I had worked with herbs for years before I began studying with Evolutionary Herbalism. I have completed other courses, read, practiced, grown plants. Then I found the course I had been looking for, that connected the process from growing the herb through to creating the preparation. When I started that formal study, something shifted. The lens changed. 

It wasn’t just more knowledge. It was depth. It was seeing how so many traditions were describing the same underlying structure of life through different words. Elemental theory. Ayurveda. Alchemy. Astrology. Hermetics. Even permaculture. Different symbols, different metaphors, but they were all pointing to pattern.

I started to see that life is not random. It moves in relationship. It moves in rhythm. When something drifts, there is feedback. The feedback isn’t there to punish you. It shows you where you can adjust to create balance.

That changed how I saw herbs.

They stopped being remedies “for” things. They became expressions of qualities. Warming. Cooling. Drying. Moistening. Stimulating. Containing. Toning. Releasing. Soothing. Those qualities interact differently depending on the terrain they meet. The same plant can help one person and unsettle another. Constitution matters. Timing matters. Tone matters.

Over time I realised what I was really learning was pattern recognition. Paying attention. Reading feedback. Responding rather than imposing.

And the more I paid attention, the more obvious it became that intelligence is everywhere. In how plants grow toward light. In how the body recalibrates when given safety. In how seasons shift without force. There is structure to it. There is coherence.

Spagyric preparation fits naturally inside that way of seeing.

When a plant is extracted, then the remaining material is dried, calcined, and its mineral salts returned, there is a separation and a reunification. Structure isn’t discarded. It is purified and brought back. That feels important to me. It mirrors how I understand restoration in the body. Balance isn’t created by isolating parts. It comes through right relationship between parts.

There is also an energetic dimension to preparing plants this way. I don’t mean something theatrical. I mean rhythm. Plants change with light and season. Harvesting too early or too late changes their expression. My own state affects the way I work. Attention changes process.

When the plant is ready, when I am steady, when the timing feels aligned, something settles into place. Whether someone calls that ecology, resonance, or magic doesn’t really matter to me. What matters is coherence — that sense that the plant, the moment, and the maker are in right relationship.

To me, that is magic. Not fantasy. The wonder of life revealing its intelligence when you slow down enough to see it.

I don’t prepare plants in urgency. I wait until it feels grounded and clear. That is how I work.