Edward Herb Hands

the published version can be accessed here.

by genevieve vahl 

We approach a large building, with white columns and high ceilings. Bleak like the rest of former East Germany. Olivia, Devin and I arrive at the performance art piece we were recommended. We took two metros and walked a mile to get to the far east side of Berlin.

Walking through the entrance, I got spritzed with herbal water. Mint, cilantro, parsley steeped in water, blessing my arrival. A group of about 50 people are sitting in a half circle, directing their attention to the artist in the middle, cutting the ends off herb bundles; the source of our baptismal mist. He was stacking them very intentionally, placing each as if to lay to rest. 

Coming in late, we take a seat. Droning, beat altering ambient music hypnotizes us. For 15 minutes, I lock in with the concentration before me, around me, sharing the common understanding of respect, when I feel a tap on my shoulder. 

“You can join now.” 

A sleek buzz cut man with golden skin and piercing blue eyes squats next to me. I look at my two friends. They, not taking it as seriously as this man’s eyes were telling, giggle in question. 

“What?” I inquire.  

“You can join now,” he says again, as if granting us a privilege. He has something in his hands, intended for us to receive. I stick my hands out immediately. My friends hesitantly follow. The peaceful proctor before us puts two white rubber bands on each of our wrists. His work is done, and hopscotches away through the crowd. Olivia, Devin and I look at each other, questioning what we’re about to get into. 

The ambience continues to shake my body as we now stand in a circle. Our herbalist begins explaining his performance: A ritual we are all participating in. A moving mediation he will lead us through. A time for us to put everything outside the room to rest, and lock into the next 45 minutes. We are all instructed to grab two bundles of herbs and return to our place.  

“Attach the bundles to each of your hands using the rubber bands. One at the top knuckles, the other, around the wrist, palming the leaves.” The room fills with rustling of people’s bushels, snapping rubber bands against tender skin, questions mutter under people’s breaths. 

“These are your new hands,” the artist says. “Look at your hands. Get to know your new hands. Feel yourself, get comfortable with your body in these new hands.” I touch my face, I hug myself, stuff my nose into my fragrant grip. Everyone wiggles, rubbing dewy herbs over ourselves, smiling at one another, vulnerability glowing. 

“Now that you are familiar with your new hands, we begin.” 

We are instructed to put our head on our neighbors back. Ear to spine, connected as a circle. Our comfort levels with strangers multiplying by the second. 

“Reach your right arm out. Raise it. Lay it across the right arm of the person you are leaning on.” 

We are now all connected in a wreath of herb people. 

“Now hum.” 

Everyone wakens their vocal boxes. The room of 50 strangers leaning on one another erupts into a roar of vocal cord vibrations. The woman I was leaning on harmonized her hum to the collective. Instructed to close our eyes, we locked into the voice box we had our ear to. 

We all rose, back to standing in our circle, all a little more understood. A tone had been set, literally. 

We split our circle into two lines, each aligned with someone across from us. “The person across from you is going to be your partner for the remaining time together.” Paired with a woman from England, we lock eyes, entrusting vulnerability in one another. “One of you is the giver, one of you is the receiver. Both people will fulfill both roles, so it doesn’t matter who goes first.” 

I start as the receiver; receiving from Lauren. As the giver, Lauren wore a small beanie, cuffed above the ears, like Berlin alt wear. Long strands of hand strung beads twirled with every head movement, gems and sequins decorated the cap. 

The artist leads us through movement and meditation. The givers shift energies around the receiver. They touch the receivers with their herb hands, up and down our bodies, faces to knees. I felt the air moving around me. At one point, being fanned by Lauren’s herbs and another my face compressed by her respectful touch. 

An experience testing each other’s respect. The giver and receiver respecting each other, trusting each other enough to fall into the meditation together. 

“Receivers bite the herbs.” I bit the bushel for a mouthful of plant. Pure. Raw. Moist. I chewed the herbs, digested the herbs, one with the herbs. My eyes, closed. My feet grounded, cemented. The droning ambience still controlling my breath and rhythm. Only feeling the shifting air from Lauren’s intentional movements, following the directed actions, while installing her own compassion into my treatment. My brain was finally to rest. Everything else was out on mute, and the moment enveloped me.  

Then… A thud. Followed by rustling. Noises uncharacter for the depth we have submitted to the meditation. Confused, I opened my eyes. Concerned faces and worried energy scurry past me. My dear Devin passed out behind me. 

Shocked, I froze. Devin lay there on the ground. Head cocked, eyes wide open. I could not move. She had a knocker on her forehead the size of an egg. I have never seen a bodily reaction manifest so instantaneously. I felt as paralyzed as Devin looked on the ground. 

But I quickly snapped into reality. Olivia and I were Devin’s only people in this situation, the only ones there for her, her support system. In a different country, where we do not speak the native language. With an aesthetically terrifying wound. Fight or flight kicked in. 

We got Devin ice and space. We gently thanked the artist and group for the experience, and removed ourselves to fresh air. A doctor coached us, convincing us Devin’s knocker is better than no reaction. A concussion left the three of us spooked, yet relieved by the support and care we received. 

People are good. People want to help, they care. We were probably with the best group of people to be surrounded by in such a startling situation. They turned out for support; they wanted to help us get Devin what she needed. To get her back feeling stable again. Without them, the situation would not have been held together as calmly and smoothly as it did. I am thankful for people, for the understanding of the common social good. Because we all hope people will turn out for us when we are in a dire situation, too.