life

Self-parenting and Rose Petal Jam

J.

Hello!

So, as I write this, it’s Mother’s Day in the US. I’ve written in the past about having complicated feelings about this particular holiday, for what I think are pretty valid reasons.

(There isn’t really a long or terribly interesting story there, and it’s one that sadly seems to be all too common: I was tired of being smacked around and humiliated, I knew nobody around me was going to put a stop to it, so I did it myself. Fin.)

Rather than dedicating this post to practices to help heal from damaged or diseased familial relationships, this is for people who have had to come to the realization that they weren’t taught how to thrive and had to re-learn and re-parent themselves. Sometimes, people don’t seem to recognize that they aren’t just keeping little extensions of themselves — they’re raising future adults who will have to function in the world on their own. From seeing how other kids my aged lived, and what their families were like, I learned that things weren’t normal in mine.

Once I was on my own, I had to un-learn and re-learn everything. Nutrition. Cooking. Hygiene. How to relate to people different from me. How to recognize and recover from religious abuse. It was a lot, and I screwed (and still screw) up regularly.

So, if you’re a grown-up kid who’s also had to go back, undo the damage that was done to you, and re-learn how to live in ways that aren’t completely karked, this is for you. Chances are you’ve messed up time and again in the re-learning process, but that’s normal. The important thing is to not give up. No matter how old you are, it’s never too late for you to become the person you’ve always wanted to be.

This is a simple, but very tasty, recipe for rose petal confiture. Don’t be intimidated — it’s really very easy, it just looks and tastes fancy. To be honest, the hardest part is sourcing enough rose petals. (You’ll want ones that aren’t sprayed with anything or treated with systemic pesticides. I grew these myself, picked, and cleaned them right before cooking.)

A piece of bread covered in strawberry and rose petal jam, sitting on a blue-green plate beside a jar of said jam and a butter knife.
Pictured on a slice of fresh-baked einkorn bread.

Roses are an excellent herb for a variety of purposes, but they’re most commonly associated with love in all its forms. Visualize what life could be like if you were able to forgive yourself for whatever mistakes you’ve made in the re-learning process, and parent yourself the way that younger you needed. Infuse the preserves with this self-love as you stir them (clockwise, using your dominant hand). Eat them on bread, ice cream, yogurt, or fresh fruit.

Rose Petal Confiture

Ingredients:

  1. 2 cups of rose petals. Stronger-fragranced roses have a stronger flavor. For this, I used native Virginia rose petals.
  2. 1 cup of water.
  3. 1 cup of sugar.
  4. 2 tablespoons of lemon juice.
  5. A clean jar with a tight-fitting lid.

If you like, you can also add a bit of fruit to the preserves. I had an extra handful of strawberries, so I chopped them up and tossed them in, too.

Directions:

  1. In a medium saucepan, combine sugar, water, and lemon juice. Bring to a boil, stirring constantly, until the sugar dissolves.
  2. Add the rose petals. Lower the heat to a simmer.
  3. Continue to cook, stirring frequently, until the rose petals release their color into the surrounding liquid and turn kind of pale and translucent and the syrup thickens a bit. (This’ll take about 20-30 minutes.)
    It won’t gel the way that fruit jellies or jams do and will maintain a somewhat syrupy consistency. That’s okay!
  4. Remove from heat and immediately pour into the jar. Put the lid on tightly.
  5. Keep the finished preserves in your refrigerator. They’ll keep for about a month but will probably get eaten long before then!

life

Korpiklaani at Baltimore Soundstage (Or, how thick thighs really *can* save lives.)

J.

Remember when I said I couldn’t maypole dance because my ankle’s still janky (a jankle, if you will) and so I had to pick my battles?
This is what I meant.

Sunday, my Handsome Assistant and I got to see Korpiklaani. They were part of a lineup of bands that were mostly symphonic metal — Foretoken, a local band from Virginia; Illumishade, formed by some members of Eluveitie; and Visions of Atlantis, which I wasn’t familiar with but, if I had to describe them, I’d probably say “what would happen if Nightwish got really into seafaring.”

Also, also, also! As we were pulling up to the parking garage, we passed within a few feet of Jonne Järvelä. I waved and smiled, he waved and smiled back, I had an embarrassing fan nerd moment in the car in front of my Handsome Assistant, it was rad.
(I didn’t stop, get out of the car, or try to actually talk to him or anything, of course. Man was taking a break, and I definitely didn’t want to be rude or make a nuisance of myself. It was just a brief gesture of, “Hello! I am super excited about what you are about to do,” and it was cool to get a smile and wave back.)

The show started on time, which kind of amazed me. I don’t think I’ve ever been to a concert that actually started when it said it was going to before. There wasn’t a lot of downtime between bands, either.

All of the bands were enjoyable — Visions of Atlantis, in particular, was a lot of fun — but Korpiklaani brought the house down. Since my motion was somewhat limited and it’s still a bit challenging to put weight on my ankle for too long, I had to stay by the railing. Even so, I danced enough that I accidentally butt-donated (or, I guess, leg-donated) to the Share the Meal app.
Multiple times.
With a working ankle, I probably could’ve solved world hunger and gone devastatingly and irreversibly into debt.
My Handsome Assistant, on the other hand, went into the pit to dance.

There wasn’t a lot of banter or downtime between songs. As soon as Korpiklaani got on stage, they kept the energy up the whole time. It was sometimes hard to hear Jonne Järvelä singing, but I think this was a mic issue and it wasn’t exclusive to them.

Honestly, this was one of my bucket list items. I’ve got a pretty long list of bands that I need to see either before I die, or they stop touring. Korpiklaani absolutely lived up to and surpassed my expectations. I had a fantastic time.

Some kind soul has also made a Spotify playlist of Korpiklaani’s setlist, if you’d like to know it. I’ve been listening to it pretty much on repeat ever since.

If you get the chance to see them live, do it. It’s absolutely worth it.

Plants and Herbs

Chili Pepper Folklore and Magical Uses

J.

Have you ever gone to the store with an idea of what you need, but no real list? And then you go home and discover that you’ve bought everything but a specific item you actually needed?

Tl;dr, I have a lot of pepper plants now.

See, I was going to the garden store for some tomato starts. (I love tomatoes. When my grandpa kept a garden, he grew big, fat beefsteak tomatoes and there are many, many photos of me and my sibling as tiny children with whole tomatoes in our hands, cheeks smeared with juice and seeds. I do not, however, try to grow tomatoes from seed because it is tedious and saving and fermenting them is Not a Good Time.)

Yellow peppers on a pepper plant.
Photo by Zen Chung on Pexels.com

Somehow, I managed to return with the herbs I wanted for some railing boxes, a bunch of pepper plants I never planned on, and exactly zero tomatoes. None. None tomatoes.

