(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.)
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:
2 cups of rose petals. Stronger-fragranced roses have a stronger flavor. For this, I used native Virginia rose petals.
1 cup of water.
1 cup of sugar.
2 tablespoons of lemon juice.
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:
In a medium saucepan, combine sugar, water, and lemon juice. Bring to a boil, stirring constantly, until the sugar dissolves.
Add the rose petals. Lower the heat to a simmer.
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!
Remove from heat and immediately pour into the jar. Put the lid on tightly.
Keep the finished preserves in your refrigerator. They’ll keep for about a month but will probably get eaten long before then!
Note: This post contains a brief mention of self-termination.
Hello! I’m mentally ill.
I’ve never seen the point of beating around the bush about it. As a child, I was taught that there was a stigma around mental illness, therapy, and medication (a lesson that, among many others, luckily didn’t take). It just didn’t make much sense to me — if my pancreas or thyroid didn’t work the way it was supposed to, and I needed medication to help me, would I be ashamed? Why is it suddenly different if it’s brain tissue instead of glandular tissue?
I also don’t use person-first language for myself. I don’t have a mental illness. I have jackets and shoes I can take off if I want to. I have hair I can shave off if it annoys me. I am mentally ill. I can’t take that off like an itchy sweater. I’ll use person-first langauge for other people if that’s their preference, but it’s not for me.
So, cyclothymia (sometimes known as bipolar III) is marked by periods of hypomania, alternating with a kind of depression I refer to as “The Ennui.”
Why ennui? I call it ennui because, for me, it’s a feeling marked by bone-deep, existential boredom. Nothing is exciting. Nothing is inspiring. The things I usually enjoy become thin, gray, muffled, and flavorless. I start to be afraid that nothing will ever make me happy or enthusiastic about life again. And every time, I begin wondering if I should “encompass my own demise,” as it were, and save myself some time.
I also call it ennui to trivialize it to myself. To name a thing is to gain a measure of power over it. To name a feeling of anhedonia so deep that it threatens my existence, and name it after something as unserious as ennui, helps shrink it a little bit. It’s a reminder that this state is fleeting — just a temporary eddy in my various brain sauces, however unpleasant it may feel.
This ennui happens completely irrespective of what else I have going on. It happens on its own inscrutable, irregular schedule, independently of my hormonal cycle, the time of year, or anything else. I could have an event that I’ve been looking forward to for months and, when I hit an ennui cycle, that feeling deadens completely. I could have absolutely no reason to feel down, sad, or uninspired, and my brain chemistry literally could not give less of a shit about any of that. If it’s ennui time, it’s ennui time.
Fortunately (for a very questionable definition of “fortunately”), this has happened often enough that I know, on a logical level, that it’s temporary. I certainly don’t feel it in the thick of things — that’s where a lot of that worry comes from, the idea that this is forever and I will only ever feel this way for as long as I live. But it’s always been temporary before.
There’s no cure for this. There’s barely treatment for it. I use an SSRI to handle the symptoms of panic disorder, but those typically aren’t the best for your various bipolars. Nonetheless, I’d rather have to deal with periodic ennui than the absolutely brutal panic attacks I used to experience, so here we are.
(Because I know there are caring people out there who offer advice because they don’t want to see another person suffer needlessly — I have a very good supplement regimen and diet, based on some in-depth blood tests and the advice of my excellent general practitioner. My GP is also a psychiatric nurse practitioner, so I’m all good on that front.)
So, if I haven’t been posting as much lately, it’s because I haven’t been doing much lately. I go through the motions — cooking, cleaning, doing paid writing gigs, tidying up the garden, making plans in the hopes that I might one day actually care about doing them — but there’s a very deep sense of “why bother?” about it all. What difference does any of it make in the face of eventual oblivion? Will the heat death of the universe care if I get dressed or not?
If this sounds like you, or someone you love, remember this: It’s temporary. It won’t feel like it is when you’re in the moment, but it is. Eventually, it’ll lift. When it does, do the things you need to take care of yourself. Set up a simplified routine that you can follow, even in the midst of an ennui. It won’t fix it, but it’ll make it more bearable and keep you from backsliding and feeding further into that despair.
For me, it looks a little like this:
A simple exercise routine. At one point, all I could do was tai chi in bed, so I did that. Now, I do about ten minutes of stretching, and ten more minutes of literally any other intentional, somewhat vigorous movement. It’s not going to get me jacked or anything, but that’s not really my priority at times like this.
Several simple sets of clothing. My criteria were that they had to be inexpensive enough for me to have several of them, so I could rotate them and have clean clothes even when I wasn’t able to do laundry. They also had to be comfortable, but something that I could conceivably leave the house in if I absolutely had to. Lastly, I wanted something that wasn’t disposable “fast fashion” or made of synthetic fibers that would annoy my skin. I decided on a set of recycled silk caftans, and they’ve worked out really well for me.
Simple, reasonably healthy food that requires very little energy to prepare. Sometimes, when I feel The Ennui coming on, I make a big pot of lentil soup or kitchari and a loaf of bread to last me through the worst of things. Other times, I eat a lot of stuff like this instant split pea soup. It has a simple ingredient list, plenty of protein, fiber, and potassium, and not a ton of salt. Open it, plop it in a bowl, microwave, done. I also like having a bottle of vegetable juice, some kind of protein powder, shelf-stable plant milk, and a fortified breakfast cereal on hand, just to fill in the gaps.
Simple hygiene. A low-maintenance haircut and uncomplicated skin- and haircare. Trader Joe’s facial cleanser and some jojoba oil. Lip balm. If I feel up to it, some hyaluronic acid serum. Moisturizing body wash, so I don’t need to bother with lotion. Even when I don’t have the energy for anything else, it at least keeps my skin clean and feeling okay.
A pill organizer. My memory is very damaged from pseudotumor cerebri at the best of times and seems to get worse when my mood dips. A pill organizer ensures that I don’t miss anything and accidentally make myself feel even more terrible.
Something to listen to. It doesn’t really matter what it is. I prefer listening to YouTubers or podcasts, only because having a person talking as background noise seems to be more helpful than music alone. I like:
ManlyBadassHero, for very relaxed horror game playthroughs. The games might be scary, but the videos very much aren’t. They’re chill and funny.
Zachary Michael and Zachary Michael Also, for reaction videos. Zachary Michael can be a bit polarizing (people seem to either love them or can’t stand them), but I enjoy their videos. They’re upbeat, funny, and often very heartfelt.
WiLLo Davis, for other reaction videos. Willo is also a musician, and the parody songs he makes to go with his videos are just *chefkiss*.
