Today and the last few days, I've been working on harvesting and pressing some foliage and flowers. I really love these yellow flowers, which I believe are black-eyed susans. I took stuff with me on my walk today to pick up some trash at the shoreline of the lake, brought along some offering, and tools to harvest and store stuff until I got home. When I saw these two flowers were being used, they both became out of bounds for harvest, so I left them.
I think it's important for folks who maybe only forage for their craft or for making things and who are more casual about it to learn some basic tenants of wildcrafting your Craft/craft.
I've sorta been building my own rules for what materials are acceptable to bring home when I'm out and about on walks or whatever.
1: If possible, don't harvest or collect something the first day you see it.
This rule is in place for me as a reminder that I'm not the animal who gets first dibs on what I see in nature. My impact is much much bigger than any other animal who would use it if I leave it, so i try to leave it for at least 24 hours, if not longer.
2: Half at most, around 1/3 or less is best.
If I'm going to be harvesting to make something, I try to let it be a long-term project so that I can take as little as possible at one time. Out of a dozen flowers, I'd take 6 at most, but probably 3 or 4 from the one place I found them. If I'm walking and find another plant that has 8 of the flowers, at most I'll have 1 or 2 go home with me.
Again, as a human, my impact is bigger, and also, I'm not as reliant on these resources for survival as our bug friends are or the local wildlife. I'm making a tool or an art project, my life isn't depending on the thing being done like their lives depend on these things being available to them.
3: Acknowledge what you're doing (ask, offering, etc).
Ultimately, I'm taking something from its natural habitat, and maybe even snipping it off something, I always try to acknowledge what I'm doing. If I can give something beneficial, I will. However, just that moment of mindfulness allows me to at least maintain a healthier relationship with the world me.
These all come back to acknowledging my place within the world around me as I forage, I'm not viewing the world as something I can harvest from without a direct impact to the wildlife and ecosystem.
I even do this for rocks or abandoned shells on the shoreline. Because I'm sure nature could use the shells I've harvested in some beneficial way, even if just a pitstop for a bug, I acknowledge that.
Granted, there's more happening behind the scenes too. I've walked this path to the shoreline in the neighborhood almost daily since June 1st of this year (I can count on one hand how many times I've not walked/not seen the shoreline). I've talked to the spirits that inhabit the little bits I forage from, and blah blah blah. But, even if the spirits of place and nature spirits aren't a part of your practice, still consider the physical repercussions on the ecosystem when you forage for items for witchcraft purposes or just crafting purposes.
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hi! your blog is one of my favourites and i absolutely adore reading your thoughts. my grandfather recently passed away and it feels like i lost myself with him. how do i continue living after this? there is this constant weight on my chest and it feels like an emptiness has made a home inside of me. how do i go on when it feels like the world crashed on my shoulders?
hello, love! this is so very sweet and kind of you, and i hope you're treating yourself gently and kindly right now - there aren't words for a loss like this. that heaviness is difficult, and hard, and painful. it's okay if things don't feel okay, right now, or even soon - i think that's something that a lot of the people i know that have gone through similar grief feel: like they should be able to get back to a relative 'normal' in a [insert far too short period of time].
but it's okay if it hurts. that's where i'd like to start. you're allowed to feel that emptiness, that world-crashed feeling that goes beyond words, beyond time. don't feel like you have to rush this to feel some sort of better. things get easier with time, i promise you this, but sometimes painful feelings are important to feel, too. cry, scream, feel your emotions. they're a part of you. grieve.
it's perhaps a little silly, but when i think about death i always think about a couple of space songs: mainly drops of jupiter by train and saturn by sleeping at last. there are perhaps others that speak to the emotions better, but these two have always hit something a little deeper for me, and are popular for a wide-reaching reason.
and while personally i don't know much about grief like this, i do know a lot about love; and i think they're a lot of the same thing.
the people we love are a part of us, and this is why it takes from us so deeply when we lose them, because it does feel like we've lost a part of ourselves in the wake of it. but it's because they were so central to our experiences of living - our lives, that the separation introduces a hollowness - a place where they used to be. a home that now goes unlived in.
an emptiness, like you said.
but just because they're not here physically, doesn't mean he's not still there, in your heart, in your life, your memory. you can hold him close in smaller ways, as well: steal a sweater, or cologne/scent for something a little more physical and long lasting for remembering. hold onto the memories you cherish, the things that made you laugh, the ease of slow mornings and gentle nights. write them all down, slide a few photographs in there, go through it and add more when you miss him. keep them all close, keep them in your heart.