So, I figure now’s as good a time as any for a refresher on the many, many magical uses of the various cultivars of chili pepper.

Chili Pepper Magical Uses and Folklore

Chili peppers are members of the Capsicum genus. 90% of the time, Capsicum annuum.
“What about jalapeños?” C. annuum.
“Bell peppers?” C. annuum.
“Serranos?” C. annuum.
“Habaneros?” Okay, those are C. chinense, but mostly due to a series of errors.

It’s been my experience that hot spices, in general, fall into two camps. While the heat of hot spices is great for acting as a kind of magical catalyst to really get things moving, this can be used in one of two ways. The “sweet heat” spices (your cinnamons, ginger, etc.) are commonly used for money, love, and passion. The other hot spices, like chili peppers, are commonly used to banish or protect. In both cases, hot spices are used to get things moving quickly. Whether you want things to move to you or away from you is the deciding factor.

A dried chili pepper, whole star anise, clove buds, and whole nutmegs on a wooden table.
Photo by Pranjall Kumar on Pexels.com

Hot peppers are good at repelling more than just unwanted people, entities, or energies. Capsaicin, the primary compound that gives peppers their heat, is a defensive mechanism to keep peppers from being eaten. Humans, massive weirdoes that we are, decided that capsaicin was delicious, actually, and no plant was gonna tell us what to do.
Birds are unaffected by capsaicin, so they’re a major means of pepper seed dispersal. They eat the brightly colored fruits and scatter the seeds in their droppings.

In Coahuila, Mexico, chili peppers are used to counter malevolent magic. Specifically, they’re a remedy against salting, a practice akin to Hoodoo foot track magic. The practitioner combines salt from the homes of three different widows and graveyard dirt taken from the burial site of someone who died violently, and sprinkles it in front of their intended victim’s front door. To counter this, the victim combines chili peppers, star anise, garlic, rue, rosemary, storax, and myrrh, and uses the mixture to fumigate every corner of their home to drive the evil out.

Chilis are also a remedy for the evil eye.

The Tsáchila people, who live near the foot of the Andes mountains in Ecuador, use chilis to foil a kind of vampiric entity called the red demon. This demon feeds on people’s blood, leaving them pale and lifeless. Burning chilis in a fire while serving chili pepper-laden food drives the creature away, since it can’t tolerate the spicy food or pepper fumes.

The Aymara people of Bolivia, on the other hand, add chilis to a pot of boiling water and other herbs to create a cleansing steam bath. Sitting under a blanket, in the steam, is said to drive out evil energies.

To be honest, anywhere you’ll find hot peppers, it seems you’ll find a ritual that involves burning them to drive out evil. It reminds me of a specific incident from my own life — I was making some spicy sautéed broccoli on the stove top and added the spices a little too early. The capsaicin heated up and became aerosolized, and the fumes drove my then-partner outside. So, burning hot peppers really can drive out malevolent influences!

Hot foot powder is another common use for chilis, specifically within Hoodoo. While specific recipes can vary from culture to culture and practitioner to practitioner, chili is usually the base. This is sprinkled in a target’s footprints, in their shoes, where they will walk (like in front of their door), or in a container with a photo of them, paper with their name written on it, or personal possession of theirs. This isn’t a strictly protective practice, though it is certainly used that way. It’s just meant to drive unwanted people away from the user. Some scholars of folk practices think that hot foot powder may be a variation of walkin foot, which is intended to create confusion in one’s target.

Of course, chilis also have their dark side too. One way to curse someone involves throwing specially prepared chili peppers into their home or workplace. The seeds may also be combined with other baneful ingredients, added to a fabric or paper parcel, and tossed in instead.

Medicinally, capsaicin triggers a cooling response in the body. It helps increase circulation and is often used as a topical “counter irritant” for muscle and joint pain. I personally have a few different muscle rubs and pain-relieving balms, and about half of them are capsaicin based.

Hot peppers are ruled (unsurprisingly) by the planet Mars and the element of Fire.

Using Chili Peppers

As mentioned above, chili peppers are excellent at making things go away.
(Well, except birds.)

Red and yellow peppers on a pepper plant.
Photo by Yan Krukau on Pexels.com

Someone bothering you? Find you someone who can make you some hot foot powder. Need protection? Add chili peppers (or the ashes or char from burned chili peppers) to protective salt and sprinkle it in the corners of all of your rooms. Getting badgered by malevolent magic or evil entities? Smoke ’em out by burning some chilis on charcoal. Just be careful with that last one — chili pepper fumes are no joke for babies, children, and people with respiratory disorders. Basically, don’t expose anyone to the smoke that you wouldn’t also want to spray in the face with bear mace.

I also want to reiterate that, while chili peppers are a magical catalyst, I’d avoid them in situations where you aren’t specifically trying to repel something in a hurry. If you’re looking to attract things instead, go for one of the “sweet heat” spices — like nutmeg, cinnamon, or ginger.

I would not advocate using them for malevolent magic. Don’t get me wrong, cursing is absolutely useful and appropriate in some situations, but that’s something you’re better off learning somewhere other than a random website.

Right now, we’re trying not to count our peppers before they hatch. Should we have an abundant harvest, we’ve got a dehydrator, several batches of mango and hot pepper mead, peach and hot pepper water kefir, pepper jelly, spicy dark chocolate, and plenty of other uses in mind. (I love sweet and spicy flavors together, and mango/pepper, peach/pepper, or red berries/pepper/chocolate are my favorites.) Here’s hoping for an abundant harvest!

Neodruidry, Witchcraft

Beltane with Frederick CUUPs

J.

This past Saturday, my Handsome Assistant and I went to celebrate the first of the fire festivals with the Congregation of Unitarian Universalist Pagans. It was a bit rainy, so outdoor bonfires were out, but they managed to make even an indoor-only Beltane a ton of fun!

There was lots of food, drumming, dancing, and a maypole. When we arrived, we were asked to write a message on two pieces of ribbon — one was a wish for ourselves, the wider community, or the world. The other was a specific wish for an anonymous person in the community.

The first ribbon was tied to the longer ribbons streaming down the maypole. The as the dancers dipped and wove around each other, these ribbons were all beautifully interwoven together in a powerful representation of community, togetherness, and cooperation.

A different maypole, pre-dancing. Photo by Sandeep u2736 on Pexels.com

The second ribbon was placed in a basket, for another attendee to select at random. (The one I picked simply said “joy,” which is a succinct and delightful thing to wish for another person. I tied it to my backpack, and it makes me smile every time I see it. Sure, the person who wrote it doesn’t know me, and the wish wasn’t for me in particular, but the idea that someone out there hopes that a stranger is happy is still a sweet notion.)

