We Cannot Transform if We Won’t Release, Merge, Melt, and Burn

How to become an elixir of and for ourselves

Last summer, over quarantine, I immersed myself in the study of alchemy.

I don’t mean just a book-level study, but a full-scale immersion into the how-to of using my own kitchen and herbs to create alchemical concoctions.

Alchemy is the science and art of transformation. The alchemical process of transformation consists of and occurs over three primary stages, each of which I’ve written about in great depth:

To truly understand this art of transformation, I needed to see it with my own eyes, catalyze it with my own hands.

So, I followed step-by-step instructions from one of the many books I bought on the topic. It requires only simple ingredients and tools: dried herbs, a mortar and pestle or herb grinder, high-grade alcohol (I used Everclear), strainers, cooking utensils, and the like.

As an ex-Ayurvedic practitioner, I’m already familiar with working with and making herb concoctions (or at least, I have my favorite go-to's), so much of this world is familiar to me. I have a favorite herb store that delivers fresh, bulk herbs right to my doorstep. I chose to work with dandelion, licorice, lady’s mantle, burdock, chamomile, lemon balm, and others.

The process itself wasn’t difficult; it just took time and dedication. There were particular times of the day and days of the week to work with each herb, as well as strict directions as to when to move from one stage to the next, so occasionally this meant setting an alarm to get up several hours early.

(In “real” alchemy, one would be working with the transformation of metals. But my goal was more about understanding and witnessing the process of transformation, and so choosing herbs that I felt comfortable with eventually ingesting was perfect.)

I wanted to witness the process of transformation first-hand and “out there,” to better understand what must happen within ourselves to become transformed.

Many of us change over time—often due to circumstances beyond our control. But how many of us truly transform? How many of us are ever rebirthed into the world as something or someone completely different? How many of us would dare give ourselves over to the fire of transformation even if we knew that this was where the true healing lay?

In the past, I’ve generally purchased herbs in powdered form to then mix and put into capsules. But this time, I made the powders myself from the whole seeds, flowers, and/or roots. It took a lot of time and patience to grind them up with a mortar and pestle. I admit I cheated sometimes and tossed them in a grinder.

The reason I call this “cheating” is because this process is sacred, and as much as possible should be done by hand. The goal is to create a tincture, and eventually an elixir—a true healing remedy uniquely healing for us. The more of my own energy I could imbue into the elixir, the better it would be for me.

Many of us change over time — often due to circumstances beyond our control. But how many of us truly transform? How many of us are rebirthed as something or someone completely different? How many of us would dare give ourselves over to the fire of transformation even if we knew that this was where the true healing lay?

I couldn’t believe how much heat and smoke I was already generating in the process of grinding the herbs. I had to stand back from my own work to keep the smoke from my eyes. Already, at this very early stage, I experienced the process and occurrence of “letting go.”

Next, came the immersion stage, in which I combined the now-powdered herbs with the alcohol and sealed them in a container for a couple of weeks. Each day, I’d check on my herb concoctions—kept in a dark, cool corner in the basement—and watch as these two things merged into one.

After this, I separated the liquid from the mashed herbs using strainers and cheesecloth. I set the liquid aside as a usable tincture for myself.

I achieved and witnessed the true alchemy taking place in the next step. I placed the squeezed-out herbs in a cast iron pan and placed them over a fire. They ignited immediately (from the remaining alcohol) and slowly transformed into dark gray ash. I have to admit: this was my favorite part (though it was my husband’s least favorite, as our entire house smelled like smoke when I was done!)

This ash contained the very essence of the plant. So very little remained. Much of it had been released into the tincture. So much more had been released back into the Universe. But that’s the point. Like with essential oils or homeopathy, quantity doesn’t make quality. It’s about alchemizing down to something’s finest, most concentrated essence.

Then, it was time to let the ashes cool and burn them again—this time until it turned into a very light gray/white. In the books I read, the sign of true alchemical success would result in the ashes turning red; I’m sad to say I never got there (despite setting off the fire alarm numerous times). I would need a hotter fire than I can get in my oven or stovetop.

Still, though, I moved to the next stage so that I could see the completion of my work. I recombined this ash with the original tincture I’d saved, and left it again to sit and merge. The final result is a healing elixir—far stronger than a tincture and extraordinarily more potent than the herbs in their original raw form.

From start to finish, I acted as both instigator and witness as the herbs changed form. As they let go. As they immersed themselves, and then burned and burned again.

This entire time, I thought about my own psyche, my own consciousness, and my own transformation.

At this point in my life, I’ve undergone three Dark Nights of the Soul, a process which I wrote more about here.

Each one put me through a transformation process not unlike what I replicated in my kitchen. Each one demanded I meltdown, let go, change form, and surrender to forces beyond my own.

Nowhere in the transformational process do we get to be the deciders of what stays and what goes. This is exactly why so many people might change but never transform: change is a process over which we maintain some control. Transformation is about turning ourselves over to the elements and the Universe.

A Dark Night of the Soul is called such because we do not get to choose, we can’t see, and we don’t know what will happen to us by the end. A Dark Night of the Soul, I know now, is an alchemical process.

The questions we should ask ourselves if we’re interested in true alchemical transformation—a true phoenix from the ashes—are the following:

• Will we allow ourselves to be ground down from our whole selves—losing beliefs, ideas, identities, concepts of who we are along the way?
• What might we immerse ourselves in so completely—and hang out in the darkest corners with—so that we merge with it? So that there is no separation between it and us (or them and us, or God and us).
• Can we give ourselves over to the heat of a transformative fire, letting the “smoke” of our lives—the distractions, the untruths, the attachments—drift away forever?
• Can we let ourselves go so completely that we won’t even recognize ourselves in our final form?
• Finally, what would it be like to become an elixir of ourselves? To be our truest, finest essence? And then to give ourselves to ourselves, our families, and our communities?

I might one day go back and start this process over, leaning on the experience I already gained to make the next batches even better.

But for now, I enjoy taking my transformed herbs in the form of tinctures and elixirs—reminders of the possibility and power of transformation.