If you read my last post, (see The Ancient Mothers) you may be wondering about the results of that remarkable evening. Did I, indeed, cultivate relationships with all those ancient mothers and grandmothers? While I haven’t yet found time enough to reach out to all of them, I have, however, developed relationships with some of them, as well as with ancestors in other categories—such as trees, saints, and deities. In this post (or should I call it a novelette!!) I’ve chosen to share my relationship with a human ancestor from long ago.
So make a pot of tea and join me in the imaginal realm with Grandmother Lucretia!
I have created a little template for getting to know the beings who I would like to work with. You will see it in the first four questions of the following conversation with Grandmother Lucretia—a healer from Medieval Tuscany, in Italy—who also showed up during the Silent Supper (which you can read about in my post called Ancient Mothers) to be part of my team. (You will recall that I had already been working with her on an ongoing basis as part of my healing team.) The rest of the questions arose from her answers.
Late November, 2023:
Grandmother Lucretia, what do you look like?
At the time of my fame, my hair was gray, curly and unruly, so I kept it short—at about shoulder length. I’ve been told that my eyes, which are no particular color, had a piercing quality. It is true they “saw” almost everything, undercurrents and all. They often saw through things and certainly saw too much. I was shorter in stature than most—squarely built. I wore loose-fitting, masculine clothes that made it easier for me to tramp around, gathering plants in the countryside. I believe I smiled rarely at that time in my life, though those closest to me could coax one out of me. Whenever I did break a smile it made me feel young again. Even so I was stingy with them. I saved them for children, animals and others who truly understood me.
What is your nature?
I think I was in large part what people today currently think of as a witch—an eccentric old woman, no longer beautiful, living a secluded life beyond the edge of the town. My husband had died so I lived alone—free to wander among the plants, make tinctures, study, learn, and walk beyond the veil.
What wisdom would you share with me?
I’m truly touched that you reach out to me. Yes, I was Lucretia at one time but that was many centuries ago. I have been many other beings since then. However, I understand that it is as Lucretia that you think I may be able to assist you. I am happy to do that, utilizing all the wisdom I have acquired.
I have, beneath, a blank page. What would you have me write?
I would have you write about my life beyond the veil—the story about my first encounter with the more-than-human, about the medicine women who schooled me, and the beings who were my most beloved allies.
I know that most people in your time think “beyond the veil” means the world after death. However, I am referring to a space beyond consensual reality—beyond, even, the edges of conventional sensing and knowing—where great wisdom lies. It is accessible to me now but, more importantly, was accessible to me then. In fact, while not everyone knew their way there, it was common knowledge that it existed, and that those who visited brought back valuable knowledge. In fact it is in that very space that you and I are able to carry on this conversation. It was there that I was able to communicate with the plants and elements that heal. As you might have guessed, it was and still is just as accessible to the living as it is to the dead. From whom do you think all that wisdom comes? For me, the entry point was the underworld, deep within me. There I was shown the way of healing and how the healing energy arises. I was able to bring these things back to the everyday world to assist those in need of healing.
How did you get there?
In the beginning I had to find my way by myself (or so I thought!—of course I was being guided the entire time).
It began with a compelling need to know. Even as a child I was a friend of the plants. However, in that liminal time between childhood and womanhood, I began to have mysterious dreams in which the plants, and especially the trees, beckoned to me. This was a great mystery to me—I had no idea what it meant. When I spent time with the plants, I noticed that my heart sang—had always sung—with a pervading beauty. In that noticing I discovered my community—the ones who perfectly filled a yearning inside.
So I began to repeat my visits as often as I could—to sit before a plant or tree. In their presence, I stated my intention to meet and get to know them. Then I waited, quieting myself until a great stillness was present within and without. In that still presence I felt an internal stir—a sort of tug or touch—coming from the plant. It was a kind of consent or invitation to an active relationship between us. To have plumbed their depths at that time in my life would not have been possible. My life was not mine to live in the way I wished. I was expected to marry, which I did, to raise children, to feed, clothe, and care for them. But it was also mine to keep my children healthy, an expectation which allowed me to legitimately continue my pursuit of plant knowledge, though of course to a lesser degree than I longed for.
