Meeting Yomogi (Japanese Mugwort) - part 1

The first year I moved into this place, where I've been slowly building my apothecary garden, one of the first herbs I thought to grow was Mugwort, more specifically Yomogi (Japanese mugwort) (pronounced yo-mo-gee).

I didn't know why.

It just kept popping into my head like a reminder.

I was born and raised in Japan for about 20 years, and moved to Canada for school, and at first, I thought maybe this was about identity.

Maybe this was how I would reconnect with my roots.

Maybe this was how I would shape my work as a Japanese herbalist.

But over time, I came to understand that it wasn’t the part of me trying to define myself that Yomogi was speaking to.

It was something much deeper—somewhere beneath identity, beneath time, beneath what I had come to understand as "reality".

Around that same time, I was diagnosed with a persistent form of eczema that began to take over my life. It shaped how I thought, how I ate, how I moved through the world. There was a constant questioning of my worth, my purpose, my direction.

And yet, there were small things that kept me going.

Walking through deep green forests.

Spotting mushrooms along the path.

Planting seeds—both in the soil and somewhere quietly within myself.

There is a kind of benevolence in plants that doesn’t try to fix you, but simply continues to give.

I came to deeply trust in that power.

But, later I learned that it wasn't the part of me that was trying to build my so-called brand that Yomogi was trying to speak to—it was a much much deeper layer of my being where the concept of time and realms blur.

Yomogi was waiting for me to start walking this plant path, actually, with plants.

Oh, how pateint she was, I must say.

*I was feeling this gentle nudge from Yomogi way before I met Magnolia and received a message from her.

This year was a particularly hard one with a deep sense of loss that I had never experienced in my life, which came with waves of grief.

My body was finding all pathways possible to let out what I was processing in life.

I was diagnosed with a very persistent type of eczema which started to control my life, through my mind, diet, and perception.

Though life felt miserable and I constantly doubted my worth and purpose, walking in the deep green forest, spotting mushrooms on a walk, planting seeds of dreams quite literally in my garden helped me keep going. Their benevolance is their power. I truly believe in that.

.....*.....*.....*.....

I planted Yomogi seeds, and they began to take root in late spring of 2025.

Throughout the growing season, I spent time with her. I sat beside her, spoke to her, touched her leaves gently, and harvested her with care.

I began to notice subtle shifts—how her presence felt different under the sun, under the moon, across the changing season.

It felt as though she had been waiting.

Not for me to grow her—but for me to begin walking this path with plants, truly.

Slowly, Yomogi began to reveal why she had called to me.

She felt like an elder. Grounded. Generous. But also unwavering.

The kind of presence that gives deeply, while asking something in return.

Her love was not soft in the way I had expected. It was steady, and it required participation. It asked me to do the work—not because I was lacking, but because nothing in her doubted that I already had what I needed.

And she was patient.

More patient than I knew how to be with myself.

This past year carried a depth of loss I had never experienced before.

Grief moved through me in waves, and my body searched for every possible pathway to let out what I was processing.

Skin, breath, digestion… they all became part of that expression.

It was during this time that I began to pay closer attention to my liver health.

In many herbal traditions, such as Traditional Chinese Medicine, the liver is not only an organ of detoxification, but one that is deeply connected to vision—our ability to see clearly, to dream, to move forward in life.

As I worked to support and clear what had built up within me, something began to shift.

I started to see again.

Not all at once—but gradually, like light returning at dawn.

Earlier in 2025, I encountered other plants—Magnolia, and later, Dandelion.

Each meeting brought a distinct and undeniable shift in my body and in my awareness.

And yet, beneath those moments, I now feel it:

It was Yomogi who had been guiding me all along.

She had opened the path, and gently—persistently—led me toward what I needed to meet.

.....*.....*.....*.....

Through Magnolia, I came to a quiet but profound realization:

I am held.

Not only within this lifetime, but across all the layers of who I have been.

(Please read "Meeting Magnolia" for the full story).

Through Dandelion, I asked that one question that my soul longed for me to ask.

From there, my sense of vision began to change.

I no longer felt the need to search for identity in the ways I once had—to define myself through roles, titles, or structures that could be easily understood by others.

Instead, I began returning to my essence.

And from that place, something became clear:

The work I am here to do does not need to fit neatly into what is commonly understood as a “business.”

I can create what I am here to create.

And through that realization, something I hadn’t felt in a long time began to return—

A genuine drive to create from what I have lived and experienced.

Looking back, I understand now:

Yomogi did not give me a vision.

She helped me return to it.

She called me to meet her so I could find my way back to my dreams and vision—something no one could hand over to me.

It was something I had to return to, on my own.

It was something I had to walk.

And perhaps, something I have been walking for much longer than I can remember.

.....*.....*.....*.....

A piece of poetry came through me in a moment of quiet revelation with Yomogi.

If you feel called, you can read it here 👉 [Meeting Yomogi (Japanese Mugwort) - part 2]

If you’d like to feel her presence in a tea,

you may find it here, when the season brings her forth 👉 [Seasonal Blend: Memory of the Dream]