Dreamingofavalon. This channel has been more-or-less on indefinite hiatus for a long time, but their old videos are very lighthearted, upbeat, and uplifting. Lyn went on to start Desert Plants of Avalon with her partner, Hans. These videos have the same general feel as Dreamingofavalon does but are all about cacti and succulents.
SeizureRobot5000, for very specific reaction videos. SR5000 makes videos about musician, YouTuber, and dank food hacker Josh Saunders, alias KingCobraJFS, and they’re some of the funniest things I’ve listened to (especially the videos with Chauncey).
Robert Welsh, for makeup and beauty. I don’t care about either, but I could listen to him do deep dives into beauty companies all day. Some beauty industry controversies are bonkers.
I also like the Last Podcast on the Left. In particular, I usually listen to their series on Aleister Crowley when I’m feeling bad. Their cult, occult, and paranormal content is my favorite, but they also have a lot of true crime and alien episodes as well.
This Paranormal Life is a smaller comedy podcast put out by two best friends. In each episode, they investigate a paranormal tale, case, or claim and determine if it’s truly paranormal or not. The hosts’ chemistry and humor are fantastic, and I’ve loved every episode they’ve put out.
I’ve also gotten into watching Chinese historical dramas, like Ruyi’s Royal Love in the Palace. I don’t even necessarily watch the episodes in order. They’re just beautifully costumed and full of intrigue.
Remember, any self-care worth doing is worth doing badly. I may not be able to home cook meals, but reasonably healthy packaged food is better than no food at all (or eating half a jar of olives while standing over my trash can). I may not be able to exercise, but a few minutes of stretching or walking in place is better than not moving at all. This is one situation where half-assing something beats the alternative.
I don’t know if this will help anyone, but it helps me. Remember, this feeling doesn’t last forever. It doesn’t even last all that long, though it can certainly feel like it. The trick is to have a simple plan in place so you can properly take care of yourself in the midst of it all. Set this up when you don’t need it, so you can lean on it when you do.
My partner has a window shelf of cacti and succulents in his office. In winter, it doesn’t get much action — temperatures are too low and there’s not enough light to foster growth, so we don’t water them from about November to late March or early April. They use up the water stored in their tissues, and the lack of soil moisture means that they’re much less likely to develop rot. Since it’s warming up again, it’ll be time to start watering them soon.
We’re also continuing work on replacing our lawn. One of the plants I’ve considered putting in is a native Opuntia humifusa cactus, also known as an Eastern prickly pear. These are, believe it or not, hardy cacti that are the most wide-ranging species in the US. It can be found everywhere from Ontario, to Florida, to New Mexico. My grandfather’s house in New York had a pretty big specimen planted on one side — it was pretty surreal to see a big blue hydrangea bush, and then this cactus spread out less than ten feet away!
A very handsome, chonky boy.
I’ve also been revamping my bearded dragon’s enclosure. I’m a fan of bioactive habitats, personally, so I make an effort to establish naturalistic microclimates using a variety of lights, sources of humidity, live plants, and even live insects. While desert reptiles can live in very dry, arid conditions, a lot of enclosures don’t include the kind of microclimates that they need for optimum comfort. He’s a big guy who has to live by himself, and I want to make his enclosure as comfortable and stimulating as possible. So, I’ve been looking into spineless cacti and other desert plants that will do the job without putting him at risk of any pokes.
All of this is to say that it’s been a very cacti season, so I thought I’d write a bit on the different folklore and magical uses of these weird, wonderful plants.
Cacti Magical Properties and Folklore
A cactus’ spines are actually its leaves. Like the specialized leaves-turned-petals of hydrangea and dogwood “flowers,” cacti spines have changed their form to suit a specific purpose. In this case, it’s reducing moisture loss and protecting the plants’ plump, water-rich flesh from herbivores. Though they’re thin, spines help shade the cactus from the harsh sun. They also catch rainfall and dew and direct the droplets toward the plants’ roots. While we typically think of dry deserts when we think of cacti, their spines and roots create humid, shady, relatively cool microclimates around their bases.
A Peruvian tale explains where cacti got their spines. On a tall, tall mountain, there was a single lush, green plant. It had broad, tender leaves like lettuce, and was all but irresistible to the local alpaca population. Every day, this plant would have to dodge their attempts to grab a mouthful of its leaves, and every day it prayed for a way to protect itself. One day, the plant heard a terrible noise. A fox was rushing down the mountain with a tremendous boulder in hot pursuit! Panting with exhaustion, the running fox begged the plant to stop the boulder somehow — if it could, the fox promised, he would give it his claws in payment. The boulder came crashing down, and the plant stopped it in the nick of time by spreading out its broad leaves. The grateful fox gave the plant his claws, and the cactus became the prickly plant we know today.
There are also many stories of the relationship between rose and cactus. One such tale talks about how, on rose’s birthday, he invited all of the plants to attend a party. The self-conscious cactus didn’t answer the invitation, since she had no gift suitable to give the rose. Still, the rose sent a butterfly to make sure cactus came to the party and enjoyed herself anyway. The cactus was grateful that rose wanted to invite her, even though she had no suitable gift to give him. When the time came to offer rose his birthday presents, cactus gave him the only thing she had — her protective spiny coat. The rose put it on immediately and, in return, offered the cactus a beautiful flower on her birthday. To this day, rose wears a spiny coat of thorns, and the cactus blooms on her birthday.
Another tale tells of a proud rose who regarded himself as the most beautiful plant in the land. He looked down on the cactus, who had neither beautiful flowers nor fragrant perfume. What use could such a plant be to anyone? When a drought came, the rose began to wither. He noticed, however, that the cactus was still plump and filled with water — so much, in fact, that the birds would visit her to poke holes in her tender flesh and drink. The proud rose humbled himself and asked the cactus for some of her water. Not wishing to see anyone suffer, she told the birds to bring the rose some water. The birds dipped their beaks into the cactus’ green skin, and, flying to the rose, dripped the water on his roots. The rose and the cactus survived the drought, and the rose was never haughty again.
One bit of very persistent folklore says that you can slice open a cactus and drink the water inside. This is only even a little true of one particular species — the fishhook barrel cactus (Ferocactus wislizeni). While this cactus’ water can be drunk in extreme situations, it contains a lot of oxalic acid. Drink it on an empty stomach, and you’re probably looking at a lot of (very dehydrating) diarrhea. Other cacti contain various acids and alkaloids that can do everything from damage your kidneys, to straight-up paralyze you. Cactus-like plants found outside the US, like those in Madagascar and southern Africa, are actually members of the highly toxic family Euphorbiaceae.