Because it was obviously such a study of mine, other women from the village began to bring their children to me for healing. As my successes grew, so did my clientele. As happened with all remote villages, we were periodically visited by itinerant healers, to tend to any whose ailments might be beyond the experience of the local healer. Whenever they came, I ran to meet them, hoping for the answers to all my questions, eager for knowledge. Those who were not stingy with their knowledge greatly increased my capacity for success.
Many years later, after my children were all married, my husband was killed by a falling tree. I found myself alone and, once adjusted, threw myself into my craft. By now I knew that healing magic did not come from physical plant material alone. It also came from an unseen realm, which rushed to my assistance whenever it was needed—an energy that ran through my body like blood through my veins. I also understood that this invisible power could be rendered useless if the soul of the afflicted body did not want to receive it, if it refused to be healed.
There were several reasons why a body would reject healing, but the only one that could not be overcome was fate itself. If it was time for that particular soul to return to the world from which it had come, there was nothing I—or anyone, as far as I know—could do. Many other ailments required a mystical understanding of the soul's experience. What was preventing it from accepting healing energy? For this kind of healing, the physical material of plants could only go so far. It was necessary to include other elements as well. Here again, I learned from healers much wiser than I, as well as from my own experience.
There is a space inside me I call the womb cave. Deep within the depth of darkness, lit only by a fire, the womb cave is a liminal space where my consciousness can meet and mingle with the more-than-human. Once I discovered my intention or dream—that which I had come to this lifetime to accomplish—my path was made easier. These beings were always available, waiting only to be asked for their assistance. All of us are guided—through inspiration, coincidence, dreams, and other signposts. And so my guidance was to learn how to heal not only the physical, but the soul as well, and not only to be a healer but a student and later a teacher of the wisdom of the womb cave—the liminal space where the worlds meet.
Seven months later, in June of 2024:
Hello, Lucretia. Thank you for all of your hard work these days. I seem to know a lot of people who need healing right now. I suppose that list will keep getting longer the older I get.
You had asked me to write about your life. I have a blog now. It’s very new so I don’t have much of an audience, I’m afraid, and maybe never will. But I’ve just written about the Silent Supper so I thought my readers might enjoy a look into how I’ve worked with at least one of the wonderful Mothers I met that night. I chose you, since you showed so much interest in getting your story out. Why don’t we start with your first suggestion?
Tell me the story about your first encounter with the more-than-human.
Hello, Dear. I’d be happy to tell you that story.
It all began with the dreams I mentioned, which shows up in that liminal time between child and womanhood, during which the trees and plants began beckoning me. I knew I was supposed to follow them but didn’t know how to go about it. Once, I stole away from home and plopped myself down among a patch of trees, plants, and bushes which were only a short distance away but granted enough cover that I wouldn’t be seen by anyone passing nearby. It wasn’t that I was afraid, it was just that I didn’t want to be disturbed. Moments after sitting down I once again noticed that happy feeling I mentioned before—as if I were among my most intimate friends. In truth, I did not enjoy even my closest human friends as much as I enjoyed this community of trees and plants. “Friends,” I asked, “What is it that you want from me?”
Intuitively, I knew that in order to receive communication I would need to empty my mind. I didn’t really know how to do this but, following my instincts, I lowered my eyes, blurred my vision and, after a moment or two, began to notice my breath. In the emptiness within, it was the only thing happening. After several breaths, I realized I had not once, during that span, had a thought. I felt completely open and empty—expansive, spacious. From this place, I addressed the plants before me—asking what it was that they wanted. I was disappointed, but somehow not surprised, to receive no response. I felt good inside, there was no doubt about that—my heart was singing, as usual. But I had felt all that before.
In perplexity, I gave up on the plants for the moment, but not on the open and expansive sensation that I had just experienced. I was curious about it—wanting to see if I could sustain it. I closed my eyes and repeated the earlier steps but this time, after only a few moments of expansiveness, the ground seemed to open up underneath and swallow me up. I felt myself sinking, then being squeezed and reshaped for a time. When that came to an end, I sensed expansion again—this time, particularly in the womb/abdomen area just behind my belly button which, itself, seemed to have grown wider. All was quiet, calm, and spacious.
