Of Other Worlds: The Linden Tree
The summer solstice has brought with it the sun, carrying the heat of the season with the cresting of this particular seasonal spoke on the ever turning, if somewhat crooked, Wheel of the Year.
It’s warm, finally, not an extreme heat, I’m talking normal June temperatures. Not so hot and dry that everything is tired, that will come later with the dog days of summer. For now, everything is lush, green and deep.
The wild roses are all but done, the last flowers wait to unfurl even as the small bumps that will become hips swell. The belladonna is tall and thick, the queen of the garden bedecked in hundreds of those purple blooms beloved by bees. They dance in and out all day long, particularly loving the flowers that are yet to fully open, pushing their way in to get to the good stuff. The blackbirds and starlings have made a feast of the ripening cherries so that few remain. All around are the normal sights and sounds of summer in the garden, a liminal place as much as it is an ordinary one.
The sun is hot and bright as I move through this sacred space. In the far corner, standing sentinel over the more wild part of the garden is a tall linden tree, commonly called lime. It reaches higher, much higher, than the other trees that stand beside it, the cotoneaster, and another cherry tree that together protects the garden and those within from unwanted eyes, human or otherwise. Beneath the lush foliage, shadows dance and glitter in dappled sunlight, all golden green.
Standing on the edge of this space feels like standing in a space between worlds. Indeed, the elusive search for other worlds beyond this mortal, mundane one, has long been the business of occultists, magicians and witches. There are many ways of transcending the normal.
To enter a different world is as easy as stepping beneath the boughs.
Go on, try it. I’ll wait.
On a hot, bright day such as this, the change is instant. Cool shadows that whisper in a hundred voices as the breeze ripples through the leaves, making the shadows dance and sway. The ritual has begun. Close your eyes and open yourself to it. Take a deep breath. What can you smell? Is it wood spice mixed with the intoxicating scent of linden blossom, summer’s perfume carried upon the breath of the wind? Take another breath. There’s a deeper scent too, one that speaks of decay and the ever turning cycle of life and death and life. Now turn your attention to the ground. Gone is the tame lawn, replaced instead with wild violets, sticky cleavers and other plants that adore the damp and the relief of the shade.
A different world indeed, filled with everything, a dizzying dance of light, shadow, scent and sound.
Here in this space, it’s easy to see the linden as a holy tree, and indeed it is considered as such in different parts of Europe, particularly Eastern Europe, with many gods and goddesses being linked to it in some way.
The linden is also associated with protection. In Celtic lore, sitting beneath its boughs cures epilepsy. I once heard too, though I cannot remember who told me, that you can’t tell a lie when standing under it. In Poland, the tree protects against the evil eye.
Love is also associated with the linden, though I tend to think that it is the truest kind of love, not the hot lusty love of the young, but one that speaks of longevity, sacrifice and the overcoming of daily problems together.
My favourite story of the linden comes from Greek mythology. Zeus and Hermes decided one day to go forth disguised as beggars. They asked people for help along their way, but were scorned and driven away. When they sought shelter and food at an old cottage, they were invited in by an elderly couple who showed great kindness, letting the disguised gods stay a while and feeding them too. The gods later led the couple to a hill where, when looking back at their home, saw it had been destroyed in a flood and that their mysterious guests were more than just mortal men. Later on when the couple died, Zeus turned them into trees, an oak and a linden, whose branches grew entwined over the ruins of their home, thus making it a sacred temple.
The tree is in blossom right now, and the small golden green flowers smell divine, the scent of summer. The flowers are edible and make a delightfully floral tea that is full of antioxidants and is delicious with honey and lavender. Use fresh leaves for tea right now, or dry the flowers and keep in a glass jar to enjoy when they are no longer on the trees. Simply steep the flowers in boiled water for about five minutes and sweeten to taste. If mixing with lavender, I prefer to use two part linden flower to one part lavender, but adjust to suit your own tastes.
You can also make linden flower honey by filling a jar with the dried flowers (make sure you use dry, otherwise the water content of fresh flowers will drastically shorten the shelf life of the finished honey) and cover with whatever quality honey you can afford. Cover and leave to infuse for at least a week before straining into a clean jar. I like to use this honey on warm toast, but you can use it in baking or to flavour cakes, yoghurt and other sweet treats.
The dried flowers also make the perfect addition to a summer incense alongside honeysuckle, jasmine and elderflower. Use one part elderflower, one part honeysuckle and two parts linden flower and grind up into a fine powder and sprinkle over hot charcoal.
But if all of that sounds like a little too much and life feels a little heavy, then take some time beneath the boughs and step into other worlds.
References and Further Reading
Johnson, O. and More, D. (2014) Collins Tree Guide. London: Willliam Collins.
EMMA KATHRYN
Emma Kathryn, practises traditional British witchcraft, Vodou and Obeah, a mixture representing her heritage. She lives in the sticks with her family where she reads tarot, practises witchcraft and drink copious amounts of coffee.
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