands and feet as well as other areas of stagnation in the body. It dissolves patterns of muscle tension and makes the perfect all over Autumnal anointment. Use it to gently massage your breasts for a grounding and deeply nourishing nightly ritual. Rub generously onto belly and womb to connect back through time and space with your grandmother's grandmothers. Add a splash to your Winter bath, rub it into your honey's beard, wear it like perfume, and use it daily like the profound medicine that it is.
Made With // Ethically Wildcrafted California
Redwood, Organic Olive Oil + Vitamin E Oil
Visit The Apothecary To Order Yours
Redwood, Organic Olive Oil + Vitamin E Oil
Visit The Apothecary To Order Yours
