April Full Moon: Foraged Dandelion (Hindbeh)
Grief, Bitters, Digestion.
Earlier this month, we experienced a total solar eclipse. The energy of that eclipse brought with it a reckoning with grief, a call to bear witness to all the messy, ugly, tragic, gross parts of life that we have lived through and feel through the anger, resentment, sadness, and various emotions that they bring into focus. We must see our pasts for what they are, and honor the feelings that come up, in order to embody the people we are now because of what we have lived through. Chiron, in astrology, is the wounded healer and we are beckoned to heal our wounds so that we can show up in our embodied selves to co-create the new world of our future and in turn heal others. If we can recognize the wounds and where they come from, maybe they won’t hold such power over us or silence us like they used to.
On my way to meet up with my local group of fellow mountainfolk who refuse to be complicit in the ongoing genocide, I notice the early pops of color this spring, among so much dreary brown and grey. It’s the yellow flowers who seem to come out first-- the forsythia, the daffodils, the coltsfoot popping up along the sides of the road, and all of those dandelions. We’re at a precipice, it seems. Spring is coming.
I’m feeling exposed, uncomfortable in my dry chapped skin and lips from a winter that has gone on for far too long. My postpartum body is stuffed into old leggings and an oversized sweater that’s hard to nurse in. Cracked cuticle beds, greasy hair, my skin feels pale and sickly and I haven’t been on top of my unsightly hair removal regimen, so my eyebrows and upper lip have rogue dark hairs sprouting. I still have some melasma on my face from my latest pregnancy that’s allegedly supposed to fade on its own someday. I really don’t want to look in the mirror up close so I just don’t. But I don’t have the mental space to put all the effort into looking presentable right now.
Yet, when I arrive, I light up from the nourishment of community. I’m with people who see me as I am because I show up as I am here. It’s not like other social events, where I’m constantly tugging on my clothing or trying to rebraid my hair or cover up my belly when it’s time to nurse. Where I’m comparing myself to others, constantly overthinking whether I went too hard on social media, Are they talking about me? Why can’t I just be easy, civil, non-partisan like a good liberal? Why do I have to show the muck of what we’d really rather not look at? I feel like I make people uncomfortable by exposing the injustices. But the alternative feels like its own kind of hell, and I know I can’t keep hiding my truth to keep others comfortable.
The wounds of childhood rear their ugly head more often than I’d like to admit, and it takes practice, lots of work, and lots of attention to bear witness to them so that they don’t subconsciously run my life. And when I do take the time to grieve through the sticky and sad parts and sit with the uncomfortable parts, I find that I am able to be fully present as I build the life I want to create for my household. One of peace, joy, and contentment. Living in embodied truth instead of scurrying around mired in tasks and putting on personas and making decisions to fulfill some sort of illusion or delusion.
Back home, I see the dandelions starting to sprout and I teach my toddler about them. She loves the idea that she can eat their tender little leaves and she stops to show me every time she recognizes them. Even though their flowers haven’t come up yet, she can recognize the toothed leaves growing in a basal rosette. “Ooh mommy I love dandelion” she sees and echoes back my enthusiasm in the plant I’m gathering so much inspiration from. I wrote a piece about dandelions in my friend’s forthcoming zine and here I am writing about them again. They seem to represent a lot of what I’m feeling through right now.
What I’ve learned from the dandelions is that sometimes we need bitters to aid in our digestion, in the physical realm but also in the spiritual and mental realms. Bitter plants like dandelion, when eaten, increase salivation and gastric juices, and stimulate the release of bile from the gallbladder to aid in the work of digestion. And the symbolism follows, too. Dandelion’s spirit medicine is helping us digest our grief so that we can show up more fully as sunny, defiant, proud, steadfast beings who root deeply and pop up everywhere much to the dismay of suburban lawncare zealots. The dandelions united will never be defeated.
“You can cut off all the flowers but you cannot stop spring from coming” is a quote from Pablo Neruda that’s been making its rounds lately in the movement around freeing Palestine from occupation as well as various other concurrent liberatory struggles. Not only can the fascistic forces not keep us all down, but if we learn from dandelion and can all stand steadfast in our power, each time we seed and disseminate the truth, it spreads in the wind like the little seed pods and takes root all across the land. There really is no stopping us all. But we must be present, we must not hide or look away or shrink ourselves. We must allow our feelings to flow freely, to let our tears water the rage that moves us into action.