I also brought my big tongue drum. I wasn’t sure how it’d fit with the rest of the percussion, but it was fine. A bit challenging to keep up the tempo of the drumming, since tongue drum notes are meant to be sustained, and not very loud, but still lots of fun to play — and my first time playing it at a public event.

I danced a little in the beginning but couldn’t really take part in the maypole dancing. I’m still coming off of spraining my ankle, and, with everything else this weekend held, I knew I had to pick my battles. So, drumming and socializing it was!

After the ritual, I was carrying my drum back to the car when I was sidetracked by an adorable tiny child in a skeleton costume. Said tiny child came up and began bapping at the top of the drum, in the absolutely fearless and unselfconscious way of tiny childs, so I set it down on the floor, sat next to them, and let them play. I showed them how the small metal tongues make the high notes, and the larger ones make the low, and they seemed to have a blast making all kinds of sounds.

The ritual was beautiful, the drumming was high-energy and exciting, and everyone there was delightful and welcoming. It was great to see friends I hadn’t seen in some time (some since the Mabon camping trip) and make new ones. 🧡

Uncategorized

Iris Folklore and Magical Uses

J.

It’s the first of the month! Did you remember to say “rabbit, rabbit?”

How’s it going?

As I write this, it’s almost 90° F. My cats are yelling at me for reasons utterly inscrutable. My bearded dragon is demanding to go for a walk on the deck. My Handsome Assistant is at his other job, the one that does not entail handsomely assisting me. Nonetheless, the garden is looking wonderful and all is well.

The hydrangeas and roses are full of buds, the strawberries and blueberries are laden with immature fruits, and the beautiful irises my Handsome Assistant planted are vibrantly blooming.

A purple, peach, and orange bearded iris.
One of the bearded irises growing next to our porch.

These are sterile bearded irises (Iris × germanica), which aren’t native to this area. We do have our own native species, the blue flag iris (Iris versicolor), which typically grows in wet areas. A lovely art gallery near here has a beautiful water garden just full of blue flag iris.

Several blue flag iris flowers and buds.
A blue flag iris, photo by D. Gordon E. Robertson.

Irises bloom in spring and summer, so this is prime iris season and an excellent time to look into the mythology, folklore, and magical uses of these lovely flowers.

Iris Magical Properties and Folklore

First, let’s start with the name: Iris. These flowers are named for the Greek goddess Iris, who was a messenger between the gods and the rest of the world. She traveled on a rainbow and it was said that brightly colored flowers sprang up everywhere she stepped.

In ancient Greek legend, it was also said that iris flowers were one of the flowers gathered by Kore and the nymphs before she was abducted by Hades to become Persephone.

Irises are not only showy flowers, they’re one ornamental flower species that actually comes in pretty much every color. Many flowers (roses and sunflowers being particular examples) just don’t have the genes to produce certain color pigments, but irises boast a very impressive color palette.

(This is also why all of those ads for blue rose or sunflower seeds are scams. The closest thing you can find to a “blue” rose is probably best described as a sort of lavender shade, not an actual blue. Any photo of a blue rose or sunflower is of a flower that has either been artificially colored with dye or manipulated with image editing software.)

The roots of some varieties of iris are heavily used in perfumery. Called “orris root,” they are often used as a fixative and base note for perfumes and incense. The essence of the roots is said to smell like violets, and is commonly the source for natural “violet” perfumes.

Orris root is also a flavoring ingredient, particularly for gin. Iris roots contain some quantity of the toxic glycoside iridin, but the roots of perfume and flavoring varieties are relatively low. Other varieties, like the blue flag iris, contain much more iridin and should not be consumed.

A yellow iris flower growing in front of the reflection from a pond.
Photo by Roman Biernacki on Pexels.com

Irises are sometimes used in land remediation. Yellow iris, in particular, is used to clean up polluted waterways since it’s excellent at snatching and holding on to nutrient pollutants (think things like fertilizer runoff from agriculture) that would otherwise fuel dangerous algal blooms and fish kills. Unfortunately, they’re so good at this that they’ve become a bit of a problem in some heavily polluted areas — the nutrients they grab onto fuel their growth so much, they can actually clog waterways.

Irises have a long history as an image of nobility and authority. They’re the origin for the fleur-de-lis of French heraldry, where each “petal” represents a sector of society: the peasantry, the nobility, and the clergy. In the 15th century BCE, Pharaoh Thutmose III conquered Syria, which had an abundance of native irises. He brought the flowers back to Egypt, where it became a symbol of power and authority.

In Asia, irises are more likely to connect to the idea of banishing evil. One variety of Chinese iris, Iris anguifuga, was thought to keep snakes from entering anywhere it was grown. It grows during winter and becomes dormant in spring and summer, during which snakes can sneak into the garden again. The ground roots are also used as a remedy for snakebite. In Japan, irises were associated with exorcism.

In addition to authority and banishing, irises are also frequently connected to death. They’re a common flower to plant in Muslim graveyards in Iran, and the ancient Greeks also would plant these flowers on graves in the hope that the deity Iris would come to escort the deceased to the afterlife.

Overall, culturally, irises seem to be a very commanding flower. Even in areas where they aren’t specifically connected to the idea of authority, they’re associated with commanding evil or unwanted things to leave, or making requests of the gods themselves. If you look at an iris, this makes sense — they stand tall and straight, with large, showy blooms like flags.

Magically, irises are typically used for purification and wisdom. Orris root, specifically, is frequently employed in formulas for meditation, divination, and love-drawing. In Hoodoo, orris root is a very common love herb.

Irises are ruled by the Moon and Mercury, and connected to the element of Water.

Using Irises

As with many other plants, one of the best ways to work with iris is to grow it. Since it has a firm reputation as a plant for authority and keeping evil away, it’s a good candidate for growing around the edges of one’s space.

Of course, you can also always work with orris root. One common way to employ it is as an ingredient in incense, magical powders, and container spells. Use chips of the root in herbal sachets or jars or grind it into a fine powder for powders and incense. While it seems to have a very iron-fist-in-a-velvet-glove presence, this isn’t exactly an ingredient for “asking politely.” It has a reputation as a persuasive or commanding herb.

Photo by Aaron Burden on Pexels.com

I also feel that orris root is a power herb, if only through its very commanding properties and presence. Remember, from France to ancient Egypt, the iris flower was a symbol of power and authority. Add it to magical mixtures to increase their power.

Orris root powder is also used as-is in some traditions. Take a pinch of the powder and blow it onto a significant other’s clothes to keep them faithful and ensure that they return your love. However, particularly given orris/iris’s commanding nature, it might be best to do this with some kind of consent from your partner.

