Witchcraft

The Wheel of the Moon

I’ve mentioned before that I’m a big fan of the Wheel of Life exercise. I was introduced to it by my psychologist, and I found that it was a) really helpful and b) fun. I like lists. I like charts. I like ways to visualize data, and that’s pretty much exactly what this exercise does. It’s also really flexible and customizable.

This last bit is why I’ve made it part of my full moon observations. I light a candle (a handmade full moon candle from the wonderful 13 Magickal Moons in Occoquan, VA) and some incense. I draw the wheel. I section it off and label it however is most fitting. I make the assessments, I draw the lines, and I compare the shape with the shape of the previous month.

The full moon rising behind some pines.

It’s a meditative exercise that helps me to acknowledge the changes I’ve made from month to month, because I can see them right in front of me. It highlights areas that need help, so I can use the power of the full moon to change them. By doing the wheel monthly, instead of every few months, it makes it easier for me to make incremental changes (and keep tabs on things like The Ennui).

It’s also useful for relating to the cycle of the moon. Even at the height of its power, the full moon heralds its own decrease. By that same token, the waning moon promises future growth. Looking at the Wheel of Life shows what has grown, what hasn’t, and, if need be, what should be pruned.

Below is a simple ritual outline that just about anyone can use to help better their physical and mental health, improve their relationships, and generally pull off a whole-life glow up.

You will need:

  • A pen or pencil.
  • A piece of paper with a circle drawn on it.
  • A candle, preferably in white or silver.
  • Incense. Ethically harvested sandalwood, myrrh, white rose, bay leaf, or lemon balm work well here.
  • If this isn’t your first time performing the ritual, you may also want to have a fireproof bowl.

First, consider the areas of your life that you wish to focus on. This could be your physical health, mental health, physical environment, friendships, family, love life, career, spirituality, creativity, or anything else you desire. Count up how many areas you want to work on, and divide the circle up into that many sections — like a pie chart. Alternatively, you can use an online Wheel of Life creator.

Think of each area carefully. If you had to rate that area of your life from 1 to 10, what would you rate it? Pretend the center of the circle is zero, and the very edge of each slice is 10. Draw a dot roughly corresponding to the numerical rating you choose for each section. Connect these dots with lines, and you should have a kind of asymmetrical star shape.

Here’s an example from Wheeloflife.io’s generator.

This is your Wheel of Life. It’s a visual representation of how you feel about things right now. Look at the areas where the shape is most lopsided — this is where you feel your life needs the most help at this moment. For example, if you rated “family relationships” at a 7, and “career” at a 3, “career” would be the area to focus on.

Now, light the candle and the incense. If you can, place the Wheel of Life in a spot where the full moon’s light can fall on it. If not, observe it under the candle’s glow.

White candles, burning.

Say,

“See the moon’s glow, charging the Wheel.
My life is unfolding, with each turn I feel.
Full moon energy, guide me this night.
Transform me, renew me,
With your radiant light.”

As you meditate on your Wheel, consider what changes you can make to the areas of your life that need the most help. What can you do within the next week? The next two or three weeks? The next month?

Come up with three simple actions you can do over the next week. They can follow the energy of the waning moon, but they don’t necessarily have to.

Come up with three more that you can do over the next two to three weeks.

Finish by coming up with three more that you can complete by the next full moon.

Save this Wheel. Place it somewhere where you’ll see it often. Refer to it as many times as you need to in order to keep yourself motivated and on track.

(If you like, you can turn your actions into statements of intent, and use your preferred method to further empower them. Turn them into sigils, shorten them to symbols and inscribe them on candles, and so forth.)

If this isn’t your first time performing this ritual, then take out the last full moon’s Wheel.

Take a moment to compare this full moon’s Wheel to the last one. What progress have you made? What seeds have you sown, and what have you reaped? Give thanks for any advancements you’ve made, no matter how small.

A crackled clay firebowl filled with burning herbs. A small pile of herbs sits in the foreground.

If you wish, you can light the last full moon’s Wheel in the candle’s flame and drop it into the fireproof bowl. Scatter the ashes on the wind.

Plants and Herbs

Grape Folklore & Magical Properties

It’s the most wonderful time, of the year.

Okay, so.
There’s a new fruit quest. (If you have been reading here for a while, you might be familiar with the persimmon quest that I force my Handsome Assistant to accompany me on every year.)

