I woke up to smoke in the forest

Apothecary News: thank you so much for all of the input for the 2024 Lunica planner! You’ve inspired me with so many ideas to make this edition even better. I’m also just finishing up the Summer of Love Boxes. Keep an eye on your inbox later this week for the official release.

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This morning when I stepped outside I immediately saw a thick haze blanketing the understories of the trees and smelled the unmistakable scent of burning. I was confused. It had just stormed all day yesterday and yet this smoke smelled close. So close that I circled the house to see if it was coming from somewhere here. But all was in tact.

The slow realization that this must still be from the wildfires further north in Canada was not much of a comfort. Four weeks they’ve been burning. I’ve seen the red omen sun and the hazy horizons from fires before, a small hint of the big things happening hundreds of miles away. But I had never before seen it encircling the garden or smelled it first hand.

My drive into town was odd. The whole landscape was like an eerie scene from Silent Hill where everything is distorted and suspended in time. Where monsters may be lurking just feet away. And it truly felt like there was a looming shadow just out of sight today.

Everyone went about their day and so did I. But the whole time I felt a bit disconnected from my body, a soft buzzing in my head. How do we exist, let alone thrive in a space and time when natural disasters such as these are occurring more often and are becoming more severe?

It feels like ignorance to brush it aside, and it feels pointless to wallow in the despair of it all, but it feels to big to do anything about. We can advocate for the environment, to be a voice for those that have none, as we should. But some things are just out of our control. How do we cope?

As I was thinking about this, a lecture my art teacher gave came to mind. She told us artists have a responsibility. Our responsibility is to document the world. Not just document the facts and figures as any computer could, but to document the feelings, hopes, dreams, fears, blunders and triumphs. The artist is tasked with documenting the human experience.

{ note that the photos taken were quick snaps. I made sure not to spend too much time outside today }

I believe that it isn’t just artists who have this responsibility. Our calling as a species is to bear witness. We must not only witness, but we must also not look away. This is why we are here. We are the eyes and the consciousness of the universe. We are seeing our own creation. These are the two things we must embrace in an ever changing world.

Those who don’t consider themselves artists (though everyone has the infinite possibility for creativity) don’t have to create masterpieces to honor what they witness. The act of witnessing is enough.

There is a reason you and I are here, in this specific moment in time, after billions of years of the universe dreaming us up. We were born for this, and we can turn what we witness into medicine, inspiration, hope, and art. The poet Kait Rokowski wrote:

Nothing ever ends poetically.
It ends and we turn it into poetry.
All that blood was never once beautiful.
It was always just red.

Maybe this seems cynical or depressing, but to me it is inspiring. Humans have a way of turning tragedy into something more. This does not erase the truth of it. We bear witness to the blood, then we give it meaning.

You will see the suffering, but you will also see the miracles that happen every day all around us. And even in the suffering there are lessons. When we take on the role of witness, the enormity of it all doesn’t seem so daunting. Because we don’t always have to do something. We simply have to take it in and hold space for it.

And so today, after an odd day in the haze, I came home and made a cold infusion of violet leaves. Its cooling mucilaginous properties are soothing to the throat, lungs and digestive tract. Even if the smoke isn’t as bad here as it is in so many other places, the infusion was a little love letter to my body. When it feels to big, there is always a plant offering support whether we listen or not.

There is so much noise in the world, but sometimes we just need to rearrange the notes a bit to make it make sense.

I finally realized that on days like today, it’s not about doing or ignoring. It’s about being here, eyes wide, taking it all in, and letting it flow back out in whatever way it sees fit.

Much love,

Val