Sage Wisdom

“Wake up, Regina.”

“Go away,” I said, still dreaming.

“Wake up!”

Who’s grabbing my foot? I kick back at the intruder. “Go AWAY!” I dreamed louder. 

“Come on. Daylight’s burning. You need to get up!”

Groggy, I begin to recognize her voice. It’s Nada Agnes. 
“Go away, Nada, it’s early. It’s way too early, and I need sleep.”

“I am not going anywhere.” She was now pinching my toes and tugging at me. “I’m going to keep this up until you get out of bed,” she said. 

“Why are you here? And why are you in my room at this ungodly hour?” I demanded, pulling my comforter over my head, hoping she would leave and return later. Much later. 

“I’m here because you asked me!” Nada replied. She stopped pulling on my toes now that she had my attention. 

“I did?”

“Yes. You asked me to help collect our sacred sage for your class.”

“Yeah, but do we have to do this now?” I opened one eye to check the clock. Its digital red light glowed “5:00 am.” 

“I really need some sleep. I had a lousy night’s rest.” Still resisting. “Wouldn’t it be better to collect the sage a few hours after coffee and breakfast?”

“Now is the time to harvest the herb,” she said. “Early morning, at first light, when the sun breaks from the east, nourishing it.”

“All right,” I said from my hazy fog. Am I dreaming this, or is Nada actually in my room with me?

Half awake, I pulled myself out of bed, grabbed yesterday’s still-belted jeans I had dropped on the floor in a heap, along with my long-sleeve flannel shirt, and got dressed. I tugged on leather hiking shoes and glanced around for my hat. It sat where I left it the night before –atop my dusty barn jacket that hung on the antler rack by the door. So, I grabbed them both before heading out this morning. Now mid-spring, but the air is still cold and windy. With the chill hovering just above 32, I grabbed my scarf. 

“Don’t forget your sheers and a carrier,” Nada reminded. I could smell the sweet cigar she carried on her. Its stub of red ember was barely visible between her fingers as she stood in the hall where I gathered my pruning clippers and the canvas firewood sling. These will do well for collecting the large bundle of sage to make at least 40 smudge sticks. 

“Ok, I’m ready.” I grabbed the lever to the front door. The wind pushed it open wide, carrying my hat with it. It flew through the entryway, settling on the pine-planked floor. I guess I don’t need that. I headed outside into the south wind.

Nada followed me through the door. My dogs, anticipating their usual morning hike, ran up the stairs from their opened kennels, barking, greeting me on the porch. I turned west, hiking through the tall grass; they ran ahead, already searching between green clumps of buffalo grass and soap-weed, hunting for sage grouse to scatter to flight.

I decided to skip the hiking trail, an easier yet longer route along a mowed path. I knew where the sage grew; I spotted it the other day, and it appeared thick and healthy. It was a perfect place to cut my selection and hurry back before the need for coffee took precedence in my morning. 

“Where are you going?” Nada inquired.

“I’m heading over there,” I pointed northwest toward the sandstone chimney butte. I saw the sage in a big area on the other side of the dry ravine and only about a half-mile hike to that perfect spot.  

“But that isn’t where I want you to pick your sage.”

“Nada, I just saw it yesterday. It’s healthy, and I can collect it all in one area, leaving plenty for future bundles.”

“You know best.” She said, smiling. 

I picked up the pace while dodging small outcroppings of “jumping” cacti. Last night’s spring rain delivered a welcoming drink for this prickly barrel-shaped nuisance. Their half-inch tines grab into all types of protective clothing, including my leather shoes, soles, and laces.
I keep a felt around the deep pocket of my jacket, searching for my needle-nose pliers. Phew, found it. I can’t remove the cactus with naked fingers; their spines have tiny hooks at the ends that work straight through my skin. And I forgot my gloves. 
The dogs knew the direction we were headed. Nada was smirking, letting out an occasional

“Hurrumph” under her breath, and snickering. 

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” She said, smiling. “I thought we were going to head the other way, to the southeast, to collect.”

“Nope,” I said firmly. “I know this place is loaded with sage. Really. It’s a great spot.” I spoke to her with such authority she didn’t say another word to me. Instead, she walked along, muttering, shaking her head, and talking to the varied weeds and grasses as they brushed against her legs. 

I paid her little attention. I was still a bit peeved since she roused me from deep sleep to trudge through this morning’s damp grasses, jumping cacti, and gopher mounds. I nearly fell a few times as my boot snagged a couple of times on hidden broken pine branches buried beneath last Winter’s snow-crushed grasses. 

As we crossed the dry ravine, it showed signs of last night’s light showers, and the dampened soil quieted our steps. I thought this ground would be bone-dry again within a few hours. 
We continued up and out on the other side of the gully. When we reached the sage bushes, sunlight poured across the land. The heady gamma grass and sage scents, pine pollen, and the evaporating moist soil swelled in the air. It felt its aliveness, breathing alongside me. 

The earth, wind, and sky are awakening together with me.
I felt the extraordinary presence of living in this environment. Was this my first day waking up to a world where I had been asleep for so many years? Everything around me is alive. 