The San Pedro cactus (Trichocereus macrogonus var. pachanoi) is an Ecuadorean, Peruvian, and Colombian native that is a natural source of the psychoactive compound mescaline. Peyote (Lophophora williamsii) is native to Mexico and Texas and also contains mescaline. Both of these cacti are considered sacred plants that have been used by humans for spiritual, medicinal, and divinatory purposes for thousands of years.
Cacti are one of those plants that you won’t find in old European grimoires, but that doesn’t make them any less valuable as herbal and magical allies. They are generally associated with resilience and protection.
Some practitioners also believe that they’re capable of absorbing and storing negative energy within themselves. These practitioners cleanse their cacti by repotting it regularly and very occasionally giving it a good soak under running water.
On the flip side, another school of thought holds that cacti can store any kind of energy. Therefore, those plants that have been grown in relaxed, happy environments can actually improve the energy of wherever they’re moved to. These specific plants are frequently used for healing.
Feng shui cautions against having cacti in the home. Their spines are sait to disrupt the harmonious flow of energy.
Cacti are associated with the planet Mars and the element of Fire.
Using Cacti
I can’t really advise you on using entheogenic cacti species, so we’ll skip that part.
In general, the easiest way to “use” cacti is to grow them. I know I say that a lot, but it’s true — living plants can provide benefits above and beyond what dried herbs can.
If you live in an area which cacti can tolerate, then you may want to plant them near the perimeter of your house. They’re great for xeriscaping in desert environments, but some, like the Opuntia humifusa I mentioned earlier, can grow in plenty of other places.
If you do choose to keep a cactus, care for it well. The steps outlined above for “cleansing” cacti? They’re pretty standard care for desert plants. They’ll need repotting as they grow and their soil gets displaced. They also benefit from deep, infrequent watering. Some magic practitioners say that cacti are capable of a kind of “energy vampirism” — that is, if they’re neglected, they can start making the occupants of a home feel lethargic and dragged down.
It’s also important to research what kind of cactus you have, and where it came from. As mentioned above, Euphorbia species are very similar to cacti. They’re also very poisonous and dangerous for children and pets. Some species of cacti are also threatened by overharvesting for the houseplant trade. Cacti poaching is a very lucrative crime, so make sure that yours come from a reputable source (preferably grown from seed, domestically).
Also, be wary of “moon cactus,” also known as Ruby Ball, Hibotan, Red Hibotan, or Red Cap cactus. These plants don’t occur naturally — they’re actually a mutant desert species (Gymnocalycium mihanovichii) with no chlorophyll of its own, grafted on top of another species (usually a tropical dragonfruit cactus). Since the colorful top of the cactus has no chlorophyll of its own, it’s dependent on the host plant for survival. Since both of these species typically have very different needs, they’re very hard to keep alive. While they’re inexpensive and popular, you may want to skip them and choose an easier one. If you really love the look of Gymnocalycium mihanovichii, there are also variegated specimens that still have some of their chlorophyl and aren’t grafted onto host plants.
You can also use cacti spines in the same way that you might use pins or thorns — to spear poppets, fill witch bottles, and so forth. However, cacti generally don’t shed and regrow their spines on a fixed schedule in the same way that other plants lose their leaves, so I don’t recommend harvesting spines for this purpose. If you happen to find a dropped spine or two, however, there’s no reason to throw them away.
Cacti are strange, beautiful plants that show life’s incredible ability to adapt to the most extreme of situations. Long associated with resilience, tenacity, and self-defense, they’re a great plant to cultivate for people who want to strengthen their boundaries and discover their own innate strength.
I swear, mustard is immortal. At least, the kind I scattered in one of my raised beds is.
I had a packet of giant red mustard seeds that were initially intended for microgreens. When I cleared out a neglected spot in the front yard and turned it into a slightly raised bed, I didn’t really have anything to plant in it. So, I chucked a handful of the mustard seeds in there figuring that, at worst, I’d get some sprouts that would die back and essentially act as “green manure.” At best, I’d get some tasty mustard greens.
This was two summers ago. I have not sown mustard since. I am still harvesting tons of huge, fresh mustard leaves.
Right before sitting down to write this, I went out to grab some leaves to use on sandwiches and as salad for my bearded dragon, Cecil. (His salads use collards, turnip tops, kale, or mustard as a base, with various other vegetables, limited fruits, a dusting of calcium and/or vitamin powder, and a sprinkle of dried black soldier fly larvae. I swear, I put more effort into his nutrition than I do my own.) That got me thinking — I’m familiar with the spell uses of mustard, and I’ve heard the bit of Christian folklore about “having faith as small as a mustard seed” before, but what else is out there? What more does mustard have to offer?
Mustard Magical Properties and Folklore
Mustard, as a condiment, is old. Very old. In ancient Rome, people would grind mustard seeds with wine and use the resulting paste just like we use mustard today.
(Believe it or not, the easiest way to temper the heat of mustard is to change the liquid component. Mustard seeds, on their own, don’t really taste like much when compared to mustard as a condiment. They need to be crushed and mixed with a liquid to really express their full flavor. Using water to make a mustard paste creates a very hot mustard. Acids, like wine or vinegar, temper the heat by altering the enzymatic reactions within the crushed mustard.)
Mustard is a member of the Brassica family. That means that it’s related to broccoli, kale, cabbage, turnip, Brussels sprouts, cauliflower, and kohlrabi.
In traditional Chinese medicine, mustard is used for respiratory problems, skin conditions, and pain in the joints or muscles. Mustard is actually pretty useful for muscle or joint pain, as it’s a counterirritant that encourages blood flow to an area — similarly to the way that we use capsaicin cream today.
In early Western medicine, mustard seeds were crushed, placed in a protective dressing (usually flannel), and applied to the body to warm it, improve blood flow, and speed healing. This was most commonly used for issues like joint pain, muscle strains, and chest congestion. While it has since become less popular than standardized preparations of compounds like capsaicin or menthol, it is still sometimes used as a home remedy for aches, pains, or colds.
A bit of German folklore advises that new brides should sew mustard seeds into the hems of their wedding gowns. This helps ensure that they don’t get bossed around in their new households. It also helps ensure good luck.
Mustard is, like many hot or irritating spices, used to repel things. In both Denmark and India, scattering mustard seeds around the outside of a property was believed to keep evil away.
This is something we see time and time again — the vast majority of evil-repelling plants that I’ve encountered are also good at repelling physical pests, as well. Mustard is no exception. The leaves have a spicy, subtly bitter flavor that makes them pretty unpalatable for a lot of pests. (I got to see this in action when I was cleaning cabbage loopers off of my kale and broccoli. The mustard was untouched.)
