THE DEVA SPEAKS
I have a tale to tell you. It is as old as the oldest tree that grows by the sea, and perhaps it is even older still. It is a story shared mostly among the devas and the nature spirits who near this sea do dwell. A long, long time ago there lived a man who loved trees. He spent his whole life building sailing ships from wood to sail on the sea. He never took a wife, though he was handsome as a king, but he wanted nothing more than to feel the wood from which he made many a beautiful thing. One day while he was out sailing, a mighty wind came quickly rising and took him with his vessel to the bottom of the deep. The last thing on his mind before his life began to fade was the tall and noble tree from which his sailing ship was made. He asked the spirits of the ocean, he posed the question to the sea, if he were to be born again, might he come back as a tree? Many years would pass before a maiden walked along the rocky shore. And as she walked she spied a tree so handsome that she fell on her knees. Daily she came to stand before this tall and noble tree, and every day she wished that he could hear her plea. She wished that he could be her lover, wrap his pine bough arms around her, and make love sweetly to her as the wind sang through their hair. She had eyes and arms and hands only for this tree there by the sea, beside which she would stand for hours until the nature spirits took pity on her lovesick reverie. Now, the deva of o f the tree forbade this love, but the nature spirits granted her one night in his human company. She came that eve at twilight, for she loved to watch the stars rise behind his handsome silhouette, but what she came to find there, she never would forget. In place of her beloved tree stood a very handsome man, with the darkest hair and greenest eyes that she had ever seen. He looked into her shining eyes of the palest, truest blue and stroked her long and golden flowing hair — there, there, beside the ocean, lovers now as one, where once there had been two. A daughter was born of their union, conceived by the nature spirits and forbidden by the deva of the tree. Her given name was Rosmarinus, which means “dew of the sea,” and there by the seaside is where she grew. The deva made her not as tall as her father, but her leaves were the green of his eyes and her h er blossoms spoke of her mother’s eyes, the palest, truest blue. Since the deva had grown angry by this forbidden love, she gave Rosmarinus the power to cause a woman to lose her pregnancy in remembrance of what should never have been. Her seeds are tiny and difficult to propagate, but still she has many offspring, some upright like herself and some who wear their hair of deep green needles draping over the rocky cliffs in remembrance of their mother’s long and flowing hair. In her mercy mercy the deva allowed these siblings the power to bring beauty to the earth goddesses, who use rosemary’s benefits for their hair and skin. I tell you this tale so that you may come to understand more deeply the alliance between humans and Rosmarinus, whom you call rosemary, as well as the sympathies of the nature spirits and the responsibilities of the devas. May you honor her medicines as you honor yourselves.
