Into the Heart: A Journey With Hawthorn

Today was the medicine-making day of Into The Heart: A Journey With Hawthorn, held by a dear friend. It felt even more meaningful because the hawthorn berries were picked by my two-year-old daughter with her tiny, tender hands.

We shared ceremonial cacao and offered our greetings to the elements of this land. When we were guided to begin connecting with the ancestors of the East, I was suddenly overcome with tears. I thought of my cousin, who passed away a few years ago. She was the same age as me—just born eight months earlier. When we were little, I didn’t want to call her “unni” (older sister), and we often bickered because of it—mostly because of me.

I had received the sudden news of her passing while I was in Australia and couldn’t return to Korea in time. It wasn’t until much later that I visited her resting place, which was in the same columbarium as her mother. It felt surreal to be standing there, visiting her this way.

I had cried when I first heard the news, and I’d looked at her photo at the columbarium a few times since… but somehow, it never quite sank in. It felt more like she was just somewhere far away, not gone.

But today, out of nowhere, I felt the depth of her absence—and the emotions came flooding in so strongly I couldn’t even close my eyes.

The hawthorn, known for gently softening grief and opening the heart, seemed to hold me as I moved through those waves. It allowed something inside me to be released.

After the ceremony, I made an offering of crystals and palo santo to the fairies of the hawthorn tree and tied a small cloth with my cousin’s name written on it.

I’m sorry for the mischief I caused when we were little.

Goodbye, unni.

Thank you—for everything.