Held in the time of a compassionate healer

a month with primrose

Primrose, AC

Hello friends, familiar and new, and welcome to a house in a hamlet in a forest. I’m Jan and I hold spaces for those on journeys of transformation. I believe story is powerful and that the earth offers healing through our daily connection and herbal allies. My Sunday posts are always free and you are so welcome here. Let’s create a little alchemy together.

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I've spent March with primrose, one of the ingredients mentioned in Ceridwen’s brew in the story of Taliesin. Ceridwen’s cauldron is a story of transformation and of Awen, the Druid and Welsh word for inspiration or ‘bright knowledge’ — the kind of knowledge that brings spiritual healing.

It’s a story that takes us from a forest to a hearthside, and then into the mouth and belly of a goddess. Ceridwen was a powerful goddess who lived beside Llyn Tegid, the lake at Bala, She had a son, Morfran, who was so unspeakably ugly that everyone called him Afagddu — darkness. With the grief of a mother Ceridwen sought a remedy — a potion to give her child Awen. And so she travelled to the secret city of the Druid alchemists, Dinas Affaraon. High in the crags of the mountains of Snowdonia, guarded by eagles, she knew she would find the herbs she needed.

Back at home, she set up a cauldron with two servants to watch over it for a year and a day. A blind old man, Mordda, and a young serving boy, Gwïon. They must stir the potion and keep the fire burning and on no account ever taste it. At the end of the sacred time, as Gwion stirred, three drops splashed onto his finger, scalding it. He sucked his finger to ease the burn. And in that moment he knew everything and the Awen was his alone.

In terror, Gwïon ran for his life, but Ceridwen, enraged, pursued him. So Gwïon became a hare to flee faster and Ceridwen responded by becoming a swift greyhound. Gwïon dived into the river where he became a fish, but Ceridwen became an otter giving chase. Almost caught, Gwïon transformed into a bird and flew into the air. But Ceridwen turned into a hawk and as she was about to close on him, Gwïon noticed a stack of corn, and became a single grain in the pile. Not to be outdone, Ceridwen became a hen and ate every grain.

But this wasn’t the end of Gwïon. Ceridwen was pregnant with whatever the grain would become. She planned to kill the baby as soon as he was born , but he was so beautiful she couldn’t go through with it. |Instead wrapped him in a bag of animal skins, placed him in a coracle, and put it out to sea. A man named Elffin near Cors Fochno in Ceredigion found the baby and called him Taliesin because of his high forehead (bright brow).

It’s a story with so many resonances — with the seasons the chase go over earth, through water and air and finally the grain goes through the fire of digestion and metabolism. It’s the story of a mother trying to help a child. A story of a goddess birthing a god, and a story of transformation. By the time Taliesin emerges as a great and wise bard with new name he has been through three gestations — in the almost completely dark cottage by the fire, in Ceridwen’s womb, and in the leather bag.

And this makes it one of the many stories of sacred wounding found across mythologies. Woundings that signal something numinous entering into time. Often followed by a journey, a transformation, birth or rebirth, a significant turning point. To become whole we need to understand our wounds. The scars from our wounds let one story die so that another can emerge.

The Taliesin story is one of the many amazing tales from the Mabinogion, and primrose is embedded in it. And it's there too in the story of Blodeuwedd, the woman made of flowers who becomes owl.

This tiny, cheerful flower (Primula vulgaris) that is so abundant in the forest this month, is the stuff of mythology and full of healing.

Inflammation-modulating, anti-spasmodic and containing salicylates, she helps with joint pains and cramps. She astringes the gut toning and helping with diarrhoea and is also a vermifuge when there are gut parasites. But she works softly — her oval, spongy leaves are fully of soapy saponins that soothe mucous membranes and act as expectorant for coughs.

She makes a beautiful ointment for healing wounds and soothing skin, her roots and flowers full of delicately fragrant oil and the chemical primulin. And this gentle, deep salving also shows as a remedy for nervous headaches or a mild sedative for insomnia or restlessness. Primrose's use for nervous distress is recorded as far back as Pliny.

In Druid lore, primrose is a plant of creativity and rebirth and in some Celtic folk traditions they are seen as fairy flowers, used to attract love. Even today, at the initiation of Druid bards primrose is an ingredient in the cauldron.

In the garden the primroses have been flourishing since mid February. We don't have snowdrops in the garden so I look for the primroses and violets as a first sign of Spring. She is one of the herbs that has taught me the value of working with small doses of plants. Spending deep time to listen, to learn the herb's energetic profile, has encouraged me to take the plant in ways that wouldn't normally be considered medicinal amounts. Yet I find these small doses just as potent.

Eating our medicine is a consoling way to nurture our wellness and

an infusion of the flowers as a tea is a comfort to the nervous system. Similarly, the leaves are good in salads and pestos. And the flowers also work well in salads or in a dish with rice, almonds and honey.

But my favourite primrose recipe is a a flower essence, which I first made for a friend who, like me, doesn’t sleep well during full moons.

Primrose flower essence

4-5 handfuls of plant material 1/2 litre of filtered or mineral water 50ml brandy (for an alcohol-free essence, use apple cider vinegar)

Put the flowers into water in a clear glass bottle and leave in the sun to macerate for a day. When the sun is not around, gently bring to boiling point in a pan and simmer for 20-30 minutes and strain.

Add 50ml of the flower water to 50 ml of brandy and keep in a dark 100ml bottle. It’s a very mild remedy so can be used in drop doses as needed.

She is such a quiet herb and yet... there is an intensity here too. Herbs of spring with their saponins and pain-relieving salicylates can hold so much. This year, the word 'held' keeps recurring for me. The spaces I hold, what I hold for others, how I am held... Primrose is as resilient as she is fragile. She is a tender lullaby but moves in deep places within, permeating grief, allowing memories to flow...

When I sat with primrose, time changed shape. She has her own time, one that asks us not only to pause but to let perception shift. A herb that can weave a woman, that is part of the brew of Awen, sings a complex song. A compassionate healer, her work is slow and deep, letting grief or repressed feelings surface. And when the emotions have washed through us she holds space for deep healing, soothing rest... with no thought of haste,

Some days primrose prompted tears that I didn't know were needed. Some days she touched wounds in need of her salve so that new skin could grow, a new story begin.

If you would like to explore ways to work with me herbally, DM me.

Please remember that herbal posts do not constitute medical adivce. If you need help with a specific isse please seek a trusted practitioner.