Roses in spring

Link to Claudia’s GoFundMe: https://gofund.me/55676285

The returning worms and cherry blossoms are bringing in another new year. I realise how much I’ve forgotten that days can be bright and abundant, just like how, at the start of autumn, I realise I’ve forgotten that days can be short and cold. 

As with any period of change, I feel resistance in my body. I spend every winter wishing it away, doing my best to keep going in a season that’s meant to be slow, in a world that denies rest and a world that ignores genocide. Leaves are beginning to emerge now. Many blossoms are already on the trees and shrubs. I even saw some early goslings in Peckham a week or so ago. Spring isn’t around the corner anymore. It’s here. Are we ready to start slowly welcoming abundance? 

I don’t know if I am. It’s in spring that we see the graces of winter. In the grips of the colder months, it’s easier to mourn. Yesterday, Claudia Manchanda, pillar of the community in the truest sense, passed on after a long, difficult battle with cancer. It doesn’t feel real. A part of me honestly thought she would live forever. It doesn’t understand how someone bigger and brighter than life could be mortal. 

My last conversation with Claudia was about the rose-cardamom medicines she’d made last year. She was THE radical herbalist, holistically healing in the truest sense, considering the impact of every layer and form of illness - from the physical and personal, to the collective and emotional. Of course, she would probably say that these are not separable, but intertwined and mutually informing. Claudia saw it all. She was a visionary. To me, she was roses. A heart-healing nervine, an opener, a friend to all. 

Associated with Isis of Ancient Egypt and Aphrodite of Ancient Greece, roses – also known as گل, وَردَة,  玫瑰, and more – have been cultivated in Iran, Iraq, China, Morocco, and the Mediterranean for centuries. In Islam, Judaism, and Christianity, roses have symbolised God, divine love, enduring beauty, and/or sacred mysteries. Countless poems and novels and films feature the rose as a symbol of passion, love, beauty, transience. For me, there is no better symbol of grace, solidarity, and compassion amidst hardship. We all need safety and security, and we all need love, joy, and beauty. We need roses, just as much as we need bread. 

In all traditions of herbal medicine, roses are a heart-soothing balm. In my research on roses for these brief notes (disclaimer: I am not a herbalist at all!!) I read that most roses have cooling, drying properties, making them good for inflammation. In Ayurveda, roses are considered especially good for fiery people and for calming big emotions. In TCM, it’s said to regulate Qi and help unblock stagnant energy. Ruled by the planet Venus, roses are often associated with water, but they’re also linked to fire and earth, as in TCM where they’re considered both bitter and sweet. Bitter is fire, stimulating, detoxifying, mental clarity, countering grief to invigorate joy. Sweet is earth, slowing, nourishing, grounding, digestion, relieving worry. Often, when I ingest rose – as tea mostly – I feel the soothing as a release, like the formation of a river, the ready rush of knowing water as it seeks equilibrium, imbued with the vitalising wisdoms of fire, and the calming replenishments of earth. 

Claudia taught me that rosehips are packed with vitamin C, great for boosting immunity, and totally delicious. I never got to send her my rosehip sambal, which she inspired me to make after sharing her rosehip ketchup recipe. She was the fiercest, funniest badass I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing – a beacon of integrity, passion, and humility, always learning, always inspiring. Claudia was that rare type of person that left deep impressions on everyone and anyone she met, whether you knew her for five minutes or five years. Truly profound. I’ve never met another person with so much power – true power. A power that couldn’t be contained or suppressed, even in a world that tried its hardest to silence her. From just her existence, as someone who defiantly, consistently refused to stop caring, Claudia showed us that strength and power can be forces for good - that real strength is compassion and community. 

I never got the chance to tell Claudia this, but she gave me permission to be myself. Part of me didn’t believe it was possible to exist outside of the bullshit, or to care so deeply and unapologetically. What a joy it was to witness her. What an honour. Claudia gave me the gift of hope and she never even tried. I know, right down to the root, that she did this for many. She was generous like that. I don’t know if she ever knew just how much she really gave to people - how much she’ll continue to give, even now that she’s changing into stories, medicines, the colours of spring, the light returning to the days, the warmth returning to the nights.

Like the countless people whose lives she touched, I’m not ready to let Claudia go. I don’t know if I’m ready to welcome spring. I’ve found that “Am I ready?” is a question asked when you’re already in the midst of change. When the only thing you can do is tune into what you need, tend to yourself and others, accept that life is different somehow, and, in time, relearn how to show up.  

Rest well, dear Claudia <3 

If you have the means to, please donate what you can to help cover Claudia’s funeral and memorial costs, or share widely with your networks: https://gofund.me/55676285