Considering the herb’s connections to authority and love, it seems like a natural choice for formulas related to popularity and charisma. A “queen bee” sort of herb, if you will.

I love irises. I think they’re stunningly beautiful and come in an amazing array of colors from deep reds to bright blues. The availability of sterile iris varieties also means that you can enjoy them with less fear of them taking over your garden. Worse comes to worse, if you end up with too many bearded irises, dig them up and dry chips of the roots for use in magical or meditative formulas.

Plants and Herbs

Plum Folklore and Magical Uses

J.

In autumn of last year, my Handsome Assistant and I planted a plum tree. As we work on getting rid of the lawn in the backyard chunk by chunk, we’re replacing those chunks with tree guilds. We couldn’t decide what kind of fruit tree we wanted for that space — it had to be a dwarf variety, and it needed good disease resistance. If the fruit didn’t need a lot of processing to be edible, so much the better. I was torn between a sand pear and a cherry, but, in the end, we went with a beautiful little Pershore yellow egg plum (Prunus domestica).

Right now, it’s shed its pretty white flowers to leave behind a number of tiny green plums-to-be. While I was looking up ways to protect at least some of the fruit from the other yard denizens, I got caught up reading about some very interesting plum facts and folklore.

Plum Magical Properties and Folklore

Plums have an interesting reputation across multiple cultures. They’re harbingers of spring, protectors against evil, and cultivators of romantic love.

When used as wood for wands, plum is said to be useful for healing. This may tie back to the idea of plums as promoters of vitality (and even immortality — ). Since plum trees also banish evil, plum wood wands are suitable for pretty much all magical workings.

In China, plum (Prunus mume) is one of the Four Gentlemen, along with orchid, bamboo, and chrysanthemum. The plum blossom’s five petals represent the five blessings of good luck, fortune, longevity, and joi, and wealth. Plum blossoms are also symbols of resilience, since they bloom so early — well before the last of the winter snow has melted away.

The plum blossom is one of the national symbols of Taiwan.

In Japan, plum trees are symbol of elegance and purity. They’re also charms against evil and are often planted in the northeastern area of gardens as a protective talisman.

White plum blossoms on a black twig.
Photo by Cats Coming on Pexels.com

Pershore, Worcestershire, has a designated Plum Charmer. This person plays music to the plum trees during the summer in order keep spirits away and ensure a good harvest. (This probably also has the effect of shooing hungry birds and squirrels away, which ensures that fewer plums get nibbled on!)

Unfortunately, good plum harvests are a bit of a double-edged sword. It was also said that plentiful plums mean cholera is sure to follow. (Cholera is caused by the bacterium Vibrio cholerae. Most human cholera cases are caused by consuming food or water contaminated with infected feces, and fruits in general [with the exception of sour fruits] are a potential vector for cholera when they’re prepared by someone affected by V. cholerae.)

I wasn’t able to find much information on plums as a fruit for love, other than the general ideal that any sweet, juicy fruit is suitable for love workings (or as offerings to deities of love and beauty). The blossoms are associated with beauty and marriage, however, and the coverlet on a bridal bed is sometimes referred to as a plum blossom blanket.

Overall, plums are a boundary tree. They’re planted in gardens to be a ward against evil. They bloom on the narrow line between winter and spring. This makes them a useful, surprisingly versatile plant to grow and work with — they seem to function as a way to keep unwanted influences at bay, clearing the way for whatever you want to accomplish.

Plums are associated with the elements of Water and Air, as well as the planet Venus.

Using Plums and Plum Wood

Naturally, you could grow a plum tree and request that it guard your space, but that might require quite an investment of time, money, and room. Since plums are associated with keeping evil away, one easy way to make use of them is to hang a windfall plum branch over your front and back doors.

As far as love workings go, the simplest way to use plums there is to share one with a partner (or partner-to-be). For this, I’d probably choose a plum with a deep red flesh and a sort of heart (or, let’s be real, butt) shape. Of course, as with any love working, you’ll only want to do this with a consenting partner. Nobody likes to be sideswiped by a love spell.

Red plums nestled amid plum leaves.
Like these. Photo by ALINA MATVEYCHEVA on Pexels.com

Plums are stunningly beautiful trees with lovely, delicately scented blossoms. This year, it looks like we’ll be fortunate enough to be graced with plum fruit, too. While I don’t have any windfall branches or evil spirits to keep away, I am looking forward to plenty of preserves this summer.

Plants and Herbs, Witchcraft

Bluebell Folklore and Magical Uses

J.

Hello! How’re you doing?

I sprained my ankle a little bit ago when I made the foolhardy error of trying to get my mail. This has, as you can imagine, somewhat curtailed my adventures. (Well, with the exception of going to see Whose Live Anyway at Warner Theater. Shoutout to the lady who let us go in through the lounge so I wouldn’t have to walk as much! I hope you experience a series of small, comfortable miracles.)

Fortunately, I’ve got plenty to get up to at home. For example, right now, the yard is filled with flowers. Many, I planted — moss phlox, strawberries, blueberries, apple blossoms, pear blossoms — and many I didn’t. I expected to see the same violets, dandelions, and stars of Bethlehem that I saw last year. What I did not expect was all of the bluebells.

We didn’t have bluebells last year.

I didn’t plant bluebells.

Whycome bluebells?

The particular species we have right now seems to be Spanish bluebell (Hyacinthoides hispanica). I know it probably isn’t English bluebell (H. non-scripta) and definitely isn’t native Virginia bluebell (Mertensia virginica). Nonetheless, they’re delightful little flowers and I’m enjoying them. They don’t seem to be stealing space or resources from anything but the grass that I’m systematically attempting to assassinate anyway at the moment, so they can stay for now.

A pair of small Spanish bluebells growing in a patch of clover.

(Spanish bluebells are a bigger issue in the UK, where they’re more likely to be invasive and can hybridize easily with — and eventually displace — native H. non-scripta. The bluebells we have here won’t hybridize, however, as they’re not closely related at all.)

Either way, I’m always in search of new plants to study and write about, so the appearance of these guys is pretty fortunate — I haven’t really looked into bluebells before this, and I like that they’re demanding my attention now.

Bluebell Magical Properties and Folklore

Bluebells are strongly associated with faeries. The fae were believed to ring them, just like you would a metal bell, in order to call other faeries.

However, should you hear the soft tinkling of bells when you’re near bluebells, watch out — anyone who hears the bluebells ring was said to experience the death of a loved one soon after.

This connection to faerie magic is also why it was considered unwise to pick a bluebell. Anyone foolish enough to do so put themselves at risk of being cursed or led astray by the faeries.

