Herbs of Altered States

The beautiful lady who grants visions — and silence.

From sacred waters, a flower that opens the dreaming mind.

Smell it when you are knee-deep in Highland water and you will understand everything.

The clear eye that opens what it closes.

It does not grant visions. It takes you somewhere and leaves you there.

Helen of Troy wept into the earth and this grew from her tears. The name preserves it.

Named for a witch. Found in every shadowed wood. It never promised to be innocent.

Saint Anthony's Fire: the burning, the visions, the amputated limbs, the dancing plague.

The mushroom at the root of the world. All the stories begin here.

The smell of it alone is a warning. Few plants are this honest.

The root that stills the tongue and loosens the soul.

A root that screams, a root that heals — sometimes the same root.

Before all other herbs, remember mugwort.

It offers sleep. What sleep offers is another matter.

A nervine for the frayed and the overwound. The helmet tells you where it works.

The smell of it keeps cats and insomniacs faithful.

Bitter before all else. Then the other things begin.