I approached the aromatic sage; I said a prayer of gratitude for allowing me to cut her gray-green foliage. Nada was quietly chuckling at me. I ignored her. Filling my canvas carrier with the woody sag took only a few minutes. A hint of turpentine from where I lay the branches wafted above the canvas sling. I smelled my fingers; they, too, had the tang of a painter’s mineral spirit. 

Hmmm. That’s strange,  I mused myself. Then, I heard Nada smirk again. “What?” I demanded. 
She broke out laughing. “Oh, you’ll figure it out soon enough.”
It was hard to enjoy my walk home; I was frustrated with my hiking partner, who stirred me out of bed too early and was now making fun of and laughing at me. I hate to be laughed at and certainly don’t want to be the brunt of Nada’s joke.

“Go away!” I demanded. “I can make the bundles without your help.”

“As you wish,” Nada replied. I could still hear her laughing when she left me on the front porch of my house. 

I threw the carrier and all the sage onto the redwood table outside. I’ll rinse the dust off and let it dry in the hot sun later this afternoon. 

I headed into the house for coffee, made fried corn tortillas with eggs, black beans, and salsa, and sat down. I looked up at the clock over the sink—8:00 a.m. 
It seemed as if I had been up for half the day already. 
Ah. Coffee and a good breakfast. I felt so much better. Somewhat together, at least. 

Reflecting on the morning, I felt guilty for how I treated Nada. She did come to help me, to gather the herbs. But oh, she made me mad. Why was she laughing at me? What was that all about? She’s the one who got me out of bed way too early. I needed sleep. All my days are spent taking care of Mom and the household. My sleep is the only time I have for me. I resented her coming in and disturbing my precious sleep. I have a hard enough time falling asleep, let alone making it through an entire night undisturbed. 
Why should last night be any different? 

I started laughing at myself, mulling over my plans for sleep. How silly. I can always take a nap if I need to. The day is young. I have my sage picked; now, I need to wash it, let it air-dry, and then it will be ready to assemble into bundles.

After breakfast, I spread the sage branches across the cement porch. The smell of turpentine was getting stronger as I moved the cuttings around. I noticed a milky sap on the ends of the clipped stems. I don’t remember seeing that before. Behind me, I heard giggling. Nada. 

“Smell the branches again,” she instructed.

“I did, and they smell like paint thinner. Not at all like sage.”

“That’s because it isn’t sage, but not the white sacred sage we were supposed to collect.”

“What do you mean, it’s sage but not?”

“It’s an artemisia, not a sage but sagebrush.” She explained. “You picked wormwood. It has medicinal qualities but is not the sacred sage we want for the bundles.”

I felt a heat of embarrassment flush across my face. This morning, my arrogance and ego were not about listening to my teacher but my desire to prove that I already knew what she was here to teach. I suddenly felt small and petty. Just a day before, I had Nada to help me. She showed up early, ready to teach, and I behaved like a know-it-all ignorant child. Finally, I understood why she was laughing. I realized, too, that even though my arrogance and ego governed me, she never left my side. Not until I demanded she leave. 

Now, she is standing with me and continuing my herb lesson. Without admonishing my earlier behavior, Nada looked at the wormwood on the concrete and said, “Throw that stuff out. It is of no use to us right now. Are you ready to follow me to collect the white sacred sage?”

Without hesitation, I called for the dogs, grabbed the wormwood, and hurled it over the embankment. It landed in a heap on our morning foottracks. Then, with the folded canvas carrier tucked under my arm, I followed Nada to the southeast. We hiked down our mown path a short distance, then veered off through the grasses. It was about a ten-minute trek around one short nob hill dotted with early purple spiderwort flowers. Tucked among the flowers lay a large area of grey-white leafy stems of the native sacred sage. 
I just started laughing. I couldn’t believe my eyes. 

“I’m so sorry, Nada. My ego got the best of me this morning.”

“Yes, it did.”

“Every time we get together, I learn more about myself and what I want to change than I do about the herbs. I always question how all this works: you and me. How do we work? How is it that you have come to be with me? To be my mentor and counselor? You have taught me so much.”

“You asked for knowledge— to understand the land. So your team brought me to you.” Nada explained. “As long as you need me, I will be here. There is much to teach, much to learn.”

“Thank you. I promise to be a better student.”

We smiled. Nada, who stood no more than 5 feet 3 inches, seemed larger than life. Her stub cigar, still lit, adhered to her lip as she grinned with the pleasure of my discovery. I especially like the deep lines around her charcoal brown eyes; the wisdom etched within her face reflects on me, softening my hard edges. She has a way of teaching, a strength just by being present, listening, and gently guiding. Yet, when I waver from her guidance, she allows me to learn through my choices.

Today, she did just that. After all my arguing this morning, I finally stepped out of my way. 

I leaned over, picking one of the stems of the lovely sage. Its two-inch leaves are supple and soft, giving way to the slightest movement between my fingers. As I rubbed the herb into the palm of my hand, its aroma cleared this morning’s conflicts, and those thoughts weighted from ego and fear carried off in the slightest breeze. I reflected on this morning when we stood on the other side of the ravine when the air’s breath was one with mine, one with the earth and the sky, one with the land and spirit. 

At this moment, today’s lesson is about how my breath, my life force, and my I are connected to all that is.