A similar, but unrelated, plant is known as the harebell, witch’s bell, or Scottish bluebell (Campanula rotundifolia). These flowers get their name because hares frequent fields of them. It was even said that witches would disguise themselves as hares and conceal themselves amidst the harebells.

It has been a frequent complaint, from old times, as well as in the present, that certain hags in Wales, as well as in Ireland and Scotland, changed themselves into the shape of hares, that sucking teats under this counterfeit form, they might stealthily rob other people’s milk.”

Gerard of Wales, Topographica Hibernica

(It’s weird how much traditional witchcraft reportedly revolved around stealing milk. Case in point, the tilberi.)

These bluebells were also known as “the aul’ man’s bell,” where the “old man” in question is the Christian Devil.

Blue and violet English bluebells.
English bluebells, photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com

Bluebells are also connected to love magic. This seems to be largely due to the fact that they’re tenacious, bulb-growing plants. They even send out contractile roots that allow them to sort of “burrow” into the soil where there’s more moisture and protection. As a result, they come back year after year and are considered a symbol of enduring love.

They’re also used for a kind of love magic. Should you be able to brave the faeries’ wrath, pick a single bluebell flower, and turn it inside out without tearing it, you could ensure that your true love returned your affections.

Bluebells are related to hyacinths, and, like hyacinths, they actually can come in a variety of colors — pale to deep blue, violet, and pink. As with other flowers that come in many colors, their colors do, to an extent, dictate their potential magical uses. Pink flowers, as a rule, are useful for love magic. This can be attracting new love, strengthening an existing love, or even just helping with emotional healing and self-love. Purple flowers, crystals, and such are commonly used for more mystical, psychic, or divinatory pursuits, as well as ambition and success. Blue flowers and the like are helpful in rituals for healing, peace, truth, and emotional understanding.

Speaking of which, putting a wreath of bluebells around a person’s neck was said to compel them to speak only the truth.

While bluebells produce a wide range of compounds with potential medical uses, this is one of those situations where there’s a fine line between “medicine” and “poison.” Some of these compounds may be the next line of anticancer drugs, if they’re properly standardized. If you just straight-up eat bluebells, however, you’re setting yourself up for an evening of nausea, pain, and heart rhythm disturbances. Possibly even a long nap on the wrong side of the grass.

Today, bluebells are considered an ancient woodland indicator. This means that they’re commonly found thriving on the floors of old growth forests.

Bluebells and ferns on a forest floor.
Photo by Jocelyn Erskine-Kellie on Pexels.com

In Victorian floriography, the “language of flowers,” bluebells represented kindness.

Bluebells are associated with the planet Saturn and the Moon, as well as the element of Air.

Using Bluebells

Overall, the message of the bluebells seems to be pretty clear: They’re beautiful, they can represent things like kindness, resilience, and everlasting love… and if you pick them, you’re screwed.

(No, seriously. Depending on where you live, if the faeries don’t get you, the legality of picking wild bluebells might.)

I’ve found several references to drying bluebells and keeping them in the bedroom, but not any definitive reason to do this. Presumably, this may tie into bluebell’s association with peace or love magic. It definitely seems to be either a peaceful dream thing, a romantic love thing, or a “do this to dream of your lover” thing.

Bluebells could theoretically be offered to faeries or other nature spirits. However, since this would involve picking the bluebells first, they might interpret it more like the horse head scene in The Godfather. A much safer bet would be to designate an area of your garden for the faeries and keep an offering of potted bluebells there instead.

If you’re in the United States, you may want to consider planting native bluebells in your garden. Should you choose to work with English or Spanish bluebells, do so conscientiously — avoid planting them directly in the soil, as their sheer resiliency means that they can become invasive under the right circumstances.

All told, I’d recommend enjoying bluebells as they are, as harbingers of faeries, reservoirs of nectar for pollinators, and indicators of ancient forests. These are one plant that is best worked with in situ, rather than picked, dried, and added to a spell.

animals, Neodruidry, Witchcraft

Egg Folklore and Magical Uses

J.

Hello! If you’re in the US, hopefully you enjoyed the eclipse on Monday. I spent most of it enjoying the lovely weather, painting my porch, and experiencing the very surreal feeling of an eclipse-dimmed sun.

The family of crows who hangs out here all came to rest in the maple tree in the backyard. (I read that zoos had noted that the eclipse affected animal behavior, and some birds seemed to be agitated by this bit of celestial disruption. I’m guessing these guys figured it wouldn’t be a terrible idea to spend the eclipse in a place they knew came with food, water, and safety.) So, once the porch was finished, I spent the rest of the time relaxing, reflecting, and feeding them hardboiled eggs.

This, and the recent Spring Equinox, got me thinking about the folklore and magical properties of eggs. I don’t eat them, myself, but they’re rich with symbolism and certainly deserve a look.

Egg Magical Properties and Folklore

In ancient Greek Orphism, there was the Orphic Egg. This was an egg, usually depicted with a serpent coiled around it, from which hatched the primordial deity Phanes.

Ancient Egypt had their own concept of a cosmic egg not unlike the Orphic Egg. There was a cosmic goose called the Great Honker (Gengen-Wer) who laid a world egg, from which the Sun and Earth hatched.

In Hinduism, there are multiple mentions of eggs. The Hiranyagarbha is similar in concept the world/cosmic egg. In one tradition, the creator deity Brahma emerged from the egg and created the world. The Shatapatha Brahmana mentions another creation story, in which the Prajapati reproduces himself, releases the waters of the world, transforms into an egg to enter the waters, then emerges from the egg to make the Earth, sky, and middle regions. In Garuda Purana, Vishnu was born from a golden egg.

A small dish of spotted quail eggs on a checkered tablecloth.
Photo by Mikhail Nilov on Pexels.com

Eggs are a strong recurring theme and metaphor for creation across cultures, and they’re also associated with the Sun. In Egypt, the Sun was sometimes conceptualized as an egg. In Australia, some Indigenous Australian peoples held that the Sun was produced during a fight between birds. Brolga the dancing crane and Dinewan the emu quarreled, and Brolga grabbed one of Dinewan’s eggs and tossed it from its nest. The egg struck a piece of wood, freeing the yolk from the shell and catching it aflame. This flaming yolk stayed in the heavens as the Sun.

In Europe, eggs were also a symbol of creation, birth, and fertility. French brides would break eggs to ensure a swift pregnancy. German farmers would rub egg yolks on their ploughs to transfer the egg’s fertility to their fields.

As in Australia and Egypt, eggs were also associated with the Sun in much of Europe. This, however, seems largely to do with the fact that both return at the same time. Most of Australia and Egypt have milder winters, but winters in much of Europe can be pretty harsh. The Spring Equinox marks the beginning of spring and longer, warmer days, which is also when birds start laying again. Even modern chickens, who’ve been selectively bred to produce far more eggs far more often, will take a break in winter if they aren’t “tricked” with supplemental lighting. Chickens literally need the Sun or eggs don’t happen!