From this underworld space, it occurred to me to try once again to connect with the plants. Almost immediately I was flooded—overwhelmed, actually—with sensations. My senses seemed to be spinning uncontrollably. I believe my body even collapsed into a kind of puddle. In the midst of the tumult I had an inspiration, a guidance, “Choose one plant—any plant!” I opened my eyes, squinting so as not to break the spell, and found the pulsing trunk of a Cypress tree foremost in my vision. I sat back up, centered myself in front of the tree, closed my eyes and, from that place deep inside my belly, asked the Cypress if it would be willing to communicate with me. Without a moment’s hesitation I began to feel the tree’s response—a slow, vertical sensation of loving, even joyous, energy spread downwards through my heart, warming my belly and grounding me in the earth. There was no mistaking it. Getting a response—any response—was a dream come true. But this! I was in love!
So that was my first encounter—my first plant love.
Oh, thank you so much! I’ve had similar experiences myself with our backyard tree deity, Laurel, with whom I have conversations similar to this one! I’ll be eager to learn how you actually worked WITH the plants to heal someone. But first let’s finish recording the stories you would like me to tell.
Please tell me about the medicine women who schooled you. Who were they? What were they like? What did they teach you? What else would you like me to know?
Certainly!
You’ve probably heard about itinerant tinkers who would travel from village to village, selling and mending pots and other objects made of tin. There were also itinerant preachers and healers. And all of them brought the news—at least from the villages they had visited beforehand. But those were all men. The women who came from other villages to heal came only as result of an urgent summons by the local healer, who felt she or he was losing a patient and knew of a medicine woman who had successfully treated the condition. (Of course the village healer could be a man as well, as in the case of our village, but for some reason, in the greater region, they mostly seemed to be women.) Once these women had arrived and put their knowledge to work they didn’t always hurry back to their own towns and villages but, if lured by a good meal or glass of wine, spent a little extra time in consultation with the local healer. In those days, the way all healers learned was anecdotal—passing on their (or others’) experiences with different methods, medicines, and complaints.
Once, when I was about fifteen, my mother fell ill. There came a point when the local healer—a man named Raul—could do no more. I knew that Chiara—another healer—had visited our village on more than one occasion to treat cases like this one. However, I also knew that Raul felt threatened by her—only because of his fear that she was a better healer than he, and on top of that, a woman. So I sent him home and dispatched my son to Chiara’s village to fetch her. She was at the bedside of another patient when my son found her. However, my mother’s case was more dire so she summoned her apprentice to fill in while she rushed to my mother’s side. She was able to cure her but it was a bit of a battle so she remained with our family for awhile. It wasn’t until the time of that visit that I truly understood—and shared with her—what it was that the plants were calling me to do. She patiently answered my never-ending questions so I adopted an apprentice-like relationship with the poor woman, who I gave no say in the matter. I didn’t know any other women who could teach me and I had a healthy distrust of men as neither my father nor my husband had been trustworthy or safe.
It wasn’t long before Chiara told me about a secluded location near the marketplace in a village down the road, where the medicine women gathered to swap stories and seek advice. They called it “the healers’ market.” There I met any number of other healers from villages near and far. By listening hungrily, my inquisitive mind collected a host of information—not only for treating diseases and problems I’d never even heard of, but for more practical ways to dress wounds and even drive out some very familiar illnesses. Of course some of them took me under their wing and I was soon off and running. I didn’t ask to apprentice with Raul, nor would he have wanted me, so I never had a formal apprenticeship. However, people who were not satisfied with Raul—who put on a good show but whose results often did not correlate—would sneak over to see what I had to say. Since everything I knew came either from the plants themselves or what others had told me, I was quite modest about my own ability—by myself I knew next to nothing. But the plants rarely let my patients down. In fact, my talent did not lie in healing at all—it lay in my ability to communicate with the plants, the elements, and other unseen beings. But for a long time I did not look at that as an extraordinary talent.
Well, that brings us to the story of the beings that were your most beloved allies. I take it you mean the plants. You’ve told me about your first response from them. Would you tell me about how your relationship with them grew?
Of course!
