by Alana Sereno
This past October, I had the pleasure of attending the American Herbalist’s Guild Symposium in Colorado. The keynote speaker, Dr. Claudia Ford, spoke about herbal legacies; where they come from, how the knowledge of plant medicine from Indigenous tribes was silenced, and our responsibility to ensure that as we practice herbalism, we support those who carried–and still carry–the lineages forward. At the end of her talk, she shared this quote:
Find your people. You are not meant to do this work alone. You are not alone. Learn how to be in, and how to love, community. All liberation is collective.
One of my classmates, Alanna Burns, and I recently shared a few discussions about our impact on the world around us. The focus of our conversations has been on what it means to embody a spiritual practice, to be a true ally, and the importance of surrounding ourselves with enriching relationships, to both the human and non-human worlds, that uplift our spirits and open our hearts. How can we be more intentional with our actions when sourcing herbs? How can we support farmers who are tending the land with respect and recognition for its beauty and wisdom? How do we integrate these values into our everyday actions?
A dear friend of mine recently gifted me a keffiyeh, a beautiful symbol of Palestinian connection to the water and to their land. However, I did not anticipate how much closer it would bring me to my own family. I have the same connection to the Mediterranean Sea, displayed by the intricate netting design in the center of the scarf. Like the olive leaves sewn into the border—a tribute to the rich history of olive oil from their region—my family is also, to this day, olive farmers. This understanding has not only reflected back to me the depth of our connection to one another, but how vast the interconnection of our lives really is. How through these relations, we have a responsibility to care for each being on this earth. Because we could have been born into any life, and any life could have been us.
All liberation is collective.
In “The Smell of Rain on Dust: Grief and Praise,” one of my favorite books by Martín Prechtel, he states that a person cannot truly pass on without a community to grieve their death—a river of tears to carry them forward—and without that community, the soul cannot truly rest. That we depend on each other both in this life, and beyond it.
You are not alone.
I think of the song “Soil’s Daughter” by Aisha Badru.
Knelt down by the water, she told me I am the soil’s daughter
And although I look just like my father, my roots they extend much farther
But we don’t respect each other, although we depend on one another
And if we don’t form a band of brothers, our strength will remain uncovered
We are the echoes of those before us, and all our stories they form a chorus
Our stage is the earth below us, but we destroy it til she can’t hold us
So let us travel into the forest, to see without it then there is no us
Become protectors of the waters, cause they will nourish our daughter
We begin to remember that, my grief is your grief, your joy is my joy, my love, our love. My children are your children. My parents, your parents. When I see your grandmother, I see my own. I see my family of farmers in your family of farmers. Everything we do is dependent on one another; we cannot survive without each other. No matter how small the act, everything we do makes a difference. But we may not always see the outcome of our actions in our lifetime. When a Palestinian grandfather plants an olive tree, he does so knowing that he may not see it grow to maturity. He does so knowing that after twenty years, when it finally does, it will prosper, and bless his family with a way to support themselves for generations to come. An integral part of the teachings here at ArborVitae.
I could have never anticipated how emotionally connected I would feel to the clients who walk through the school clinic door. It is a profound place where people can feel seen, heard and acknowledged, and where the care reaches far beyond the physical. There is a certain level of vulnerability that’s necessary when someone opens up to you about their life. Not just for them, but for us too. In turn, it has strengthened our connections, sending strong roots into the foundation of our community.
Find your people.
None of what I have been able to accomplish today—whether it be an act of solidarity or the ability to study these healing traditions—would have been possible without those surrounding me. Both here at Arbor Vitae, and in my familial relationships, I feel the unwavering support in carrying myself forward into the second half of our final year. I hope we continue deepening our bonds, remaining humble as we uplift our voices for change, and a future inspired by our collective dreams.
Alana Sereno is a third-year student at ArborVitae. You can find her on Instagram at @alanasereno.