In general, mustard is considered a useful magical herb for any workings that deal with healing, repelling evil, or attracting good luck.
Mustard is associated, probably unsurprisingly, with the element of Fire.
Using Mustard
Looking at its historical uses, mustard is one of those interesting herbs that can be a bit misleading. There are a lot of charts and tables out there that’ll tell you basic information — for luck, use x, y, or z. For love, use a, b, or c — but don’t go any further than that.
Here’s the thing: Mustard acts, in all ways, as a repellent. Medicinally, it inflames tissues, bringing in more blood flow to flush out whatever the problem is. Horticulturally, the heat and flavor in the leaves repel insects and sensitive herbivores. In folk magic, it repels evil.
While mustard is an effective herb for attracting good things, this appears to be because, traditionally, it chases away the bad. Once evil is repelled, good fortune and healing can come in.
For this reason, I don’t really recommend using mustard on its own. If you really want to dial in a working for good luck or healing, combine it with herbs that focus on those things. Mustard will help clear away the bad, and they will help bring in the good.
Since mustard is typically available as seeds, it’s also a useful tool for sympathetic magic. To increase one’s luck, combine fresh, untreated mustard seeds with luck-drawing herbs like alfalfa (another herb that’s generally better to not use alone), fenugreek, dried chamomile, or crushed allspice berries. Scatter the mixture outside declaring that your luck will grow as the mustard seeds grow.
On the other hand, if your goal is to purify or banish, then mustard is fine on its own. Scatter the seeds outside, across the area in front of your front and back doors, etc. Sprinkle bits of ground mustard powder in the corners of your rooms and under your door mat. Tell the seeds that you want them to repel evil, and thank them for their help.
Mustard is a delightful, delicious, and nutrient-dense addition to any meal. It also packs quite a metaphysical wallop — while its hot and bitter compounds are great at keeping garden pests away, it’s equally good at repelling evil. It’s a very useful addition to spells to attract good things, as it’ll help keep away the bad and make room for more blessings in your life.
Winter’s rapidly coming to an end — we still have a day or so of snow and cold temperatures here and there, but there are signs of the plants and soil waking up all over. On one particularly nice day, I was sipping a root beer on the back deck when a memory came to me out of the blue.
“I could never stand that stuff,” a friend of mine once said.
“What, root beer? It’s like the most basic beverage of no offense to anyone.”
“It tastes like mouthwash,” he replied.
“… You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He wasn’t exactly wrong, though. Some of your fancier, gourmet root beers do contain derivatives of wintergreen, perhaps best known for playing a starring role in chewing gum, breath mints, those white Lifesavers candies, and yes, toothpaste and mouthwash. Even the artificially flavored ones have echoes of this flavor.
Wintergreen is a fun ingredient. It has a ton of uses industrially, medicinally, magically, and in food. It also has one of those names that can get you in a bit of trouble if you’re not careful.
Wintergreen Magical Uses & Folklore
(and a bunch of chemistry stuff)
There are a lot of plants named “wintergreen.” Members of the genus Gaultheriaare native to Asia, Australasia, and the Americas. Pyrola is distributed temperate and arctic North America, Europe, and Asia. Chimaphila used to be a whole separate thing, but is now in the same family as the other wintergreens. (Don’t get me started on one-flowered wintergreen.) All of these genera fall under the family Ericaceae. Some members of Lysimachia are sometimes called “wintergreen” even though they’re all pimpernels and loosestrifes (loosestrives?) and aren’t related at all. As if that weren’t confusing enough, the term “wintergreen” also used to be applied to any plant that remained green through the winter, the way we now use the word “evergreen.”
While there are a ton of different wintergreens out there, the classic oil of wintergreen flavor is primarily either derived from Gaultheria wintergreens or synthesized.
A bit of modern folklore says that, if you bite a wintergreen candy in the dark, it’ll spark. Wintergreen candies can create sparks under the right conditions. This is due to triboluminescence, which occurs when energy is put into atoms by friction, heat, et cetera. When those atoms return to their normal state, that energy is released as a brief spark. Chomping on regular old sucrose is enough to generate a little triboluminescence, but the brightness of wintergreen candy sparks comes from a neat synergy between the sugar and the wintergreen oil. The oil’s most notable aromatic compound, methyl salicylate, is fluorescent. When the sugar grinds against itself when you bite it, it emits a bit of dim triboluminescence that’s mostly outside of the visible spectrum. The fluorescent methyl salicylate absorbs this energy and releases it as much more visible blue light. Put it all together and voilà , sparks!
Speaking of methyl salicylate, you might recognize the “salicyl” in there. (Methyl salicylate is an ester of salicylic acid — in fact, artificial wintergreen flavor is synthesized from straight-up salicylic acid and methanol.)
Traditionally, Indigenous people prepared the leaves as a tea to ease symptoms of rheumatism and other joint pains. In the body, methyl salicylate gets metabolized into salicylic acid, the same pain reliever derived from white willow bark (Salix alba). However, wintergreen oil is pretty potent stuff. A single teaspoon of it is about equivalent to 20 300mg aspirin tablets!
Another member of the Ericaceae family, Chimaphila maculata, is known as “spotted pipsissewa.” This is derived from the word pipsisikweu, meaning “breaks into small pieces,” since it was traditionally used to treat gall, kidney, and bladder stones.
Though the oil is highly potent, teaberry is edible. The berries can be made into pies, and the leaves eaten as a potherb.
Because of its evergreen properties, wintergreen is used for money drawing. In Hoodoo formulas, for example, it often finds its way into gambler’s incense. Nothing like an herb that stays green to help keep you rolling in green, right?
In other traditions, this herb is used for clarity, focus, and healing. It is sometimes included in anointing oils for meditation, in the belief that it’ll help the user focus and heighten the meditative experience.
Carrying a sprig of wintergreen is said to keep evil away and attract luck to the bearer. It’s often used as an herb for general protection. (Oil of wintergreen is also an ingredient in some lubricants used for weapons, for entirely unrelated reasons.)
Wintergreen is sometimes used as a love-drawing ingredient, though I haven’t often seen it included in recipes for this purpose. It makes sense, though, considering the ways it’s used to attract other good things.
Wintergreen is associated with Saturn (as a protective herb) and the Moon (as a healing and love-drawing herb). It’s also connected to the astrological sign Capricorn.
Using Wintergreen
Man, I really wish I had more to point to here.