In her book, Awakening Artemis, Vanessa Chakour writes, “As a liver cleanser, dandelion root helps move anger and frustration out of the body while feeding and supporting beneficial bacteria. And for those that deplete themselves trying to people please, Dandelion is an excellent ally.” I know that when I try to make myself more palatable, I end up feeling useless, unworthy, depressed, weak. When I stand in my power, however, I may not be everyone’s cup of tea but I like it better that way. I find my people more easily when I’m radically honest with myself and others. When I can stand up tall and face the sun like the mighty dandelion.
I took my first urban foraging class in 2015 and I started my “Through the Pagan Wheel” dinner series featuring wild and foraged foods in 2016. The ideas behind foraging foods have been compelling to me as I was interested in going back to the land and reconnecting with the old ways. In the letter writing event that I hosted this past February as a response to the grief-rage-fatigue cycle I’d been feeling as a spectator in the genocide of my distant relatives, I met a fellow Palestinian-Armenian elder and when I told her of my interest in foraging, she said, “that’s so Palestinian of you.”
I had never considered that my Arab side was so rooted in the craft and art of foraging and that’s probably due to the misinformation I’d been fed from the media my entire life but that’s a whole different story. The truth is I hadn't really had interest in exploring my levantine roots because I felt so much shame in them. But I can see now that it’s all interconnected. When I first heard of the film Foragers by Palestinian artist and filmmaker Jumana Manna, I knew I had to see it. A quiet, poignant, meditative look at a Palestinian village and the deep love and inextricable connection its people have for the land. “I am nature” one of the characters we follow says when he’s questioned by the Israeli authorities who have outlawed foraging.
Although the land of my current home doesn’t have the wild za’atar or akkoub which are focuses of the film, we do have lots of dandelions. A Palestinian dish called hindbeh b’zayt is made of dandelion leaves, fried onions, lemon and olive oil, and it’s a deeply nourishing and delicious way for me to connect my lineage with the present day. The richness of the olive oil, sweetness of the onions, and tang of the lemon bring balance to the bitter deep green dandelion leaves and together, they create a nourishing dish that pairs well with roasted chicken, mussakhan perhaps. My daughter can’t get enough. She shovels bites into her mouth and asks for more. She helped me hand pick all of the dandelion so it’s extra special to her to eat the fruits of her labor.
Our little mountain community is hosting a screening of Foragers and we’re coming together to make Palestinian mezze, featuring dandelion. We will connect, grieve, bear witness to each other as we work tirelessly to bring an end to this destruction and reimagine a better, more rooted world of mutual respect. The courageous dandelion will be our unifier, our guide, and our source of nourishment as we work together to stand in our truth and beckon in a new world ripe with possibility and liberation for all.
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Recipe: Hindbeh B’zeit
-1 large bunch of dandelion greens (from about 10-20 plants, depending of size)
-1 large yellow onion, sliced
-2 cloves garlic, chopped
-olive oil, to taste
-1 lemon, juiced
-salt to taste
Wash the dandelion leaves very well. It’s important that you forage them from a place that hasn’t been sprayed with pesticides or environmental contaminants. Soak the leaves in salted water for 15 minutes.
In a large pan over medium-high heat, saute the sliced onions with some oil, stirring occasionally, until nicely caramelized and slightly burnt. This will take about 5 minutes first on high heat, then another 10-15 minutes on medium heat. Reserve half of the onions to top the dish.
Meanwhile, bring a pot of water to boil. Rinse dandelion greens from salt water and add them to the boiling water. Boil for 15 minutes and strain water out. Rinse with cold water.
Squeeze the moisture out of the cooked dandelion, and roughly chop the drained and squeezed greens.
Add garlic to the onions mixture and saute until the garlic is fragrant, 1 minute or so. Add the chopped dandelion greens and a pinch of salt, and saute over medium-high heat for 5 minutes, stirring well to combine it all.
Remove from heat, add the juice from a whole lemon and add more olive oil to finish. Transfer to a platter and top with reserved onions. Serve with pita bread.
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Spell:
Think back to a time when you were a kid. What was an embarrassing or shameful part of you that you worked to hide as you got older? Why? Are you still embarrassed or ashamed by it?
Revisit a movie or book that makes you cry. Sit with your feelings and allow yourself to cry for as long as you need to. Purge it all and let it wash through you. Afterward, freewrite in your journal for as long as it takes.
Now, envision your most vibrant future self. What can you take from your past experiences to integrate so that you can show up as your best, kindest, most generous future self?