Your Hair is Your Messenger

"I stood in front of the mirror and looked at myself and laughed. My hair was one of those odd, amazing, unbelievable, stop-you-in-your-tracks creations—not unlike a zebra's stripes, an armadillo's ears, or the feet of the electric-blue-footed boobie—that the Universe makes for no reason other than to express its own limitless imagination.

". . . Eventually I knew precisely what hair wanted: it wanted to grow, to be itself, to attract lint, if that was its destiny, but to be left alone by anyone, including me, who did not love it as it was."

—Alice Walker


When a client wrote to me asking if I could create a custom oil to care for her skin and her hair, this is what I wrote back.

I told her:

I will create something for your thinning hair because essential oils are powerful & healing & will work wonders, but the real magic is not in any product I can give you: 

it is within. 

I have experienced this myself: hair so thin and so brittle that it broke off near my scalp and turned to dust: I could crumble the ends between my fingers and all there would be is ashes on the floor. 

And so I googled it:

Some Native Americans believed their hair was sacred, a connection to the divine. 

They believed their hair was a link to the earth, their long tresses saluting the earth’s long grasses waving in the wind. 

And, for thousands of years in many cultures, when hair was cut, it was a symbol of slavery: the enslaved were punished with the forcible cutting of their locks. 

So, I asked myself:

How am I feeling enslaved?

And I knew. 

What am I feeling cut off from?

And I knew.

What am I afraid of?

And I knew.

What is causing tension in my body?

And I knew.

What am I not trusting?

And I knew. 

. . . And my hair grew. 

Along the way, I offered my hair my love by speaking to it: 

“My hair is full and glowing,” I said.

“I am grateful for hair that is so in tune with me that it sends me messages.”

“I know my hair is strong.”

I massaged my scalp and moved my hands through it and loved it and thanked it. 

And I honored it with the oils that celebrated its natural beauty:

with coconut oil

& jojoba oil

& avocado oil

& rosemary

& lavender

& sage

& immortelle, embodying immortality. 

And my hair felt loved, and it returned.

The secret was all of this combined: the talking and the oil and the fingers through my hair. 

Mostly, though, I credit the knowing: And I knew.

I credit realizing and feeling what was enslaving me and doing my best to 

rise

rise

rise

out of it. 

To listen to what my hair was asking me for and to give it back:

“I will create change for you,” I told it.

And I did.

And so can you.

The answer is within. 

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