The thing is, I’m one of those people who’re unfortunate enough to be “salicylate sensitive.” It doesn’t take all that much for me to experience salicylate poisoning. (Pepto Bismol made me deaf for a week, with the exception of a constant, maddening, high-pitched whine.)
Sure, other herbs contain various salicylate-related compounds. I mean, even rosemary is pretty high in them. Wintergreen oil has a bit of a reputation, however, and it isn’t entirely undeserved. So even anointing with an oil containing wintergreen is A Lot for me.
(Just gonna pause here to let everyone get all the “wintergreen repels evil” jokes out of the way. Aaand… okay.)
This is by no means to scare you away from this herb — far from it. It has a long history of use as medicine because it has an effect on the body. For some, that’s relieving pain. For people like me, it’s less pleasant.
As a result, I don’t really work with wintergreen much myself. When I do, it’s usually through consuming food or beverages flavored with it, rather than using the oil or herb directly. I essentially treat them as pre-made potions, which I empower and enchant for whatever I need them to do. Usually that’s using a cold herbal root beer to ease a headache or a sour stomach.
Wintergreens are also wonderful plants to grow. Under the right conditions, they can even replace non-native lawn grasses. They’re low-growing understory plants and an abundant source of food for wildlife. Growing them near your home can help repel bad energy, attract good energy, reduce the environmental and monetary burdens of pesticides, chemical fertilizers, and extra irrigation, and bring you many small bird friends.
Should you use wintergreen? If you’re not allergic or sensitive to it or any of its components, then there’s no reason to avoid this beautiful, versatile herb. Treat it responsibly and respectfully, and keep wintergreen preparations well out of the way of pets and children.
As I mentioned in my tiny plant haul, I recently picked up some packets of snap peas. I was never really a fan of peas growing up — mostly because the ones I was exposed to were the mushy, grayish kind from a can. Few things can beat a fresh, sweet peapod off of the vine, though, and they’re legitimately fun to grow!
Soon, it’ll be time to start peas from seed in my growing zone. Since I’m kind of champing at the bit to get them started, I figured this would be a good time to look into all of their folklore, symbolism, and magical correspondences.
Pea Magical Properties and Folklore
Sweet peas and rosary peas aren’t that closely related to garden peas, or even sugar snap peas. Sweet peas (Lathyrus odoratus) are grown for their flowers and have toxic seeds. Rosary peas (Abrus precatorius), as their name implies, are grown for beads and are fatal if ingested — if it’s thoroughly chewed, a single rosary pea is enough to kill an adult human. Garden, snow, and sugar snap peas are different cultivars of Pisum sativum, and are grown for their edible shoots, pods, and seeds. L. odoratus, A. precatorius, and P. sativum are members of the family Fabaceae, but so are plants like lupine, Scotch broom, and logwood trees. For this reason, it’s important to draw a distinction between folklore and magical uses of edible peas, versus sweet pea or rosary pea.
Sweet peas in bloom. These are grown for their beauty and fragrance, and are definitely not edible. Photo by Magda Ehlers on Pexels.com
Peas are an incredibly old food source grown around the world. While garden peas (Pisum sativum) are thought to have originated around Pisa, in Italy, they’ve also been found in Egyptian tombs, and the earliest evidence of them dates back to the Neolithic era, in what is now Greece, Jordan, Turkey, and Syria. They are considered to be one of the first food crops domesticated by humans.
According to British lore, pods containing nine peas are considered lucky.
Peas were used to cure warts through sympathetic magic. This is a very common old wart-removal method — you touch or rub the wart with an object, then burn, throw away, or bury said object. As it decays, the wart shrinks. In this case, the afflicted person would touch a wart with a pea, wrap the pea in a bit of paper, then bury it in the ground. When the pea broke down, so too would the wart.
Peas are a cool-weather crop, and don’t do very well in heat. One old rhyme about the planting of peas and beans says, “Be it weal or be it woe, Beans should blow before May go.”
Green peas are used in formulas for health or money. Yellow peas, on the other hand, are best for luck. In some cultures, carrying a dried pea in your purse or pocket is said to attract good luck.
Dried peas are also used for divination. They’re shaken up and cast, similarly to the way you might cast bones or runes. You then read the patterns that they form.
Using Peas
As a common food crop, using peas is pretty easy — especially if you like kitchen witchery. Cook and eat peas to bring in more wealth, health, and luck.
Dried peas can be added to sachets or bowls to attract money. Combine them with dried herbs like chamomile, basil, cinnamon, patchouli, and cinquefoil. Add this to a bowl containing a few pieces of citrine and/or pyrite, and some coins. Keep the bowl clean and free of dust, and periodically refresh it with new herbs and more coins. Never remove the coins from the bowl.
If you have a difficult decision to make, take one seed pea for each of your options. Plant them, carefully marking which pea corresponds to each option. Keep an eye on them as they sprout — their growth and vigor can provide guidance on what to do.
Peas are a useful magical ingredient that’s easy to grow yourself, even if all you have is a tiny space and a pot. They’ve got fiber and protein, are associated with luck, money, and healing, and keep well once dried. All told, no matter whether you’re into kitchen witchery or not, these little guys are a very useful addition to your store of magical ingredients.
Recently, we had a tiny burst of warm weather (by which I mean an extremely unseasonable 76° F/24° C). It was nice! Also very concerning, but nice!
This little bit of heat seems to have kicked the yard into overdrive — while the bigger plants haven’t started leafing out yet, we’ve had a lot of spring ephemerals suddenly make an appearance. Following the grassassination, most of our ground covers are various types of chickweed and violet while the moss phlox and other guys establish themselves. Right now, we’ve got lesser chickweed (Stellaria apetala) and regular chickweed (Stellaria media).
Photo of Stellaria media by kokokara on Pexels.com. If you look closely, you can see the row of tiny white hairs.
While neither of these species are native (lesser chickweed is European, while regular chickweed hails from Eurasia), they’re still a valuable herb in early spring. They’re full of minerals and vitamin C, and one of the first edible springtime greens to appear. It isn’t a good idea to eat a ton of them — not raw, anyway — but they provide nutrients that are often in short supply for winter foragers.
So, with that in mind, I figured I’d take a look at the various folklore and magical uses for these humble little groundcover plants.
Chickweed Magical Properties and Folklore
Chickweed has a few poisonous lookalikes, but is also pretty easy to identify. Two of its unique characteristics are the presents of a row of white hairs (like a cock’s comb) and a firm, green stem-inside-a-stem. Pull a chickweed’s stem apart, and you’ll uncover a green “chicken bone!”
When I say that chickweed is high in vitamin C, I really mean it — sailors used chickweed steeped in vinegar to prevent scurvy during times when citrus fruits weren’t available.
