Drawing Out The Poison

Poison is a tricky thing. Rarely do you see it coming or feel the effects immediately, the effects slowly revealing themselves as mysterious ailments long after exposure. Biochemical effects that manifest as physiological, emotional, and behavioral changes, sometimes leaving behind an invisible toxic residue that lingers beneath the surface.

I was poisoned this time last year. I was experiencing many painful changes – some by choice, some by surprise – so when the mysterious symptoms started showing up I assumed it must be related. In a way, I still think it was. Often my inner and outer realities are so deeply entangled it can be hard to distinguish which is influencing which. It takes time to draw the poison out when it’s been growing for many untended years.

This particular poison came in the form of Poison Oak, though the symbolism of course, runs much deeper. It thrives along the banks of canyons where I now live, growing so densely it perfumes that air with its thick oils. Mary Good calls it “Guardian Oak” for its ability to remind us of human boundaries – a guardian plant of wild spaces. On my property, it grows along the steep hillside between the road and my home. And while I’m deeply attracted to the poetry of this sentiment, I discovered I’m also terribly allergic to its urushiol oils. 

Last year I furiously attempted to rip it all out. I was days away from learning surprising news that would change the direction of my life as I knew it. I sensed I was on the cusp of something – not knowing what exactly, but feeling the invisible precipice that manifested as an edginess carried forth into electrical and vatic dreams. And so I chose to “remedy” the feeling by removing what I felt could be the threat – the poisonous plant that I could see was quickly spreading throughout my land. I was not careful or methodical. As I ripped it out, I could feel the roots snapping and see the spray of oils released into the air. Several days later, I would learn what the impending feeling actually was, and it had nothing to do with a poisonous plant. My face and arms would also explode to twice their normal size, resulting in an emergency doctors visit and long treatment of heavy steroids. 

A few days ago I chose to work with the poison once again. It’s taken me a year of building up courage to face it. The severe reaction I experienced from the plant and the events I associated with it carried was enough to prevent me from going anywhere near the plant until now. But more than that, the poison needed time too. It’s difficult to spot what’s gone and what still remains buried just beneath the surface without giving it the time to reemerge. The plants I thought I had removed were actually still there, hiding just beneath the surface. They remained underground until just a few months ago, when their unmistakable shiny mittened leaves reemerged. I could see them slowly spreading across my land but I could not easily reach it, truthfully nor was I ready.

I covered myself from head to toe with protective gear and then began in the same way I had last year, fearfully ripping as fast as I could. I thought if I just barreled through it my exposure would somehow be minimized and I’d be rid of the toxins. Perched on a steep hillside with dense undergrowth and loose soil, it wasn’t so easy to pull them out either. But as yanked and heard the telltale snap of another ripped root, I knew I was only setting myself up to repeat the same painful experience next year. I found myself taking a deep breath and sit down directly in the dense patch of it. I felt the fear rise and then subside. I then gave myself time to sit with it, to study it, to learn from it. I learned to recognize the scent of the crushed plant where I now sat. I studied this beautiful and intense plant in a closer way than I had ever let myself get before, studying the delicate network of forking vines and shimmering leaves. I noticed that all the tiny plants that had sprouted grew in a serpentine pattern. As I pressed my fingers into the soil beneath them I noticed they were all connected through a thick root. The mother root. As I gently pulled her up, a complex network of plants suddenly were coaxed from the ground. This mother root had wound herself throughout my entire garden, giving life through a hidden umbilical cord to her poison oak babies.

Only in getting close with her, sitting with her, and gently massaging her free was I truly able to draw out the poison. I now not only know her by her shiny mittened leaves, but also by her softer qualities. Her scent, the shape of her growth, and her hidden qualities beneath the surface. I wept and thanked her for feeding the butterflies, moths, squirrels and deer for whom she was a nutrient-rich food source. I thanked her for letting me work with my own poisoned shadows and massage them free from my own body. I thought about her lessons in boundaries, toxicity, and healing. I thought about the fear and discomfort she evoked, and thanked her for that too. Fear and discomfort demand respect, as they’re usually there to serve an important lessons. By the end, I wished she could stay. But not too much – for the telltale itch is back. It was worth it.