The Medicine of the Rose

a journey to meet ostara

The Medicine of The Rose: A journey to meet Ostara on the Equinox.

About a week before the vernal equinox here in the northern hemisphere, I got the urge to host an in-person shamanic journey at my home. After a few years of teaching this technique, there are at least a few participants available to join on a whim, and when we meet in three or more, the outcome is greater than the sum of its parts. Selfishly, that’s what I was craving.

We convened an hour before sundown to cluck away, as hens do. Then, the drums kicked off around the fire as the sun set. We called in the directions for guidance and support during our efforts, and set off with the intentions of meeting Ostara, giving her a gift(as one does in the presence of the Goddess), and to ask if she had any wisdom to share on this particular day of power.

As always, these journeys are considered an opportunity to initiate and cultivate relationships. Secrets are often revealed only after bonds are forged and trust is gained. Devotion, if you will. The insights to be had from these internal archetypes only come from attention paid in service to the relationship. That is not a love that can be faked.

I was drumming for the ladies this evening, and that too is a different role than being the recipient of sound. It becomes an active journey, instead of one from the position of Effect. Though I have been practicing for a good many years, I am not entirely well versed in this role, so on this evening it took a minute to drop in.

The intention, again, was to go meet Ostara and my guides led me to the Scottish lowlands to be with some relatives. They were readying for festival, but I was confused as this did not seem like the place where I would meet the Norse Goddess of Spring.

After this journey, I would recognize the significance of this encounter. But, through all my kvetching, we were whisked off anew.

This time, I was taken to Anatolia. There I met a powerful goddess drenched in gold, draped in rich red silks and velvets. She had darker features with almond eyes and was surrounded by roses. I gifted her a Faberge egg of the same colors, and she gifted back a white Arabian mare, and a flagon of golden rose oil. The only words she had for me were, “The Medicine of The Rose”.

On a brief sidenote, the intention of this shamanic journey was to meet Ostara. However, I don’t think that’s who this woman was, though I’m not entirely sure who she is. Given our location, the potential for this to be a representation of Mary Magdalen is strong—and that would make sense in regards to the aforementioned Rose. However, there was a feeling of being older than Christianity. Material on those gods and myths is harder to come by, and the search continues. Honestly though, that is much less consequential than the message…

So, what does any of this mean, or rather, what do I think it all means?

Thoughts of roses have been swirling over the past year. That was when I planted my beautiful David Austin climber, Mme. Alfred Carriere, just outside my office window. It’s so exciting to see all the new growth, and little buds start to form. The anticipation of the upcoming display, the desire, the dreams, and the angst of all that could go wrong, limit the bloom, stunt the growth. But, when the roses unfurl, all of that melts away with the gratitude for being able to behold the beauty of just one blossom.

We covet the beauty of the rose from the first blush of color after she sheds her green, all through the magnificence of her open bloom. That heady scent, known distinctively the world over, has been sought after by perfumers and tea curators, chef and apothecary, pilgrim and poet alike. Napoleon invaded nations to bring his Josephine new varietals. Shakespeare wrote the most famous of prose inspired by the flower.

But, that bloom fades.

Yet, the plant persists.

In fact, that blossom only served a particular purpose in the plant’s life cycle—it was a means to an end.

The real gold of the rose comes after that flower has faded, after she has shed her pretty petals and transformed into juicy fruit.

The medicine is in her hips.

Those rose hips are what hold the seeds of life for the next generation, and the nutrition to bring that new life to fruition. Rose hips are full of vitamin C, antioxidants, help with inflammation and arthritis, improve immune function, and help maintain radiant skin. Rose hips are good, good medicine. The plant has achieved actualization! She alchemized her life experience and turned it into beautiful wisdom to nurture the world around her. She is lush, and vibrant, and full of nourishment in ways she never could have been as a mere flower.

First, however, she must endure that transformational process.

Part of why roses have been so much in mind these days is perimenopause. I’m in it. And, it’s a ride. When you are the flower, you don’t really see how the whole world is targeted around you. The object of the rose is the subject of song and film, the gaze, the scrutiny, the consumption. Whole industries are centered on your beauty.

You don’t really know how that will change, until it does. The pull to stay in that exalted stage of life is both strong and understandable.

As the rose’s blossom begins its descent, you can notice little wrinkles start to form on the petals, spots appear, petals drop, and sometimes various maladies occur. In order for the magic to happen, the rose must allow for its flower to die back so that it can have the energy to make all that goodness. At this point in the rose’s life, sometimes the gardener needs to come in and prune some bits to allow for the whole plant to survive and thrive.

But lo, if she endures all that, the cold nights start to come back to the world. The light lowers in the sky. The days shorten. And her hips flare. She ripens. That cold dark flushes her with color renewed, ready to bequeath her wisdom.

Perimenopause feels so much like all of this. It is a bridge between the flower and the fruit. Yet, it is over a decade of its own being. It is the alchemical process that begets gold from lead. It’s the integration process. Our bodies are in a seemingly constant state of mystery. Some of our petals are falling off, odd growths appear, our trunks stiffen, some leaves are getting powdery mildew, others just need to be trimmed away.

Personally, I have been in the throes of some of these challenges lately: the hair falling out, the lashes thinning, strange growths, and the need for possible pruning. As an Animist, there is so much to learn from the natural world. To anthropomorphize Rose allows me to converse with the essence, the Archetype, of the entire genus of plant, and to apply the metaphor to my own life—even if just to gain comfort.

What’s so wrong with a little comfort, anyway?

Anyway, this is what The Medicine of The Rose means to me.

I might not have met up with Ostara, but I got the meeting I needed. And so it goes…

This article was originally published on Substack. You can read the original here.