A paperboard container of pastel-colored eggs.
Photo by ROMAN ODINTSOV on Pexels.com

Slavic egg decorating further connects eggs with the Sun, and is the source of modern Easter egg traditions. Slavic Paganism has a Sun deity named Dabog (or Dazibogu, Dazhbog, Dazhboh, Daždźboh…). Birds were his chosen creatures, for only they could get close to him. Eggs, therefore, are intimately connected to both the Sun deity, and the return of warmer weather and the fertility of animals and the land in spring. Decorating eggs was a way to honor this. The simplest form of decorated eggs, a single solid color, are to be blessed and eaten, conferring the blessing to the consumer. More elaborate designs are for ritual or amuletic purposes.

Eggs are frequently used for cleansing. In Brujeria, they’re a key component of huevo limpia — egg cleansing. Egg cleanses are also a part of Hoodoo. Sometimes, these eggs have certain restrictions imposed on them by the practitioner. For example, the egg may need to come from a specific color of hen, and be laid before noon.

Using Eggs

Using eggs can be as simple as boiling, blessing, and eating them. They’re a traditional food for spring festivals. Though I don’t eat them myself, when I end up with some, I offer them to the birds during their breeding season. The extra protein and calcium seem to be very much appreciated.

Eggs can also be a vehicle for container magic, albeit a delicate one. To do this, make a small hole at both ends of the eggshell without shattering it. Blow through the hole to push the yolk and albumen into a separate container. Use the now-hollow egg to hold dried herbs, petition papers, or other spell materials. Hang the egg from a tree branch with a bit of twine or ribbon. When the egg eventually breaks, the spell will be released.

As with Slavic decorated eggs, you can also decorate egg shells for ritual or amuletic purposes. (For this, you may actually want to use a ceramic or wooden egg instead of a real one — whole eggs will rot, and hollowed-out eggs are very fragile.) Decorate it with wax and dye, decoupage, beadwork, painting, or, if you use wood eggs, pyrography. Choose symbols that relate to the egg’s significance to your practice — creation, fertility, birth, abundance, and so forth. Carry one with you as an amulet, or use them as altar decorations or ritual power objects.

You don’t need to buy or eat eggs to be able to work with their powerful symbolism. Purchase ones made of ceramic or wood, or you can make your own using air-dry clay or papier-mâché. They represent the earliest, oldest magic — the creation of the world, the cosmos, and everything that is. Eggs are the infinite seed of creation, and a very worthy addition to any spiritual path.

crystals, Plants and Herbs

The Absolute Worst Crystals for Plants

J.

It’s spring! Kind of!

Yesterday marked the average last frost date for my area (as calculated by the National Arboretum in DC). If you’re like me, you’re probably itching to get your garden started, or at least reclaim some desk space by moving your indoor plants outside for a little bit.

I’ve seen a lot of posts about using crystals and other minerals to help plants. You’ve probably seen the same kind of advice that I have — tuck a quartz point in with your plants to help them grow. Bury four green jades, one at each corner of your garden, to protect your plants and help them flourish.

This got me thinking: What are the absolute worst crystals you could conceivably use for your plants? If some crystals can help, it stands to reason that others can hurt. And hoo boy, can they ever.

While there aren’t many crystals whose metaphysical properties would cause problems in this context, there are definitely plenty that can harm your plants.
Or ruin your life.
Either or.

1. Halite

Halite is salt.
Like, it’s just rock salt.
When people joke about “going to the salt mines,” this is the stuff they’re talking about.

A crystal of halite. It kind of resembles a small pile of snow.

If you’ve ever heard about conquerors razing towns and salting the earth, you probably know that salt and plants don’t mix. (Well, not while they’re growing, anyway. Once harvested, washed, and lightly steamed, it’s a whole other story.)

The reason behind this is that plants’ roots take up water and dissolved nutrients through osmosis. Osmosis works because nature attempts to establish equilibrium. Things move from areas of high concentration to areas of low concentration, until that equilibrium is achieved. It’s much easier for cell membranes to allow water to pass into and out of the cell than to try to move minerals around, and this works out okay because soil almost always has less dissolved solutes in it than the plants’ cells do. The plants’ roothair cells let more water in, osmosis balances the concentration of solutes vs water on either side of the cell membranes, and everything’s good.

Since salt is very soluble, adding salt and water to soil can make it so that there’s more dissolved solutes in the soil than there are in the roothairs. Taking up more water won’t fix things, and so the roots end up losing water to their surroundings.

Some types of soil (specifically heavy clays) can also form compounds that are impermeable to water when they’re exposed to salt. All plants also depend heavily on soilborne bacteria and fungi, which tend to be much less resilient when exposed to sudden changes in their environment. (Like, say, adding a bunch of salt to it.) Kill off these crucial microorganisms, and the plants will soon follow suit.

2. Selenite or Satin Spar

Selenite, satin spar, and desert roses are all forms of gypsum. Gypsum is a calcium sulfate mineral. It’s also soft and somewhat soluble in water. This means that, when you go to water your plants, you’re likely melting these crystals at the same time. This not only damages the stones, it also deposits all of that calcium sulfate in the soil, altering its pH and potentially negatively impacting plant growth.

Interestingly, gypsum is one of the few materials that exhibits something called “retrograde solubility.” This means that it’s actually more soluble at lower temperatures than it is at higher ones. That’s not great news for anyone who may want to place a selenite specimen in their garden — as soon as a chilly rain hits, they may end up with a disappearing crystal and a whole bunch of dead plants.

3. Calcite

Calcite is a calcium carbonate mineral. It’s not really soluble in regular water, but it is in dilute acids. It’s also pretty soft.

A lovely piece of orange calcite.

This means that calcite can easily be scratched by other minerals present in soil. Rainwater also tends to be on the acidic side, so placing it in your garden or watering your plants with saved rainwater can cause it to dissolve over time. This will alter the pH and level of solutes in the soil, which can be detrimental to your plants. While that’s less likely to be catastrophic in a whole garden, it can definitely cause problems for the small volume of soil in the average plant pot.

4. Hematite

Hematite is an ore of iron. When it’s found in nature, it often doesn’t look like the smooth, mirrorlike, silvery-black pieces commonly seen in stores. In fact, it usually looks closer to a hunk of vaguely rusty metal. Some massively crystal specimens can exhibit that shiny silver-black appearance, but a lot of inexpensive hematite is rough and rusty and gets polished up before sale.

