Auntie Lobelia's Visit to
the City
LOBELIA, INDIAN TOBACCO - Lobelia inflata
Uses: American Indians smoked leaves for asthma,
bronchitis, sore throats,
coughs. Traditionally used to induce vomiting (hence the nickname "pukeweed")
and sweating; sedative; used for asthma, whooping
cough, fevers, to enhance or direct action of other
herbs. Lobeline, one of 14 alkaloids in the plant, is used in commercial
"quit-smoking" lozenges and chewing gums - said to appease physical need for
nicotine without addictive effects.
Warning: Considered toxic due to its strong emetic, expectorant and sedative
effects.'
Auntie Lobelia says, "I'll
teach you everything you need to know about protection,
dearie. You are all my nieces, my favorites, but don't keep me waiting
too long once you call me and I respond. I haven't got
all day, you know, don't have all night either. You
want to know about Safety? How to
protect your body from all this foul foolishness that's going
around the earth? Drink fresh water, and plenty of it! See how good that feels?
Listen to your Auntie."
"I'm Lobe-e-lia, you can call me Auntie Lobe-e-lia. Listen
closely. I'll teach you what you need to beware of, be wary of, take measures
against. It's all part of beauty, but life is not for the tame, nor the timid.
Only the brave ones taste me exactly how I grow, undiluted by processing and
manufacturing for supposed purity. Lobeline - hmmph! Lobeline's just a
chemical. I'm not Lobeline, I'm Lobelia, and I contain many fine qualities. I
know how to protect and I know how to harm too, don't I?" Auntie winked
at me mischievously, yet seriously, and sat down in her rocking chair. She wore
a long, green dress that had tiny, white dots running down the side seams and
sleeves. They caught and reflected the sunlight. Her violet eyes were exquisite
against the soft green of her dress. "Get us some tea," she said, nodding
decisively. "When it's ready, we'll sit on the porch and have a talk."
I saw some wild peppermint and strawberry plants growing a
few feet away. Silently thanking the herbs for their generous gifts, my nose met
the cool, hot bite of menthol and the sweet, fruity innocence of strawberry as I
carefully pinched off leaves, stalks, and flowers. I looked forward to the
delicious tea we would have. Auntie likes these plants, too. I know because she
lets them live here. She doesn't let everyone in close - that's just her way.
Auntie Lobelia says, "Remember that day in the park when my
cat came along to help you out of trouble? Yesss, of course, that was my cat.
Didn't you notice how healthy, how strong she was? How silky her fur? And what
about me? Surely you recall seeing me - a giantess - appear out of nowhere? You
and my young nieces were in despair, talking about the brutal rape and beating
of one of your sisters." Auntie's violet eyes were no longer focused on me, she
seemed far away. "Another niece, just out for a run in the park! Ooooh, it
infuriates me, saddens me, but I cannot come to those who don't call me, no
matter how I love them and want to shake them awake. No, they cannot even see
me, so many of my nieces. My nephews see me too, of course, the ones who listen,
but that's not what I want to talk to you about today." She closed her eyes, and
was silent.
I went into the house to make our tea and get more fresh
water, returning with our drinks on her black tray painted with red and white
peonies. I handed Auntie her favorite tea cup then sat down at the little wooden
table and rolled a cigarette. She contemplated
me from her rocking chair as she sipped the fragrant, hot tea.
"You were so scared, remember? I was there in spirit, listening to you cry out
for help. You weren't giving in to terror and feeding your fears, you were
moaning in pain and talking angrily, you were striving for inner strength; the
real solution. So I answered your cries.
I remembered. I hadn't known such fear in a long time. I'd
finally shaken loose of it about ten years before, having convinced myself at
gut level that if something violent did happen to me, I needed to be able to
respond in the moment. I had to live in the moment, as it was really happening,
not in the imaginary places of "what-if?" "What if it's too dangerous to
be walking alone in these woods?" "What if there's a rapist hiding here?" (In
the parking lot, laundry room, dark street) "What if some crack addict forced
his way in before I got the front door locked?"
I acted free, but I believed, as a woman, I was always
potentially in danger. I felt trapped. Living "on alert" was muddling my senses,
stressing my body. and depriving me of fully experiencing my life! I was furious
about it. I turned that fury into a determined effort. Little by little I
learned to make fear my ally; my when-in-need warning system rather than an
invisible, energy-sucking companion.
But this had knocked the wind out of me like a sudden, sharp
kick in the belly - maybe it was the sensationalizing by the media, maybe it was
the senseless brutality of the beating, and maybe it was the terrible truth of
many against one. Such young kids, too,
and the almost-dead condition they left the suddenly-famous, though unnamed
woman in - I don't know.* All I know is I began walking around terrified
for my safety. Nothing to do but go with it, no sense in denial. I had friends
walk me home and to my car. I played it out, realizing I was walking with my
shoulders tightened forward, my breathing shallow and unfulfilling, and my face
a hard mask of helpless anger.
We women were up in a wild, nearly abandoned section of the
park, talking about our fears as women do. We were singing for strength and
courage, asking for guidance and sending out prayers of gratitude through the
smoke of burning sage, artemisia and
Grandmother cedar. I walked away first, down a path through the center of a weed
patch that was taller than me, and there she was! I was startled and profoundly
glad to see the giant Lobelia plant with tiny violet flowers. I'd been here many
times before and never
seen her. Lobelia inflata usually grows in stands and is generally
between 6 and 18 inches tall. The solitary plant at the edge of the path was
nearly 3 feet tall! Moved, I put an amethyst cluster down next to her and asked
her to teach us to know we are safe, to offer
us her protection. I felt something like strength quietly knocking against the
defensive armor I was wearing around my heart and other vital organs.. .I knew
it was coming from inside me; from inside my womb and guts and heart, but,
still, I could barely feel it. I left to join the others.