Chickweed is associated with love and fidelity. This idea may stem (no pun intended) from its growth habit. Chickweed grows in groups, with spreading tendrils reaching out from the center. It’s a powerful visual metaphor for the importance of community, as each chickweed stem grows out from this connected center in order to reach its full potential.
This plant is also very tenacious. It’s hard to get rid of, and often springs right back up after being cut or pulled out. While chickweed favors moist soil with a good pH and abundant nutrients, you can also find it growing in cracks in sidewalks. This makes it useful for situations that you want to exhibit this same resilience — for example, a long-term relationship.
Some green magic practitioners also associate this plant with abundance. It produces a lot of very long-lived seeds, which connect it to fertility and prosperity.
The name “chickweed” comes from chicken and weed. Since these plants are pretty nutrient-dense and come up in early spring, they’re eagerly fed on by poultry and are particularly good for growing chicks.
Using Chickweed
Chickweed is very easy to find. Look for moist (but not soggy) soil, in early spring, just about anywhere and you can probably pick some. It’s stubborn, it’s prolific, and it’s not super fussy. Use a good plant identification app and research chickweed’s poisonous lookalikes, or, even better, go with a seasoned forager who can show you what to look for.
Once you have your chickweed, you can use it fresh or dried. Dried, it mixes well with jasmine, rose petals, lavender, and other love-drawing ingredients. Blend these dried herbs together with equal parts Epsom and sea salts, add a few drops of patchouli and rose oil, and use the resulting mixture for a love-drawing bath.
To attract a partner, wear a sprig of chickweed. These unassuming greens can be easily tucked into a boutonniere, vase necklace, flower crown, hairclip, or fascinator without too much trouble. As with the bath salt recipe above, combine them with other love-drawing plants for best effect.
To ensure the fidelity of a partner, it’s said that you should feed them chickweed. (If you do this, you should probably ensure that you have their consent, and that you’ve properly identified your chickweed or purchased it from a reputable source. Otherwise, you’re going to end up with an angry and/or poisoned partner.) Caraway seeds are used in a similar fashion.
If you have access to a yard, or even just an open field, you most likely have access to chickweed. This plant is subtle, but powerful. Whether you choose to use it as food, medicine, or a magical ingredient, this tenacious little herb can be a great friend to make.
I’m not a fan of fake greenery. While it can definitely amp up a room’s decor when it’s judiciously combined with real plants, I always end up forgetting to maintain it until it’s faded, dusty, and doing the exact opposite of helping things look fresh and natural. Blegh.
Anyway, when it comes to decorating for Yule, my Handsome Assistant and I go for fresh greens. There’s a florist nearby who sells trimmed branches of various evergreens pretty cheaply. Combine a few of them with some wired ribbon, and you can make a very pretty swag or garland without spending much money at all.
This year, we picked up the cutest little potted Alberta spruce tree. We’re keeping it indoors until spring, at which point I’m going to repot it and set it outdoors. Next winter, it’ll probably still be small enough to fit in the living room and be next Yule’s tree, too. Once it’s outgrown its pot, we’ll plant it in the front yard.
We also picked up some trimmed branches from an incense cedar tree (Calocedrus decurrens), which I used to decorate table tops and the top of our curiosity cabinet.
Since we’ve been taking down our Yule decorations and cleaning up the shed bits of greenery, I thought now might be a good time to look into the folk tales and magical associations of cedar trees.
Cedar Magical Uses and Folklore
First things first: “Cedar” isn’t a very exact term. True cedars are chiefly found in the Mediterranean, but there are also quite a few unrelated American species referred to as “cedar.” True cedars have needles, while American species have flat leaves, like scales, that form delicate fernlike or fingerlike structures (as seen in the photo above). There are only four species of “true” cedar: cedar of Lebanon (Cedrus libani), Atlas cedar (C. atlantica), Cyprus cedar (C. brevifolia), and deodar cedar (C. deodara). American cedar species are actually members of the cypress family, Cupressaceae!
Photo by Feyza Dau015ftan on Pexels.com, showing the needles of a “true cedar.”
American cedars are culturally significant to the people indigenous to the trees’ native ranges. Indigenous people used (and continue to use) cedar as a sacred incense and purifying herb. Cedar trunks were used to make boats, the branches were used to filter sand from water and when leaching acorns for acorn flour, and the fibrous roots are still used to make beautiful baskets.
Cedar smoke was also used to prevent illness, which mirrors the old Scottish practice of fumigating one’s home with juniper for the same purpose. This is particularly interesting since the eastern red cedar, Juniperus virginiana, is actually a juniper. Junipers are also members of the cypress family, like other American cedars are.
Many Salish groups had special rituals for the felling of cedar trees. These trees are considered symbols of providence, abundance, and generosity.
A Mi’kmaq tale warns you to be careful what you wish for. A man went to the legendary Glooskap and asked if it was true that Glooskap gave people whatever they asked him for. Glooskap demurred, saying that he couldn’t always answer people’s requests, but he helped however he could. The man asked Glooskap for immortality, but he refused — all things must die. Once everything has died, even Death would probably die. Disappointed, the man asked to live longer than any man has ever lived. In return, Glooskap turned the man into a tall cedar tree.
A Potawatomi tale tells of a group of men who visited the Sun to ask for help. One desired to see the future, two desired immortality, another desired a blessing associated with water, and yet another had gone along just to help the others. The man who wished to see the future was set down in the west, where the Sun goes to end the day. One of the men who wanted to be immortal became a boulder. The man who wanted a water blessing became a half-man, half-fish. The other man who wished for immortality became a cedar tree. This is how people received the stones and cedar used in sweat lodge ceremonies.
In Judeo-Christian stories, cedar represents protection and strength. Its wood was used to build Solomon’s temple. According to Medieval Christian tradition, the cross used during the crucifixion was made of cedar. For this reason, it was considered bad luck to burn cedar wood. Planting a cedar in your yard was also believed to bring misfortune and poverty, but a cedar growing naturally was considered fortunate.
In Irish folklore, cedars were associated with strength and durability. Their wood is extremely rot-resistant, and the trees live for a very long time.
Like a lot of othermagicalingredients used for protection and banishing, all types of cedar repel pests. The aromatic compounds in their essential oils are a deterrent for moths and all kinds of biting insects. All around the world, there’s a very strong connection between “plants that keep bugs out” and “plants that keep evil away.”
Depending on your needs, you may or may not be able to substitute juniper-family cedars for “true” cedars. There is quite a bit of overlap, however — no matter which species you’re working with, these trees are connected to purification, protection, longevity, and strength.