you're not alone, in this. he's still there, with you, it's just - in the little things.
he's with you in the way you see and go about your daily life, in doing what he liked to do, in the ways he interacted with the world that you shared with him. the memories you recall fondly when the night is late or the moment is right and something calls it into you like a melody, an old bell, laughter you'd recognize anywhere.
but i think, perhaps most importantly above all others - talk about him. with your family, your friends, his friends, strangers; stories are how we keep the people we love alive. the connections they've made, the legacies and experiences they've left behind, and so, so many stories.
how lucky, we are - to love so much it takes a piece of us when they go. grief is the other side of the coin, but it does not mean our love goes away. it lives in you. it lives in everyone who knew him, in the smallest pieces of our lives.
the people we love never really leave us, like this: they're in how we cook and the way we fold our newspapers, our laundry, in the radio stations we tune in to and the way we decorate our walls, our photo albums. they're in the way we store our mail, organize our closets, the scribbled notes in the indexes of our books. the meals we love and the drinks we mix, the way we spend time with one another. they've been passed down for generations, for longer than history - and we are all the luckier for it.
think about what you shared with him, and do it intentionally. bring him into your life, like this, again. whether it's crosswords or poetry or sports or anything else. if one doesn't help, try another. something might click.
i hope things feel a little easier for you, as they tend to do only with time. i hope you find joy in your grief, even if it is small and hard to grasp at first. know that your hurt stems from so much love that there isn't a place to put it properly, and that it is something so meaningful and hurting poets and storytellers have been struggling to put it into words and sounds that feel like the fit right for eons, and that it is also just simply yours. sometimes things don't have to make sense. sometimes they just are - unable to be put into words or neat little sentiments, as unfair and tragic as they come.
but i promise it will not feel like this forever. your love is real. and perhaps, on where to begin on from here - i think it's less on finding where to begin and just beginning. and you've already started. you've taken the most important and crucial step: the first one.
wherever you go, after that, from here? you'll figure it out. you always have, and you always do. it'll come, as things always do. love leads us, as does light - and you're never alone in your hurt. in your grief, your missing something dear to you. i think if you talk about it with others, you'll find they have ways of helping you cope as well - and they have so much love of their own to spare, too.
as an aside, here is the song (northern star by dom fera) i was listening to when i wrote this, for no other reason more than it makes me think of connections, and love, and how we hold onto the people we love and how they change us, wonderfully and intrinsically. it's a little more joyous than the others i've mentioned, and plays like a story, and it made me think of what is at the core of this, love and stories and i am here with you, and maybe it'll bring you some joy, if you'd like it. wishing you all my love and ease 💛
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You voted, and we have a winner!
never ever ever ever get between a mandalorian and their jedi. you will die.
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It is muscle memory that makes Ezra slip his knife back into its sheath, because he has no thoughts for anything or anyone besides the girl across the room. She lies on her back on the interrogation table, strapped down, pale, eyes closed, blood dried and crusted in trickles down her face from a dozen separate cuts.
Ezra is beside her in an instant, ripping off the restraints that bind her arms and legs down. She doesn’t even notice.
“Sabine?”
She responds with a weak whimper. It’s a sound that should come from a wounded animal, not the fearless Jedi he knows.
He takes a risk, and runs his fingers across her cheek, brushing the sweat-damp hair from her face.
Now she gasps, lurching away from his touch with a choked, “no, no, please, please no—”
“Sabine. Sabine! I’m not going to hurt you—it’s me! It’s Ezra!”
Her struggling stops and her tear-damp eyelashes flutter; she looks without seeing.
“Ezra,” she whispers, trying the name out slowly. “Ez-ra. Ezzsraaah…?”
And then, oh, praise the stars—a light in her eyes.
“Ezra.”
“Yeah. Ezra.”
She raises a hand, shakily, searching blindly until her fingers brush the cold beskar of his helmet. They trace across it, following the shape, and even with the solid layer between them, he can almost feel her touch on his skin.
Her hand drops down and she stares at him for a long, heart-stopping second. Then she smiles hazily.
“You have wonderful eyes.”
Ezra can’t help his snort of laughter. He took the Creed years before they met. She doesn’t even know what his eyes look like.
“Did they drug you, or are you just having one of your weird Force moments?” he asks as he slides his arms under her, lifting her as gently as he can.
She rests her head on his chestplate and taps the beskar. “You’re shiny.”
Both, probably, he decides.
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