Have you ever sat with a plant who you felt just got you, like your bestie, and you never had to say a thing?
This happened to me in Costa Rica under the Cananga tree. You’d probably recognize the scent of their floppy, demure flowers: Ylang ylang.
Ylang ylang is a top note in the world’s most famous perfume, Chanel No. 5, along with jasmine and rose. (Does the perfume remind you of airport duty-free sections, too?)
Ylang ylang essential oil was one of the first I ever bought as a teen. The overpowering sweet musk was so at odds with the grey landscape of London I was studying in at the time. When I’d ride the tube, I’d apply some to lull my vagus nerve, and it would reinject me back into my body while others tried to forget theirs.
But meeting the tree and its heady scent for real? It was potent — a dizzying serenade for my senses, and a spacey trip indeed.
This was especially the case as I was on an astrological herbalism retreat with the Wild Ginger Herbal Center, learning from our teachers Lupo Passero of Twin Star Tribe and Alda Cook of the village of Manzanillo, where we stayed. I first learned about the concept of astrological herbalism from Judith Hill, and when I found out about this opportunity to launch my baby astro knowledge to the next level, I pounced. (For anyone who wants to know, I’m a Capricorn sun, Virgo moon and Libra rising.)
For more than a week, our group went through the foundations of astrology and wove in medicinal plants and traditional modes of medical assessment. To culminate the experience, we got to choose a neighbourhood plant in flower — or rather, they chose us. We each dedicated time to sitting with our plant, observing, sensing, meditating, writing and finally co-creating a flower essence with out little (or big) muse.
A few days before, ylang ylang visited me as I was drifting off to sleep, impressing their silhouette into the back of my brain. Although I didn’t intend to work with them, they had plans for me. So I answered their call on the day of our plant-sit, floating over to the shade under their canopy and offering them some cardamom chocolate from the local farmer’s market (see the next section to understand why we make plants offerings!).
Soon, I felt like I was chocolate melting into the soil under the midday sun. When I closed my eyes, I began to see thick black sludge run out of my arteries, possibly to fertilise the Cananga’s roots. I later realised that ylang ylang was no stranger to confronting darkness: I learned from our teacher Alda that they’re known in the region to protect folks from malevolent spirits.
Beneath their canopy, I felt the full-throttled urge to do nothing at all apart from listen to the lapping ocean and rhythmic reggae coming from a nearby bar. I lost all sense of time, even of sensation at times.
I was supposed to journal, but I could barely pick up my pen, as ylang ylang seemed to scratch ‘FLOW’ into my mind’s eye, mocking my need for organisation. They embodied seemingly juxtaposed qualities: Of the aggressive and sensuous, earthy and preternatural, timeless and musical, friend and foe.
As part of the suggested process, I coyly bit into the edge of a flower petal, and it was as though a perfume bottle shattered across the floor of my palate. I tasted notes of banana, ginger, lilies, along with an astringency that lingered for the rest of the day. The flowerheads appeared downcast, with undulating petals resembling an almost ripe banana, but when I peered into their pistil, they gazed back with this ferocious, more-than-human stare. In that moment, I had no doubt of their sentience, realising they were probably more alive than I was or would ever be (!).
When I asked for any messages to share with the group later, I saw a scene of Odysseus’ ship surging toward the sea monsters Scylla and Charybdis — where the proverb, ‘between a rock and a hard place’ comes from. In the Odyssey, the witch Circe warns Odysseus that his best chance of survival is to sail closer to Scylla, sacrificing some of his crew but saving the rest. Through this imagery, ylang ylang seemed to validate our shitty collective reality of having to navigate perilous waters and contend with loss and hardship, where no decision is ideal. In some ways, ylang ylang felt like the misunderstood Scylla — a water nymph cursed by another’s jealousy — as well as an invisible guiding hand, demonstrating that blessings may come from unexpected places, and despite the storm of 2025, we may be closer to home than we think…
Many foreigners visit Costa Rica seeking guidance, often by journeying with entheogens in traditional or appropriated plant ceremonies. Entheogens are psychoactive plant-derived substances that may enable one to experience the qualities of god/goddess/goddex from within (e.g., psylocibin). I have deep issues with the commercialisation and appropriation of these traditional plants and ceremonies, a commentary which I’ll save for another article. However, my intense and dare I say transformative experience sitting with the Cananga tree made me wonder, Can any plant act as an entheogen, a.k.a. a portal to the inner-, outer- or otherworldy?
I think yes: However, the ‘open sesame’ comes through intention, patience, sensitivity, and the sometimes dreaded word, practice. And being prepared to break from consensus reality by allowing ourselves to collectively, unabashedly dream, even when we’re stuck between a rock and a hard place.
I see signs of folks trying to shed the strictures of scientific materialism and late capitalism — through conspiracies, psychedelics, numbing online — to the point of denaturing or deliberately fabricating reality. Rather than falling prey to deception, why don’t we deepen our individual/collective capacities for empirical judgment by strengthening our direct perception of what’s around and within us?
Plants harbour no illusions about where their roots lie. Each time we remember them, we remember where we come from. In this way, we can keep ourselves rooted to the Earth’s crust, even when the storm is amping up and the way is foggy and we’re trying to navigate with the stars overhead.
Bottom line: You need not travel to Costa Rica to find goddex within a plant, within a ceremony, within yourself. Read to learn about sitting with plants in your bioregion.
How To Sit With A Plant
Inspired by the immersive process Lupo Passero introduced us to in Costa Rica, along with my own experiences as an energetic herbalist, master gardener and flower essence practitioner.
- First, reflect: Which plant(s) are you drawn to right now? What is it about that plant that you connect with (e.g., colour, scent, location, energetics, certain memories)? How do they make you feel in your bodymind when you envision them? Accordingly, choose a plant to sit with and/or let them choose you!
- Schedule some time to sit with your plant, around 20-40 mins or whatever works for you. Approach them when you’ve taken care of yourself well (i.e., your bodymind is rested, fed, watered, warmed :). Make sure you’re not feeling rushed! Make an offering such as a song, prayer, thank you, strand of hair, dried tobacco (if this is traditional to you on Turtle Island), a few drops of flower essence, or anything that feels right to you. You can make this offering to the plant, the land they’re growing upon and the traditional peoples of that land. Although perhaps corny, sincerity and gratitude will likely lubricate lines of communication!
- It’s time! Go on and sit. If you can, set aside any previous experiences you’ve had with them and pretend like you’re meeting them for the first time!
- Feel free to jot down any messages you receive and/or any reflections that fall into these categories: Habitat, colour, form, smell, texture, taste, time, sound, animal resemblance, felt sensation, energetics, perceived medicinal qualities. Do certain words come to mind that embody your sensory experience? If you get stuck, focus on writing as a ‘stream of consciousness’, a.k.a. one big unfiltered dump of anything that comes to mind while sitting. You may also want to pay attention to your dreams that evening and journal about what comes up the morning after.
- Woohoo! I’d say you’ve taken a fruitful step toward making a plant companion. Go say hi to your green neighbour whenever you want and consider trying this with other plants you want to bond with — who knows, they may be itching to connect with you, too.
Remember: Like any relationship, the more you reach out and show them you care, the more they’re likely to love on you!
Lastly, while many plants are incredibly generous, always ask for permission before taking or touching. This is all the more important if you intend to make medicine with them. Please practice right relationship with the Earth and all its inhabitants before ever cutting a stem.