Since we’re talking about some very distinct groups of trees that use the same common name, I won’t go into cedar’s medicinal properties here. This underlines the importance of using standardized nomenclature — each of these species has its own bouquet of medicinal compounds (and some potentially dangerous ones, like thujone), so it’s important to know exactly what you’re using. Never go by a plant’s common name when you’re looking for medicinal ingredients, because there’s a ton of common name overlap between completely unrelated species.
Using Cedar
The most important thing to recognize when working with cedar is that this is a plant that should be respected. The famous cedars of Lebanon (Cedrus libani) were highly regarded — the oldest among them were considered sacred, and anyone who harmed them would be overtaken by misfortune. In the Potawatomi tale above, the man who became a cedar says that one should “call the cedar tree your nephew when you speak of it.” Folklore all around the world warns against cutting down a cedar without performing the proper ceremonies.
With that in mind, there are multiple ways to work with cedar. Cedar essential oil is frequently used in magical aromatherapy (though a little bit goes a very long way). Cedar twigs can be burned as incense and used in smoke cleaning. Since the wood and needles are so strongly aromatic, you can also infuse them in oil.
Dried conifers are easy to crumble, so they’re an easy ingredient to include in magical powders or incenses. Grind dried cedar leaves fine and sprinkle the powder in the corner of your rooms or around the border of your property while asking for protection against malevolent forces.
If you or anyone in your household has been sick. use cedar smoke to drive the illness out. Give the sickroom (in modern homes, the sick person’s bedroom and bathroom) a thorough physical cleaning, air it out well, and fumigate it with cedar smoke.
Right now, I have some dried cedar branches waiting to be used. These didn’t require a tree to be felled — instead, they’re trimmings. My plan right now is to grind the leaves fine, mix them with a binder, and form them into incense cones. The branches have blessed and protected my home when they were fresh, and they can continue to do so once they’re processed into incense.
I love the warm, earthy, spicy smell of cedar. In my tradition, it’s connected to the sun and the element of Fire. During these dark, cold months, inviting the power of cedar into your home can bring some much-needed heat, light, cleanliness, and protection.
If you’ve followed me on Instagram, you probably know that I’ve had a shaved head for years at this point. A few months back, I decided to experiment with letting some of my hair regrow. This was mainly a test to see how much of my particular case of trichotillomania is an ingrained habit, versus a deeper issue. Half of my head is currently almost shoulder-length, while the other half is still shaved.
Recently, this all got me thinking — out of all of the things I’ve tried to beat this, which ones actually seemed to help? Trichotillomania is commonly regarded as a kind of obsessive-compulsive disorder. Believe it or not, pulling out the “right” hairs (usually ones that are of a different texture than the others) can give a dopamine rush, while failing to do so can cause feelings of anxiety and an intense compulsion to find and pull the offending hair. It’s not the kind of thing you can sort out just by switching shampoos.
With that said, here are the things I tried… and how well they measured up against my apparent desire to destroy my own head:
1. Tea tree shampoos and conditioners
These feel nice. They’re supposed to help with itching and give the scalp a cooled, refreshed feeling. This is all very temporary, however. A couple of hours after a wash and condition, the desire to pull is back.
2/10
2. Fidget toys and objects that mimic hair pulling
These might work for some, but they didn’t really do it for me. The problem here is that the feeling of needing to pluck my hair doesn’t really feel like it originates in my hands, so keeping them busy doesn’t get rid of the tickle in my scalp or the feeling that there’s a weird hair I need to get rid of.
A lot of the objects geared toward people with trichotillomania also aren’t refillable. You could end up going through multiple vinyl plucking toys per week, and what do you do with all of them afterward?
Fidget objects that mimic hair pulling or skin picking are also somewhat controversial. For some people, they can help redirect the behavior to an object. For others, they may just reinforce the undesirable picking/plucking.
1/10
3. Smoothing hair products
Ugh, no.
My thought was that, since the desire to pluck starts as a subtle tickling sensation on my scalp, which progresses to me finding a hair that’s grown in with an odd texture, smoothing products would help. This was not the case. In fact, they either didn’t make any difference at all, or made my hair feel oilier and itchier. No. No, thank you.
0/10
4. Essential oils
Like the tea tree oil shampoos and conditioners, these helped for brief periods. The oils I used were chiefly rosemary and cedar, both credited with helping to regrow hair and improve hair and scalp health in general. They smelled nice. They felt nice. They made my scalp feel better, but they didn’t last very long.
4/10
5. Head massagers
These things look a bit like metal spiders with a wooden handle. You hold the handle and use the spidery bit to massage your scalp. They feel nice, they help temporarily increase blood flow to that area, but they don’t really get rid of the urge to pull.
These are often either witch hazel based, or castor oil based. You find castor oil in formulas to moisturize the scalp and promote hair growth and witch hazel in ones for scalp health. Like other topical treatments mentioned here, these serums seemed to fall into one of two camps. They either 1) felt soothing for a couple of minutes, or 2) just made me feel stickier/greasier and itchier. The cooling sensation of some non-oil-based serums did seem to make a difference, but they needed to be reapplied frequently. The oil-based serums did seem to help regrow hair, but they were also a lot heavier. but weren’t soothing.
5/10
7. Gloves
Like a parent trying to keep a kid with chicken pox from scratching, I tried sticking gloves on my hands. “Maybe,” I thought, “if I just make my hands worse at pulling my hair, I’ll eventually stop.”
The trouble is that the things that it harder to pull at my hair also made it harder to do absolutely everything else. There was zero incentive to keep gloves on, and very easy to forget them somewhere after cooking, washing up, etc. While this solution might work for kids, or people who don’t need to perform a lot of hands-on tasks, it didn’t for me.
3/10
8. Self-hypnosis
People have used self-hypnosis to help with all kinds of addictions and bad habits in the past, so why not this? I mean, I have a vivid memory of being a tiny child, sitting on the couch while my mother watched a self-hypnosis video to quit smoking. (It didn’t work and I felt like I was in a Twilight Zone episode, but I still figured this was worth a shot.)
It didn’t work, and I felt like I was in a Twilight Zone episode. Other people have used self-hypnosis with success, but it definitely fell short for me here.
1/10
9. Anxiety medication
OCD is connected to anxiety, so anxiety medication is sometimes used to help relieve the negative feelings connected to the obsessive-compulsive behavior. Unfortunately, trichotillomania is notoriously difficult to medicate. While anxiety medication did help tremendously when it came to controlling my panic disorder, it didn’t really do much for the hair pulling.
