Remember when time moved so slowly? friends often remark, reminiscing on our childhoods. This memory sparks a journey into another epoch, one starring our little selves and set in another decade that might as well be another planet. It’s a genuine consciousness shift, reconnecting with how things felt back then. We list all the differences with stunned awe. How we played outdoors for hours and lost all track of time, and how we couldn’t tell what time it was unless we wore a watch. How we had to reach a landline to call our parents and inform them where we were (and how I often failed to call them, and they were frequently annoyed). How we didn’t acknowledge the hour, but knew we had to “be home for dinner,” a concept of time in and of itself. Dinner wouldn’t come from an app.
Time can still move at that pace, I’m pleased to report. But it does require some conscious shifts in lifestyle to make that possible. This was my intention when I decided to work with the plant ally, thyme. I knew thyme could assist with digestion, immunity, even serve as a brain tonic. Moreover, I had an intuitive feeling that its ability to provide nervous system support might lend to a deeper shift. As a writer and word lover, I notice patterns, particularly linguistic ones. It can’t be mere coincidence that thyme sounds like T – I – M – E, I conjectured. And I really needed help with time. I went through major transitions in the first half of 2024 and found myself struggling to catch up with it all, while simultaneously feeling stagnant and “behind” at once.
My journey with thyme
From July into August, I sipped thyme tea, brewed fresh from store-bought herbs. During these weeks, I traveled frequently and spent a lot of time outdoors, walking dogs and tending gardens. In-between projects and movement, I mostly did “nothing” according to modern standards. I rested my body, watched clouds, and took naps in the summer’s afternoon heat. Sometimes I carried a thyme sprig with me to sniff. I kept a portion of thyme tea reserved in a mister bottle so I could ingest it through my skin.
After I ran out of the store-bought thyme, I suddenly smelled it in the garden. I hadn’t noticed that where I was staying, thyme grew profusely on the path to the jacuzzi. And when I arrived at my next destination, the same phenomenon happened. Thyme is an easily-recognized herb and its fragrance often gives it away, though once again, I didn’t notice it in the rock garden or the property’s meadow for weeks!
Thyme was in no rush to reappear on my palette, and the pause allowed me to connect with some other plant allies – all good lessons when healing my sense of time. But this experience also taught me how much I don’t notice that’s right in front of me. I spent every day on the land watching the leaves color and fall, sitting by the pond, waiting for frogs and fish. I checked in on the garden, harvesting tomatoes by the dozen and picking flowers. For most of my life, summer’s end and fall’s entrance was a seasonal shift marked by speed and regret. I would miss the opportunity to indulge in this beautiful transition before the time began to fade, often remarking on how quickly the trees grew barren and the temperatures shifted.
But this year, time’s passage felt different. Sipping thyme tea alone wouldn’t have changed a lot. But sipping that thyme tea while mindfully clearing unnecessary commitments, embracing the ‘do nothing’ attitude, discovering with joy that ‘doing nothing’ is actually still doing a lot!, and confronting any doubts or fears around my new pace of life – all of this changed my relationship with time.
I had time to sit with the trees and hear, leaf by leaf, their stoic surrender. I am never alone, I mused, laughing at the idea that people might assume otherwise. In spite of being the only human in a 3-acre radius, I was surrounded by so much life, so much movement.
The news reported that an influx of tourists caused traffic congestion en route to a popular fall foliage destination, and “they left a lot of trash behind.” A single day – a few hours – is scarcely enough time for me to be with the fall foliage, I realized. I need days, weeks on end, with daily ins and outs from the house peppered with leaf sightings. I need hours sitting on the deck, sometimes reading my book, sometimes gazing at the horizon. When I spotted that the leaves were filling the hammock, I knew fall was in full-swing (no pun intended). This wasn’t a surprise, because I was present with the season.
Thyme offers a host of health benefits
- Immunity support, antiviral, antimicrobial
- Decongestant, working on the lungs, blood, lymph
- Digestion aid, anti-inflammatory and calming
- Nervous system support and brain tonic
Thyme is also a complex being. According to the Vedas, people descend from the plants. In a literal sense, the plants are our ancestors – they grow from the remains of our deceased, then feed us, and the cycle continues. The plants are also regarded as spiritual teachers. They know us quite well after millions of years of growing together. Consuming thyme this time, I unlocked some of that spiritual wisdom.
How thyme helped me heal with time
- Learning patience. I embraced slow medicine by working with a humble, yet potent plant through daily rituals. I handcrafted my own medicine in simple, pleasurable ways. I didn’t order my thyme with a click and wait for the delivery truck, or mindlessly pop a pill. Harvest, simmer, extract, cool, imbibe. This rhythm is medicinal.
- Cultivating presence. Thyme helped me pay more attention to my immediate surroundings, lands and neighbors (all species). Feeling more embodied, I rely on my senses to explore my environment. This sharpens my senses so I feel more present and at peace.
- Enhanced clarity. Thyme really helped me clear out the clutter. It is a decongestant for the digestion, lymph, lungs and blood, and I also found that it helped me remove physical clutter in my environment, as well as emotional and mental junk. My priorities became more clear, not just in the grand scheme of life, but in practical, every day moments. I find it easier to make decisions, take the next best action, sit and wait for more information to come first, or just be.
- Building trust. Nurturing a genuine relationship with the plant was meaningful. As I shifted out of tendencies to commodify and objectify the plant, I decolonized my mind, and my own relationship with myself. And through my newfound patience, presence and clarity combined, I could trust that I’m exactly where I need to be now. And there’s plenty of time for whatever else will be… in due time.
Lately, I’m not consuming as much thyme, but the benefits continue to reveal themselves. This is exactly what slow medicine does that makes it so effective. I’m a literal different person than I was in stark and noticeable ways. Most notably, I’m rarely in a rush to do a thing or achieve something. If the ‘rush’ feeling enters my system, it stands out like an uninvited guest, and I simply open the door for them to leave. And they do leave.
Time, I don’t know you any longer, I mused this week. This is the start of a poem, and I’m in no rush to complete it.