Into the Woods: Rosewood

My next wand adventure happened at Frank and Maggie’s. Frank had made three rosewood wands, and they got passed around the kitchen table for us all to look at.

When I took them, one in particular caught my attention.

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It was heavier than the others, even though it was the same size. It felt good in my hand, and I kept picking it up and touching it long after I’d laid the other two aside.

“Is that one yours?”

This question, asked by either Frank or Maggie, usually brings up a mixture of emotions for me. I’m not real good at “receiving”; I always feel like I have to do something in return or, even deeper, do something in the first place to deserve what I’m being given.

So, whenever this question comes up, I squirm inwardly and outwardly, although I’m really trying to learn about accepting grace graciously and just leavin it at that.

Well, I took the wand home. I actually haven’t read anything about what other people say rosewood is good for; I know it used to be used to make the cabinets of pianos and can be sanded and polished to a rich, warm luster.

But, as if my first dance around the grace issue were an indication of what was to come, the wand has become the tool of choice when I need to do serious self-examination. I’ve half-jokingly named it my “digging stick” because, when I meditate with it, I inevitablly dig up something that I’ve buried within myself instead of dealing with it honestly.

Which can be kind of unpleasant. It’s not a wand I use all the time for obvious reasons. It’s gentle but very persistent, kind of like a very good psychiatrist, except I don’t get any pills to cover up my problems, just the pushing and kicking (well, not too much kicking!) I need to take care of myself so I can take care of others.

I never thought I’d be using wands at all, let alone amassing a growing collection of them. But just as different clothing suits us for different seasons and types of weather, so, too, with wands. I don’t always need the boxelder to unlock melodies in my mind, or the rosewood to remind me that there is unfinished business in my heart that needs addressing.

As I continue in my explorations and discoveries, I’m better aware of the things that prompt me to look deeper, turn over a stone, or pick up a stick. It may just turn out to be exactly what I need.

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Explore posts in the same categories: Family and Friends, metaphysics, Properties of Wood, spirituality

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