Plumeria @empyrealhesper

Queen of Heaven and Hell: On Plumeria

Plumeria (also known as frangipani, but I prefer the plumes and royal sound of the scientific name) is, surprisingly, a member of the Apocynaceae clan—that is to say, dogsbane—and she has the milky latex-like sap of the family in abundance. Commonly seen in ornamental use all around the Gulf, Plumeria is gorgeously scented and absolutely majestic in bloom. The flowers are often used for leis, symbols of welcome; they are exchanged during weddings; they are, generally, heavily associated with both love and heavenly worship, appearing often in temple offerings and relief representations of deities across a multiplicity of cultures. Their scent is pleasing to the gods and used in many popular incense varieties, including Nag Champa.

However, these beautiful flowers have their dark side, as Plumeria’s dogsbane membership might suggest: they are also believed in many cultures to be hosts for ghosts and demons, as common graveyard plants. Indeed, their fragrance is said to be the sign of a Kuntilanak, a Malay vampiric spirit said to be a woman who perished either while with child or during childbirth, thereby inverting the positive fertility and love associations Plumeria carries elsewhere. Indeed, the red varieties are never used for weddings.

As above, so below: Plumeria has an interesting relationship with reproduction physically as well. Her tricky flowers are most fragrant at night in order to attract their primary pollinators, the sphinx moth. However, they actually produce no nectar, so that the moths drift from flower to flower seeking nectar and transfer pollen in the process. This is known as “floral mimicry”, and Plumeria is one of the rarer examples where the action is self-based, rather than mimicry of another feeding-flower.

(Yes, I know. I was formerly Moth, and my favorite is the Plumeria. Hush!)

Thus, Plumeria is Venusian and Saturnine in her regal reach; her fragrance soars from Earth to Heaven above and draws the dead up from Hell below. She links the three worlds together. As such, a bowl of fresh Plumeria blossoms is an excellent flameless option to decorate and scent altars and meditative spaces, a sweet and beautiful offering to spirits both ouranic and chthonic. Her virtues of welcoming and hospitality make her a powerful necromantic ally, especially in reconciliatory or cooling work.

She is, too, a tree of immortality. Her branches easily regrow. Broken ones are likely, in fact, to put off shoots and flowers by themselves: as my cousin’s new plants testify, all you need to do is put a stick in the dirt and you’ll get flowers. Invoked properly, she can promote healing, particularly in the emotional spheres; by sprouting rootless, she rises above poisons and buried grudges in the earth, and establishes herself as her own beginning.

Plumeria oil is anti-inflammatory, antioxidant, stress-relieving, moisturizing, and has been used as an aphrodisiac. As a Venusian flower, her power in love spells goes without saying—but she is especially powerful as a glamor-charm, or in compulsive love (consider the metaphor of the mimic and the hungry moth, above).

Dew and rainwater gathered from the petals is a potent glamor in the form of a facial wash. A toner prepared by steeping the petals in boiling water overnight is an even more available format; the evening Venus hour on Friday nights (being a night planet) is ideal for starting this process and blessing the resulting water.

Be sure to split the petals from the base, and rinse them first; the milky sap can be an irritant due to its alkaloids and glycosides as well as its natural latex content. Those with latex allergies should avoid contact with Plumeria, especially the sap, as with any latex-producing plant (often identifiable by their milky sap). Individuals with fruit allergies consistent with latex-fruit syndrome should also be extra wary of Plumeria sap. On a related note, as with all cosmetic formulas I provide, be sure to patch test.

Like the Evening Star that rules her, Plumeria is a patron of the arts; she opens up channels in the mind, inspiring the creation of beauty and soothing the heart, and she particularly likes to appear in poetry. I collect the flowers fallen from a local tree for my altar bowl, and the days I’ve found the freshest, finest harvest have come after I’ve composed in her honor. For her, then, this:

Lessons Learnt from Plumeria there is no need to pluck what is freely offered. accept shed blossoms with open hands, for the gift they are and drink. forget you were ever so desperate to steal what was yours to receive. you may be beautiful without being expected to feed yourself to all. be sweet, be glorious; you need produce no nectar and the moth will visit anyway, though it come away hungry. roots are not all they’re dug up to be. from your cut-off branches, green shoots: you are immortal, holy flower, haunted by the ethereal, precious of the gods.