They say we rarely have to look far for our medicine. Many essential oils from all over the world help with a broad spectrum of dis-ease and I honor them all and welcome them all into my awareness and existence. One, though, comes from a tree that grows not to far from where I have spent much or most of my adult life. A sweet canyon with old grown Scotch Pines. I like to think that a grandfather I once knew in the Forest Service planted many of them…..His ashes were spread along with his beloved there. These pines, which we call Butterscotch Pines, have the most magnificent smell. I lean in to their grandeur and place my nose deep in the folds of the very old and spongy yet firm bark, and inhale deeply. I say to them: “I am listening, what do you have to tell me and teach me?” I remember the amber hard butterscotch candies we got from the local convenience store in a package that were such a treasure. The taste of the butter. The taste of the scotch (which I had no idea of what that was at that age).
I am not one for medicating with substances, but I CAN appreciate the concept of a good glass of scotch and the numbing, warming and soothing qualities it might offer. I love butter. Who doesn’t? What a beautiful combination to allow us to sink in and let go of fear, regret and sorrow. Rarely have I come across an oil so adept and kind and yet insistent in its own way, that we release those three emotions, save for Rue. All the while, as the storm rages and then clears, I know deeply, that these wondrous trees stand calm sentinel as they have for thousands of years, and that in the end, the air will be clear.