By Lalita Rose
Illustration by Vero Romero
who knew the wishes upon dandelion heads, whose golden petals turn into gray wisps would be the same plant that taught me how to stand up for myself?
whose roots in tea would tend to my inner fire with the truth serum to say, no.
a channeling of unexpressed anger, of boundaries crossed. calm, clear, collected. there is wisdom in their ample presence. a reminder that anger is okay, and you can find ways to communicate it without losing yourself.
maybe they are the medicine that keeps trying to call out: i am here to help you but humans tend to be stubborn in trusting the frequent alarm. there is righteous rage, waiting to be expressed.
perhaps that is what will help us transmute, that which feels too heavy to expel.