Not five minutes later a cat, "your cat, Auntie, I now know,"
came walking through the weeds, demanding our attention with her beauty, her
obvious strength, and her health. We called her, and when she came to us we pet
her, stroking her fine coat. Finally, I got up to leave, it was time to bring
our attention back to studying plants. I suggested that we all go to look at the
evening primrose plants. Everyone came but Therese, who didn't want to leave the
cat. She said later she felt compelled to stay, like she'd had no choice.
We went a little way through the tall weeds when we suddenly
stopped. So did they. All talking ceased. Was there going to be trouble? We were
all taking tense stock of each other and the situation; a few white women and a
crowd of about 20 young black
men and boys of varying heights, builds, and ages. The TV and newspapers had
been blasting incendiary, racist-inspiring reports at all of us since the
Central Park Jogger story first broke. Headlines screamed of "wolf gangs," and
sensational stories told of marauding gangs of young black kids raping, looting,
and generally terrorizing the city's "decent citizens."
It was so hard not to get sucked in. My legs were shaking. At
that moment, the cat bounded off towards the woods between "us" and "them."
Therese had come back to join us. My heart was beating fast. I needed to
connect, to make contact. Now.
"Is that your cat?" I called loudly.
"What?" They sounded startled, like simple communication was
the last thing they'd expected to happen.
"Is that your cat?" I called louder, yelling. "We found her.
Did you lose your cat?"
"What cat?!?" they called back, finally
understanding.
"There," we pointed, the other women joining in the yelled
conversation. I felt my body relaxing.
"Where?" they called back, and began walking towards us, up
the path until they were surrounding us.
"Look there, she's a beauty," Therese pointed.
A couple of the kids went for her, trying to frighten and
catch her. A couple of the older guys told them to quit it.
"Nah, we didn't lose any cat."
"O.K. We just wondered - she looked too well cared for to be
a stray."
"See ya!"
"Bye!"
"Take it easy!"
"Yeah, you too!"
They all continued down the path to the other side of the
weed patch, down the hill, and southwest towards the more popular parts of the
park.
We just stood there looking at each other. Ellen finally
said, "Huh! That was interesting timing, given what we were talking about. And
where's that wonderful cat?"
She was gone without a trace.
Therese was saying, "I knew there was something special about
that cat."
"Yes," I said, "She gave all of us something to connect with,
an excuse to look at each other and talk to each other."
Most people, I find, want human connection, kindness, to be
looked in the eye and acknowledged. We cut each other off automatically and our
suspicions keep us isolated and lonely. There are a few who are so far gone or
out of it on drugs that it's wise to give them a wide berth, but most of the
time, that's not the best way. We have to use our senses to check people out,
see what they're really about.
Then I remembered the giant Lobelia plant. The women and I
went back, and I picked up the amethyst with deep gratitude. It was now imbued
with Auntie Lobelia's medicine. The giant Lobelia was bristling with energy, as
if electric currents were coursing through her. The next time I went back there
she, too, was gone without a trace.
Auntie Lobelia rocked on her chair, old hands wrapped around
her tea cup, nodding 'yes' as she followed the story with her mind in mine.
"Yesss, my dear, that was me, Auntie Lobelia, indeed... ..and
you won't forget what I teach you either, now will you? That's why I jar open
your inner ear, your inner senses. They're what you need to survive and also to
live well. I help you understand the languages of all living things so you can
communicate together. That's one reason why the old homeopaths and herbalists
put a tiny bit of me into their herbal formulas -I get all the different plants
to work together!
"Yesss, these scientists may think that lobeline, a mere
chemical, is my most active ingredient, but we know better, don't we, dearie?
They've never tasted my sharpness. I waken the wits you need for
self-protection, and protection of each other. Keep your wits about you, that's
what I always say! I'm not one of those dreamy green teachers like my friend
Artemisia, always telling you to relax and close your eyes. No. Not me. I shout,
Wake up! Be Aware! Look around you - and if you try to greedily consume me and
my energy; my love, I bum your insides 'til you throw up. Sometimes that's
helpful, too, though not ladylike, eh, dearieee? But I am complex. I can also
sedate you if that's what is needed. And I always know what's needed." Auntie
Lobelia was not bragging, just stating the facts.
"I'm glad you came to visit with me today. I miss the young
women coming for their instructions, coming to learn from their stem old
Auntie."
Here Auntie again eyed me mischievously and seriously at the
same time.
"Make a fresh pot of tea while you think about what I've told
you. Perhaps you'll have some questions for your Auntie."
I went in to heat more water and thought better of asking her
how the plant appeared and then disappeared like that. I knew she wouldn't tell
me. As I waited for the water to boil, I heard a sweet purr and felt a little
furry head rubbing my ankle. I looked down, a knowing smile already stretching
across my face. I could feel Auntie Lobelia grinning, out on the porch, knowing
my next question would have been "And whatever became of your cat?"
The End
'Steven Foster and James Duke (1990). Peterson Field Guide to Eastern/Central
Medicinal Plants, Page 184.
*Note: In 2003 all these convictions were overturned
due to new evidence.