Well, naturally, after making contact with the Cypress, I couldn’t wait to try to go back to my beloved community, “my patch,” and do the same with a different plant. I didn’t have a lot of time for sitting outside, apparently idly, among the plants, so I had to make up plausible excuses for wandering off. Of course everyone during those times foraged for various foods—berries and cooking herbs were probably the most frequently sought. But household herbalism was common as well, so most folks knew where to find what they needed for treatment or prevention of the common ailments of the time. So foraging made a handy excuse, but it meant that I had to bring something home in my basket as well as stealing some extra time for my work with the plants.
My husband, Galliano (“Gallo” for short), was a demanding man. As a woodsman, though, I could easily wait until he was out of the house to take my rambles. Occasionally, however, if he arrived before expected to find an empty house, he suspected I was up to no good—my absence could only mean I had either taken a lover or was some kind of a witch. On his better days he assumed I was simply trying to avoid doing the housework. In sum, whatever it was I was doing, he deeply disapproved of it! There had been times when he’d set out with a switch in search of me. Of course, since he didn’t know which way I’d gone, I had the advantage. Luckily, he’d usually had too much to drink so wasn’t subtle at all. On the rare occasions he did search in the right direction I could always hear his clumsy approach. I knew the nearby area better than he, so I stayed put between a couple of bushes that grew close to the pathway. Believing I had wandered far away from the path and would be difficult to find, he paid no attention to the foreground, instead studying the far horizon. When he saw some imagined, suspicious movement he broke away from the trail and began bushwhacking in that direction, allowing me (once he was out of sight) to return home well before him, with a basket of berries to appease him.
But I’m supposed to be telling you about my relationship with the plants! Obviously, it was slow-going at first, with children, household duties and a husband who thought I should be waiting at home for him at all times. Fortunately, Gallo did not see any reason that HE should stay home, so he often made his own excuses for leaving— usually at the most chaotic moments, such as when several babies began crying at once while I was trying to gather food from the garden or do the washing. The upshot was that I learned to manage well on my own. It was never long before the babies were napping and I was able to visit with with the plants in my garden, who turned out to be just as eager to respond as the Cypress. I began to realize that once I had introduced myself to a plant, expressed an interest in learning from it, and felt its welcoming response, I no longer needed to sit in front of it. I could summon it anywhere at any time—while doing the mending before the fire of an evening, or rocking the baby in the middle of the night.
While I could feel the warmth of their responses, I wanted to know if I could ask a specific question and get a specific answer. After a few attempts that engendered no apparent reply, I was about to give up. One night I remembered Cypress and fell asleep asking if she (I called almost all plants “she”) had anything she could share with me. It had been a long time since I’d had a dream in which the plants were beckoning me, but Cypress beckoned me that night in my first lucid dream. In the dream I was regarding her, and other plants surrounding her, from a short distance, dismayed that I still had not discovered what it was they wanted me to do. I decided to get as close to Cypress as I could, with the idea that she might somehow physically guide me (after all, it was a dream!) The closer I got to Cypress, the more my heart glowed. When I reached her outer branches she indicated that I should sit. As soon as I had done so, my gaze landed on a hollow opening in her trunk about the size of a flue pipe. Almost at once I found myself sucked into the hole, then pulled down, down, down. Since I’d already identified the underworld as the source of mystery and wisdom, I had no fear. In fact, I was overjoyed to be given this opportunity to explore it with a guide. Expecting only darkness, I was soon surprised to see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, which, itself, was now moving laterally, towards the light.
I emerged from the tunnel into a sun-dappled world full of trees and plants but also beings of all sorts. Fairies and some sort of muttering, wingless, human-like, wee folk who seemed deeply engaged in their thoughts as they passed, heads down and shaking from side-to-side as if they were not at all happy with whatever it was they were pondering. But it was the plants, of course, that most caught my interest. Curiously, each plant seemed to appear in double vision. Upon closer inspection I discovered that this effect was created by a transparent being—a spirit of some sort—which seemed to accompany each plant. To view the plant my eyes first had to penetrate its plant spirit. Before I could observe anything further I heard a disembodied voice asking me why I had come. “What is it that you seek to learn? What questions do you bring?” Being addressed in this manner caused me to freeze. Why HAD I come? Or had I chosen to come at all—wasn’t it Cypress who had brought me here? Thankfully, remembering Cypress brought my questions to mind. “I want to know what Cypress wants me to do when she beckons to me. All the plants beckon to me. I want to know what they want and how to do it!”
