Call me crazy, but I think I’m on a (hypnopomp) roll.
Take this morning, for example. The phone jolted me awake shortly before 7 am. Wrong number. Sucked me right out from the middle of a vivid dreamlike state, right on the cusp of waking. I refused to let go of the tail-end of the dream, so I burrowed myself deeply under my sheets, closed my eyes tight and willed myself back into the still-sputtering epilogue of my sleep.
And there it was, in quasi-technicolor: Like something out of Jean Reno’s classic Le Professionel, I would go nowhere without a (my?) plant. The scene: With bags piled up in my hands, and in somewhat of a frazzled state, I needed to get somewhere fast; but first I had to pick up the plant sitting on the nearly-bare lawn in front of a building. I might be late, but I wasn’t going anywhere without that plant. 
Just then, a guy who might have been my landlord passed by with a friend at the precise moment I bent to pick up the plant, asking if I’d like his help, then catching himself with an “oh right, forget it, you don’t need help, you want to do it all on your own, huh?”
Away they went. I hugged the plant in my already over-stuffed arms, and rushed off. End of morning story.
Funny, I thought, when I finally awoke to the day. What’s with the plant? And then I recalled a powerful conversation I’d had with Pascale, my massage therapist, just yesterday. She’d recounted her recent experience at a seminar given by a herbalist and healer from Belize: She learned about shamanism, uterine massage, Maya abdominal therapy – and alot about herbs and healing plants.
What can I say…?
Healing Pilgrim 