3/10
10. Cognitive behavioral therapy
I’ve written before about how CBT was less than helpful for me. In this case, it failed at lessening my trichotillomania because it relies on reasoning. You can’t reason yourself out of something you didn’t reason yourself into.
While it might help some people deal with feelings of anxiety and shame surrounding the behavior or the effect that it has on their appearance, it didn’t seem to touch the root cause of trichotillomania itself.
What if the weird hairs and tickly feeling of needing to pull were the symptoms of some kind of weird deficiency? What if I just wasn’t growing healthy hair, and my scalp was irritated because of it? What if I just straight-up ran out of other things to try?
So, I tested out multiple brands of “hair vitamin.” These are multivitamin and mineral supplements that focus primarily on hair and skin health. If you aren’t experiencing a deficiency in any of the vitamins and minerals in them, however, they’re primarily a fast way to give yourself nausea and neon yellow urine. They did not, unfortunately, help suppress the urge to pick at my hair.
1/10
11. Shaving it off and letting it grow back
It takes a while to break a habit. I figured that, if I couldn’t suppress the desire to pull, I could get rid of my hair. Without weird hairs to pull out and reinforce the behavior (and addiction dynamic), maybe my brain could sort itself out.
However, keeping my hair short and unpluckable did give my scalp a chance to recover, and that’s important.
5/10
12. Shaving it off, but strategically
Since shaving it completely and letting it grow back didn’t work the way I wanted to, I hit upon another potential solution: What if I just shaved the areas that I plucked the most? I wouldn’t have to commit to a full buzzcut if I didn’t want to, but I still wouldn’t be able to pull at the areas that I used the most.
Lo and behold, this finally seemed to work. Right now, I’ve got hair down to my shoulder on one side, and a full shave on the other. I make it work.
This might not be a great option for people who chiefly pluck from the crowns of their heads, but can definitely be a useful tool for those who pluck from the sides or bottom. For me, it’s been working very well.
9/10
Trichotillomania sucks, to be blunt. It’s hard to treat and can be a source of deep shame (particularly for women from cultures who highly value hair). It’s also not good for you, since it can damage your scalp and eventually cause your hair to stop growing back. There are a lot of options out there to help with the symptoms, but almost no effective permanent solutions. This is what worked and didn’t work for me, but you may find that your results are different. The important thing to remember here is that your hair doesn’t determine your worth as a person — whatever helps you live without anxiety, shame, and physical pain is worth pursuing, even if it isn’t a perfect solution to trichotillomania.
Hello! I haven’t been around for like two weeks. Originally, I did plan to take a couple of days off for Yule, however one of my household’s Yuletide gifts was a hugely upgraded blender.
(To be fair, our bar for a blender upgrade was not high. The one we were using before cost, I think, six dollars at a thrift store. We used that thing until it flat out refused to be used anymore.)
Anyhow, long story short, fancy blenders do not always fit together the way that I assumed they would. They’re also way sharper than my old one. Yadda yadda yadda, the middle felt out, hit the side of my hand on the way down, and it took so many Steri-Strips to put everything back together. I’m talking a solid half-inch thick flap of hand meat. Enough blood for an axe murder. Half a box of strips. Most of a tube of some kind of fish glue that I’m told is supposed to seal cuts closed.
A reenactment.
Anyhow, typing was problematic, so I took a little bit longer. I don’t generally keep a big bank of posts to drop automatically, hence there being no content for a little bit. C’est la guerre.
This seemed like a good time to talk about healing chants. I find these really interesting — they’re not quite sympathetic magic, since they’re just spoken words, but they do remind me a lot of certain forms of weather magic. In those, you pretty much go outside, pour water on the ground, and tell the sky to get its act together because it’s not like raining is difficult. Healing chants are essentially an instruction, telling bones to knit together, wounds to close, and blood to clot.
You can see this in the following healing chant, excerpted from Joanna van der Hoeven‘s The Book of Hedge Druidry (Spell for healing, page 274-275):
Bone to bone,
Flesh to flesh,
Sinew to sinew,
Vein to vein;
As Brighid healed that
May I heal this
This is far from a modern invention. The second Merseburg charm goes as follows:
Phol ende uuodan uuorun zi holza. du uuart demo balderes uolon sin uuoz birenkit. thu biguol en sinthgunt, sunna era suister; thu biguol en friia, uolla era suister; thu biguol en uuodan, so he uuola conda: sose benrenki, sose bluotrenki, sose lidirenki: ben zi bena, bluot zi bluoda, lid zi geliden, sose gelimida sin
“[B]en zi bena, bluot zi bluoda, lid zi geliden, sose gelimida sin” translates to “Bone to bone, blood to blood, joints to joints, so may they be glued.”
Similar healing spells are used to cast out “worms” (which may be literal parasites or maggots, or a way of conceptualizing infection in general). These use a similar “flesh to flesh, bone to bone, blood to blood” formula as the chants above, with the added step of sending the infection or infestation into an object — perhaps back into the object from which the wound and infection originated.
Interestingly, these chants are often called “horse charms.” Even the Merseburg charm above relates a story of how Uuodan (Odin), Sinthgunt, and Friia (Frigg) healed Phol’s (Balder’s) horse’s sprained foot. Of the surviving examples of these chants and charms, a disproportionate number of them seem to be for healing leg and hoof ailments in horses and sheep. (Charms for fixing blender accidents are conspicuously absent.)
Four of these have to support an animal between 900 to 1400 pounds. It is not super surprising that there are a lot of charms for fixing horse problems. Even wild horses aren’t immune to issues — the life expectancy of a wild horse is, on the high end, about half that of a domestic one.
This form of charm isn’t exclusive to Europe, either. The Wikipedia article above cites an example from the Atharvaveda, hymn IV, that follows a similar construction:
This charm is especially fascinating to me, because it means one of two things are true: Either this and the “horse charms” of Europe have a common, incredibly ancient root, or they’re an example of convergent cultural evolution. I’m inclined to believe it’s the former, but the latter would be really cool. I always get such a wonderful sense of eerie mystery when things like that happen, whether it’s culturally (everyone has some kind of bread) or physically (flight has evolved multiple times in unrelated organisms and nature tries to turn everything into crabs). It’s neat. It’s a little spooky. I love it.
Long story short, after a lot of Steri-Strips, gauze, fish glue, multiple recitations of a chant primarily intended to fix horses, and some healing time, my hand is operational again and normal content should resume next week unless I, I don’t know, get my head caught in the stand mixer or light my pants on fire again.
This is why my Handsome Assistant does the dishes, though. I can’t be trusted.
Marble Crow 