I’ve been bathing with Tulsi these past two months. Also known as Holy Basil, because this plant is sacred to Hindus as an embodiment of the goddess Lakshmi, she doesn’t over-winter in our northern climes, so I had to harvest all of my plants that were outside. They had such tall flowers that I decided to save them for my winter baths.

The scratchy flower stalks of dried Tulsi have the added benefit of serving as an efficient scrub, and bathing with a plant is a wonderful way to tap into any message the plant spirit might have for you. I’ve been appreciating her gentle guidance and support as I started a new job, potty trained a new puppy, and generally felt discouraged and overwhelmed.

I’ve been struggling this Winter Solstice and Christmas season in general to feel the inner warmth these holy days usually envelope me in. Usually I love the glowing, growing heart feeling that the season brings, as we turn inside, think of our loved ones and share blessings in the form of gifts, warm drinks and food.

This Fall and Winter have sadly brought seemingly unheard of new levels of violence and hatred to the fore. I’ve had to decline listening to the news, which then makes me feel guilty because I am worried I am just playing the ostrich with my head in the sand.

As I sink into a bath with Tulsi, I understand even more why I often prefer the plant world to the human world. Plants don’t know cruelty; survival perhaps, and a kind of indifferent interest in their own reproduction at times, but not hatred and not violence for the sake of violence, not this intolerance and unhappiness so thick that it runs out and touches everything in its vicinity. I dream of Peace on Earth, goodwill towards men, I sing it even, with all my heart, but I know that I turn to the plants to feel sane again. Humanity has lost the plot.

Maybe this is why it feels so hard sometimes to teach high school. What kind of world are these young humans moving into, and what will they be able to do in it? I had a bit of a reprieve the last few weeks of school as we had a snow day and then another day off, so I had more time for baths and self care, but this was sadly due to more flooding in my school district. Vermont suffered this summer from heavy rains and swollen rivers which ravaged the communities too close to the flood planes.

As the changing climate makes our human choices seem more and more consequential and tragic, the Earth seeks balance, and our landscapes change, inevitably impacting our ability to survive and thrive. I feel saddened watching the flooding happen again, just a few months later, though people were better prepared this time and perhaps some changes will come from the repeated catastrophes. I feel a heightened sense of sensitivity, as if the landscape is asking me to make changes in myself as well, in how the rivers of emotion run through my lives. We have to adapt too, and rapidly. Tulsi helps keep my nervous system regulated through the storm.

Her main message to me, and the one she wanted me to share was:

Be Gentle With Yourself.

My judgmental human mind is often the furthest thing from gentle, and perhaps this is at the root of humanity’s race towards its own destruction. As I mentioned, I started a new teaching job this year and as I adjusted to new demands and new students, I’ve often felt inadequate and ineffective, like everything I have been doing for the past few years wasn’t right or in alignment with what I need to be doing. I’ve been exhausted, at times out of touch with my purpose, and unsure of what to do next.

In other words, I’ve been judging myself too harshly. As punishment, I impose stress on myself, as if it is a means of achieving what I need to achieve. I know that this never works. Be Gentle With Yourself, Tulsi whispers in the bath, in my tea. Never mind about the destructive nature of the mind. Relax with me. And she’s right, that’s the only way to counter our current frenzied movement forwards. Slow down. Breath. Be present. Light a candle. Stay in and read.

And now we’ve had our last Full Moon of the year, this Cold Moon in Cancer that feels like an extra push towards more empathy with myself, more cocooning and rest. I am reconnecting with home, praying to Artemis at my altar (she is associated with Cancer), and thinking of the coming year not as something to progress through, but as something to ease into with clarity, like Diana as she aims the arrow in her bow, with her faithful dogs. I certainly have those. They teach me to rest too.