Good for the Soil, Good for the Soul : Rosemary for Remembrance
By Ashe Loper
Disclaimer: the information in this article is not meant to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease or symptom. This article highlights the spiritual and mythological importance of a certain herb as it relates to Deathwork in a personal and historical context and is not meant to be taken as medical advice.
Autumn, in all its potent transitional pageantry, has arrived for most of us in the Northern Hemisphere, and with it, a relieved sigh to be at the end of Summer’s fierce presence. As this season unfolds with annual signs of death all around us, it feels like Autumn gives us tender permission to gently wrap ourselves in the wide and weighted cloaks of our own losses that we carry year-round. To recognize our rhythms in the nurturing, ever-present cycle of decay and rebirth.
Though inside Autumn’s yearly death dance, there exists the juxtaposition of great abundance: the ripening of pumpkins and persimmons in near-fallow fields; the vibrant peacock display of a forest’s leaves before they give themselves to the soil from which they grew; the last gasp of a bountiful summer harvest ready to fill pantry shelves. And it is here, inside this union of both letting go and receiving, that we find Autumn’s true medicine: the medicine of releasing something within ourselves that has served its season. Let me tell you about my own inner Autumn, and how letting go of one thing allowed me to open my heart to the beauty of another.
During the early days of the pandemic, I was the primary caretaker of a community garden. Every morning, I would go outside for a few hours to tend to the soil beds, raking and mulching, a therapeutic process during the cusp of a strange and foreboding unknown. When the idea of transplanting all my herbs and vegetables started to become a reality, I found myself wading knee-deep inside a wavering countenance. What if the roots got damaged? What if the plants got flooded out? What if there is too much of something and too little of something else? What if all my hard work succumbs to an environmental issue completely beyond my control?
After fretting over soil quality and weather and other logistics, I realized some of my gnawing questions were relevant to not only the garden, but to my own state of being. The fear, the worry, the grief were (and still are) Very Real Emotions that I struggled to simultaneously hold and process. By plunging my hands into the soil, I was creating a purpose for myself, an emotional safety net, and inside that net, I was called to grow one particular beloved herbal friend who helped me through a darkly uncertain time. Who still helps me through dark and uncertain times. So let me share with you how this herb not only called to me in my grief but helped me understand how it could be called upon in Deathwork as well.
Let’s talk about Rosemary. Oh, Rosemary. The strong, wise Mediterranean mother in my garden. Her potent fragrance is a steady, comforting hand that softens my raw edges. I’ve mixed her in my bath water many times as a soothsayer after I’ve felt wrung out and wilted from crying, especially during the tumult of the past three years. Her scent on my hands makes me think of a Welcome Home letter, an invitation to heal on my own terms. Taking deep, repeated inhalations of this plant gives me focus and clarity when I feel otherwise consumed by grief.
As a member of the Mint family, Rosemary may not be an herb one would associate with Autumn. However, the warming and stimulating properties of the plant, both as an aromatic and as a support for our nervous systems, can help invigorate us when the shadows living inside our hearts feel a little bit darker, a little bit deeper.
Historically, Rosemary has a longstanding relationship with Deathwork: Romans carried sprigs of it during funeral processions and ritualistically decorated the body of the deceased to help soothe them in the afterlife. During the Middles Ages, Rosemary was burned to fend away evil spirits so that these spirits could not consume the souls of the deceased, especially during the time of The Black Death. In Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Ophelia said of Rosemary, “There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray, love remember.”
Although Rosemary holds many other folkloric properties, her role as an ancient and comforting beacon in Deathwork cannot be denied; she is still used during funeral ceremonies today as a physical symbol that helps us enhance and maintain connections with our own beloved dead. The next time you visit a gravesite or ceremonial place of remembrance for a deceased loved one, bring a Rosemary plant with you and tell that person your favorite memory of them. Then put a sprig of Rosemary under your pillow that night; your loved one may appear in the dreamworld and lovingly whisper their favorite memory. . . of you.
Ashe Loper is a writer, certified Funeral Celebrant, and queer Death Doula who provides sacred, sovereign end-of-life care and consultations in rural Oklahoma. You can learn more about her Deathwork services at her website: http://reddirtdeathwork.com