Once I answered, I saw Cypress’ spirit detach itself from her to appear directly in front of me. All I remember is a kind of rainbow sheen of light surrounding this spirit that was so remarkable that I couldn’t focus on anything else. “Welcome!” said the spirit. “I am Cypress! We are very happy that you have come to learn from us. We would be happy to instruct you. We very much wanted you to come here and learn. You will need to come many times to discover what each plant has to teach you. You are destined to be a great healer if you make it a practice to return here whenever you need to know which plant can be of benefit to your patient. Cypress, as you have learned, is good for the heart. For instance, if you were to gift your husband with a young Cypress tree, you might like the results. But you may not stay here for very long. It is time for you to return to your sleep. Do you have any more questions before you leave?”
“I – I believe I have already got a lot to think about. Thank you so much for everything you have told me. You have changed my life!”
Cypress’ spirit disappeared—or rather, returned to the tree. Then the disembodied voice spoke to me once more. “You must re-enter the tunnel to return to your bed. Go back through it as quickly as you can. You cannot explore on your journeys to and fro. Go now. Go!”
Well, the truth was that in spite of himself, in some place deep inside that not even he recognized, Gallo loved the garden. After my journey to the plant kingdom, I came to realize this. It followed, then, that the crazy idea of gifting him with a young Cypress began to seem like sound advice. While he cut down trees for a living, he had never grown one and, though he wouldn’t admit it, he fell in love with his tree. At first he protested that it was a ridiculous gift. But I just shrugged and said that now that we had it we should figure out where to plant it. A couple of days later he had dug a hole. I’m not sure who picked the location—my husband or Cypress—but it was perfect. Somehow it made what he had thought of as “my world” into “our world.” He loved to sit next to it, (then, years later, under its boughs)—surveying me while I gardened and smoking his pipe. At those times he seemed positively mellow—reflecting on our past together as if it had all been lovely. It had not. But I did not disturb his musings. What would be the sense in that?
From that point forward, things went better with my husband and me. That’s what a plant ally can do. Cypress—my first and one of my strongest allies—turned out to be, at the same time, the plant medicine best for my husband.
After that first journey, things were different. I grew able to easily visit the plant spirits to learn which one would be best for someone’s condition. This is how I became famous and, unfortunately, why people thought I must use “magic”—a concept which was regarded radically differently in my later years than it had been in my youth. Opening to plant spirits facilitated my relationships with many other kinds of unseen beings as well. I often felt the presence of loving hearts and helping hands throughout my nights and days.
One man in particular—an itinerant preacher and teacher of great faith who had quite a following in my area when I was a child—was a constant presence at my side in adulthood, though he had died many years ago. While we were all technically Christians, I had never really taken to it—it just didn’t make sense to me—but I had loved this man we all called Father Christian. Everyone had, as he was filled with love and joy. So I began to call upon him (instead of the Christ himself, as I was supposed to do) during my time of need. Maybe he was a good intercessory to the Christ. Or maybe his own virtuous spirit was the one who responded.
After one of the old, grandmother healers I had known from the healer’s market died, there was a lot of commotion from that community about the loss of her great wisdom. I hadn’t realized that she commanded such respect. Oftentimes when someone dies, they are remembered with more love and respect than they were shown (or perhaps deserved!) during their lifetime. I thought, perhaps, this was the case with Grandmother Luisa. I decided to put her to the test. I began to petition her for help with my own health (as, often, even the best healers are blind to their own needs). At first I didn’t think I got any response because, unlike Cypress and Father Christian, whose presence made itself known through the pleasant warmth in my heart, I felt nothing. After a time, though, I began to wonder. Were her responses more indirect? Was I discounting the beneficial coincidences that always seemed to occur after I petitioned her? Over time I became quite certain of her method. I had not known her well as she was quite old when I met her but she must have been a lot of fun because her responses were often quite playful. I came to think of her as “leaving breadcrumbs” for me to follow. She would send me on wild adventures. Perhaps later I can tell you some stories.
Oh, yes! You are a very good storyteller. I will listen to your stories for as long as you will tell them to me!
To be continued, perhaps …