Hematite is fine to occasionally clean with fresh water, as long as it’s dried soon afterward. It isn’t great to put in with plants or outdoors, though, because this creates the right conditions for it to rust. That’ll damage the stone and leach all kinds of iron oxides into the soil. While natural soil is often pretty high in iron oxides already (like the red clay in my garden), it’s definitely not something you want to introduce if you can avoid it.

5. Pyrite

While hematite is a form of iron oxide, pyrite is an iron sulfide. The concern here isn’t rust, however. The “sulfide” portion of pyrite’s chemical formula is a bigger problem than the “iron” bit.

A close-up of a chunk of pyrite.

Pyrite is considered insoluble in water, but there’s a lot more than just water going on where plants grow. When pyrite is exposed to both moisture and oxygen, it oxidizes. This produces iron ions (specifically Fe2+) and sulfuric acid. In fact, the oxidation of pyrite and the resulting acid has been responsible for a number of ecological disasters.

This isn’t to say that putting a piece of tumbled pyrite in your yard is instantly going to turn it into a Superfund site, but it’s still best avoided whenever practicable. At best, you’ll end up with damaged pyrite. At worst, a lot of dead plants and possibly a stern letter from the city.

6. Cinnabar

Okay, so. Cinnabar is divisive. On one hand, some mineral enthusiasts act like it might as well be plutonium. On the other, some claim it’s absolutely no big deal.

Here’s the thing: Cinnabar is an ore of mercury, and mercury is toxic. However, mercury is at its least toxic when it’s in its elemental (aka, scoodly silver liquid) form. Metallic mercury isn’t all that well absorbed through your skin during brief, incidental contact — it’s much more dangerous when it’s in its organic form, or as a salt. This is not to say that cinnabar or mercury is safe to handle, I just want to avoid engaging in too much hyperbole.

Mercury vapor, on the other hand, can be readily absorbed by lung tissue. While it takes temperatures of about 674 °F (357 Â°C) to boil mercury, mercury doesn’t need to boil to evaporate and contaminate the air. Even just breaking an old fashioned thermometer can contaminate indoor air for a significant amount of time if it isn’t appropriately cleaned up.

While it’s true that cinnabar is traditionally roasted to liberate liquid mercury, some specimens do exhibit beads of pure mercury on their surfaces.

Anyhow, all of this is to say that the question of “how safe is cinnabar for plants” is too complicated for me to say that it’s safe. Cinnabar was used as a decoration (and even cosmetic) in antiquity, but buildings also weren’t nearly as air-tight as they are now. (Also, a lot of people lost their minds, went into convulsions, and died back then, while doctors blamed things like “eating cherries and milk,” “riding too fast,” and “wearing lace.”)

In the interest of safety, maybe just keep cinnabar away from heat, water, soil, your plants, your lungs, small children, et cetera. It might be safe, but it might not, and you might not find out how unsafe until it’s too late.

7. Quartz spheres

“But J,” you might be saying, “Everything says that quartz is perfectly safe in water. It’s not going to dissolve, leach anything weird, kill my plants, or turn my yard into an acidic death pit. What gives?” And you’re absolutely right!

It can, however, burn your house down.

The issue here isn’t so much the quartz itself as it is the refractive quality of crystal spheres. If the sun hits a clear glass or crystal sphere in just the right way, it can produce an effect similar to the sun shining through a magnifying glass. Crystal spheres have the ability to concentrate sunlight into a laser, and this laser can burn stuff.

So, while other crystals are mostly a problem if they get wet, crystal spheres are a problem if they’re sitting in a window. Like, say, where one might place a sun-loving potted plant.

This issue doesn’t just end at your front door, either. While I haven’t read reports of crystal balls starting fires when placed outdoors, the combination of intense sunlight, dry vegetation, and a clear sphere can definitely cause some trouble. If you have vinyl siding, the reflection of the sun just off of a neighbor’s windows can be enough to damage your home’s exterior.

What can you use instead?

Assuming you’re not in the mood to ruin your horticulture (or your life) with an ill-placed stone, the solution is pretty easy.

You can opt for different crystals instead. Any variety of silica-based mineral will work, as long as it isn’t able to concentrate sunlight. Moss agate, while not a “true” agate, is a lovely green type of cryptocrystalline silica. Jades are silicates, too.

For stones that shouldn’t get wet, like your gypsums and sulfides and such, you can always place them near indoor plants. Just avoid putting them in places where they’ll come in contact with water or the soil.

For quartz spheres, it’s best to keep them covered when they aren’t actively in use. (That’s a big part of where the custom of covering one’s scrying ball comes from.) If you have to put them in with your plants, either bury them entirely in soil or place them in a small, opaque bag first. Just keep them out of the sunlight.

That’s pretty much it. Do your homework on the chemical composition of your crystals, avoid stones that will actively turn into acid or poison when exposed to water, and be careful with the ones that’ll burn your house down.
Happy growing!

Neodruidry, Witchcraft

The Magical Meaning of a Solar Eclipse

J.

Picture it. A group of early humans look up to the sky as it grows dark. A black orb moves into view, blocking the light of the light-giving Sun. The people shout in fear — will the Sun return? Will it be able to fight off the invader? After a few moments, the light returns. The Sun is safe.

If this sounds like a case of cavepeople being foolish and unadvanced, imagine this instead:

You walk outside to your car, travel mug of cold brew in hand. Your eyes are still bleary from sleep. You pat your pockets — wallet, phone, keys.
Suddenly, the sky flares into an indescribable bright green color. Angry clouds of magenta move in, obscuring everything from view. It seems as if the heavens themselves overturn, pouring down a rain of tiny, glowing meteors. Confused, and probably afraid your skin is going to be stripped from your bones, you duck back into the house to wait out this bizarre phenomenon.
Then, about three minutes later, the glowing meteor shower stops, the clouds part, the meteors sublimate into vapor, and it’s as if nothing ever happened.

And, lightyears away, peering through some kind of very advanced telescope, a bunch of aliens laugh their multiple asses off at the primitive Earth people who don’t even understand that glowing tiny meteor season is a perfectly normal and harmless phenomenon that happens naturally every twenty thousand years.

An image of Grogu, "Baby Yoda," pointing. He's wearing a brown robe and blue sneakers.
“lol, newbs.”
Photo by Erik Mclean on Pexels.com

Sure, eclipses aren’t that rare. Eclipse season happens every six months or so, after all, and even total solar eclipses occur somewhere about every year and a half. But total solar eclipses are also a whole other animal when compared to a partial solar eclipse.

Things need to line up just right (pun only slightly intended) for a total solar eclipse to happen. When they do, the total obscuration of the Sun is only visible across a narrow band of the planet. This very rarely happens in the same place twice. Like, you’re looking at about every 360-410 years or so, or a one-in-every-fourteen-generations kind of thing. You’ll most likely experience several partial eclipses in your lifetime, but what’re the odds you’ll ever be in the path of a total solar eclipse?

Back when people didn’t travel with the kind of swiftness and ease with which they do now, a total solar eclipse was a Very Big Deal. As a result, this phenomenon has accumulated a lot of folklore and metaphysical connections over time. Since we’re about to have one in the US on April 8th, I thought now might be a good time to look at some of the folktales, traditions, and magical practices surrounding solar eclipses of all forms.

Solar Eclipse Folklore and Traditions

In Chinese, the word for eclipse is 日食 (Rì Shí). It includes the word 食 (Shí), meaning edible, food, or to eat. It was once thought that a solar eclipse occurred when sun-eating dogs (in some interpretations, dragons or demons) would attack the Sun. People would fire arrows and bang pots and pans to drive them off and ensure the Sun’s survival.

The Choctaw people saw eclipses in a similar way. Instead of dogs or dragons, greedy squirrels would come to eat the sun. And, just like in China, people would make noise and fire arrows to shoo them away.

The belief that an eclipse was the Sun being eaten (or nearly being eaten) is or was very common all around the world. In Vietnam, it was a giant frog. In the Andes, a puma. In Java, the God of Darkness. In Indonesia, it’s Rahu… but the Sun burns his tongue, so he spits it out.

In ancient Greece, a lot of things were omens. A bolt of lightning flashed from left to right? Omen. You saw a bird flying a bit weird? Omen. Bad dream? Omen. Solar eclipse? Omen. Eclipses were thought to happen as a punishment when mortals displeased the Gods in some way. This is actually reflected in the English word “eclipse,” which comes from the Greek ekleipsis, meaning “abandonment,” or “to forsake a usual place.”

This is somewhat akin to Transylvanian folklore. There, it was said that solar eclipses happened because the Sun, displeased by people’s actions, turned away from the Earth.

The corona around a total solar eclipse.
Photo by melissa mayes on Pexels.com

The idea of a solar eclipse as a bad omen took a rather funny angle in ancient Babylon. There, kings would hire a temp to stand-in for them for the day. This way, they reasoned, any harm or bad luck that might come to them as a result of the eclipse would happen to the other guy instead.

In Australia, things are a bit different. Australian Aboriginal culture has a long tradition of astronomy, passed down orally, through artwork, and in ceremony, and many different tales about the Sun and the Moon. The Warlpiri and Wirangu people say that eclipses happen when the Sun-woman and Moon-man make love — his body covers hers from view, darkening the sky.

The Diné people of North America also see eclipses differently. Rather than a thing to be feared, they’re a time for peace and reflection. People still observe traditional eclipse ceremonies, and schools and businesses close for the day.

While nobody knows what the people of ancient Ireland thought about eclipses, we do know that they recorded them. The oldest known marking of an eclipse was made over 5,000 years ago. Images of it were carved into a stone cairn at Loughcrew, in Meath. (This doesn’t mean that other cultures didn’t bother recording eclipses, but these recordings either may not have survived, or were done in a symbolic form that has since been interpreted as something else by modern eyes.)

Some harmful solar eclipse superstitions are weirdly persistent. One bit of very stubborn folklore warns that, if you’re pregnant, you should stay indoors during an eclipse. This belief holds that eclipses create radiation which can harm a developing fetus. The thing is, the Sun’s solar radiation doesn’t change during an eclipse. The sometimes weirdly colored corona you see around the Moon’s silhouette during a total solar eclipse is an optical illusion. It’s caused by the interaction between the light at the sun’s edge, the atmosphere, and your perception, not unlike the green flash you can sometimes see on the beach at sunset.

This idea also sounds an awful lot like the idea of maternal impression, an obsolete theory that holds that certain mental or physical influences can affect a developing fetus. It’s the same school of thought that claimed that Joseph Carey Merrick, the “Elephant Man,” developed Proteus syndrome because his mother was frightened by an elephant while she was pregnant, or that pregnancy cravings will give a baby a birthmark in the shape of that specific food.

Speaking of food, another bit of modern-ish folklore holds that food prepared or left out during an eclipse will be poisoned by the same mysterious baby-mutating radiation mentioned above. The thing is, were this true, all of the food growing in the fields or being picked or transported during the eclipse would need to be thrown away. Also, what kind of radiation are we talking, here? Is aluminum foil enough to keep it out? A cabinet door? A fridge? The vague mention of “radiation” is like the vague mention of “toxins” — if it doesn’t ever get more specific than that, it’s probably a fake idea.

(I’ll be real with you, we’re probably better off believing that eclipses are the Sun being eaten. At least nobody wastes food that way, and pregnancy’s stressful enough as it is without having to worry about baby-mutating sky radiation. Besides, then you get to make some noise and have a party afterward to celebrate the Sun not becoming a snack!)

In general, eclipses were (and still are) very often viewed as an omen of some kind. One persistent belief holds that an eclipse within six months of your birthday foretells bad health. Many cultures, like the ancient Greeks mentioned above, saw eclipses as a bad omen and sign of divine disfavor. In the Czech Republic, on the other hand, Bohemian miners saw solar eclipses as a good omen for finding gold.

The Magical Meaning of a Solar Eclipse

So, with such a long history of folklore and mythology behind it, what does the solar eclipse mean for magical practitioners today? That depends on a couple of things.

For one, many people still observe ancient eclipse traditions. If your cultural, religious, or magical tradition has a particular way of observing the eclipse, that can give it meaning for you.

For two, there isn’t really a guide for more modern traditions. In very modern magical circles, particularly those that are heavily shaped by astrology, eclipses are sometimes viewed as a very chaotic time during which people absolutely should not use magic. Others see it as an ideal time for manifestation, during which people definitely should use magic.
Social media has made everything weird and confusing.

For people whose traditions don’t have a specific eclipse ceremony or belief, solar eclipses are often viewed as times of change, transformation, and renewal. This is closest to my personal feelings. My path is largely informed by what information I’ve been able to find on ancient Celtic practices. Objects like the carvings at Loughcrew seem to indicate that solar eclipses were important events, but not a thing to be feared or hidden from. Seeing it as a quiet (literally quiet — in the path of totality, the darkness causes birds and insects to fall silent and its super eerie) time of renewal makes the most sense to me. I may use this time to charge some water, and I’ll celebrate once the Sun’s back doing its thing again, but that’s about it.

No matter what you decide to do, do it safely. Does this mean shielding yourself from negative energy? I guess, if you feel that it’s appropriate to do so. I mainly mean following NASA safety guidelines so you don’t burn your retinas out, though. Retinas are really important.