A year ago, I tried my first muscadine. It was almost the size of a wild plum, the deep purple of a cloudless night sky, with firm flesh that tasted like a combination of grape jelly and extremely good wine. It was sweet and juicy, in perfect, balanced contrast to the firm, tart, slightly tannin-y skin. I could probably wax rhapsodic about muscadines and scuppernongs for way longer than anyone would be comfortable with.

Muscadines ripening on the vine.

Anyhow, I saw them pop up at the farmer’s market at about $13 a container and was sad to pass them up. Immediately after that, I saw them at Aldi for about $3.69. (Nice.)

Normally, I’d advocate for buying from farmer’s markets versus a supermarket whenever you’re able to. The thing about muscadines is that their range is very limited, so even the grocery store variety has traveled, at max, a few states away. They’re also seasonal, so they’ll disappear from the shelves as soon as their time is up.

This is why the other evening saw me leaving Aldi with arms full of containers of muscadines and scuppernongs (they’re the same species, but scuppernong is usually used for muscadine grapes that are kind of a light bronzy-green in color). I was also quietly singing a little song about how excited I was to have tasty grapes, and possibly skipping. (I am fortunate that my Handsome Assistant seems to find my goofball-ass qualities endearing.)

So, since it’s muscadine season, I figured I’d write a bit about grapes. Muscadines (Vitis rotundifolia) are strictly an American fruit, so they’re another plant you won’t find in old grimoires or European mythology, but that’s okay! They’re a kind of grape (Vitis species), and grapes in general have had a prominent place in myth and magic everywhere they appear.

Grapes figure heavily in Greek and Roman legend. According to the Greeks, the first grapevine came from a satyr named Ampelos. He caught Dionysus’ eye, and the deity romantically pursued him… at least, until Ampelos mocked the Moon Goddess Selene and got himself gored by a bull. Heartbroken, Dionysus transformed Ampelos’ body into the first grapevine.

(According to Ovid, things panned out a bit differently. In this version, grapes already existed, Ampelos fell while picking them, died, and Dionysus transformed him into a constellation.)

In Christian mythology, grapes are associated with abundance. Moses sent spies into Canaan (the “promised land”), who then returned with a cluster of grapes so large, it required two people to lift it.

On the other hand, some scholars claim that the “forbidden fruit” of the Garden of Eden was also a grape, not an apple as it’s commonly portrayed. Other scholars claim it may even have been wheat, so who knows.

Two bunches of grapes. They're a mixture of ripe and unripe fruits, showing shades of deep blue, to purple, to bright green.

In the ogham alphabet, muin, is often said to be a grape vine. However, grapes aren’t native to Ireland (they showed up with the Romans), and tend not to grow well there anyhow. Grapes also don’t really appear in Celtic legends with significance. Etymologically, connecting muin to the word “vine” is also tricky. For this reason, you’ll find a lot of debate about the actual meaning of this fid, as well as what plant it was even meant to represent in the first place. (Probably originally thorny brambles, like blackberries, though this meaning may have shifted over time.)

Grapes and wine are also generally good offerings for a wide variety of spirits and deities.

Vines, in general, are associated with binding. This isn’t necessarily binding in a negative or protective sense — binding can also be used to hold a favorable situation to you.

Elementally, grapes are associated with Earth and Water. They’re also associated with the Moon.

They’re…
They’re grapes.

All kidding aside, grapes are possibly one of the easiest magical plants to use. Eat, brew, or cook with them while visualizing yourself as prosperous and happy.

If you have the space and ability to do it, plant a grape vine in your yard to bring abundance to your home. (This may work even better than intended. Birds love grapes as a source of both energy and water, and tend to excrete more seeds when they hang out to feed. This is how I ended up with free, thriving tomato and mulberry plants, and possibly even the pumpkin vine. Free food!)

Grape vines make fantastic bases for wreaths. I’d like to devote a longer post to making and empowering magical wreaths, but, in short, take a grapevine wreath, add whatever other magical dried plants or curios you like, and hang it where it’ll do the most good. A protective wreath on the front door, for example, one for prosperity in the kitchen, or one for passion or fertility in the bedroom.

Though it also isn’t one of their traditional meanings, I also associate grapes with protection. Dark grapes make red wine, the color of courage, strength, vitality, and protection. The leaves themselves are covered in trichomes, which are small, pointy, hairlike structures. Covering the floor around your bed with grape leaves is said to be a folk remedy to control and protect against crawling pests like bedbugs.

Whether you’re like me (and do a goofy little happy dance when you’ve gotten special grapes) or your feelings about the fruit are more ambivalent, grapes are worth considering for your magical practice. They’re sweet, tasty, easy to use, and pretty straightforward in their properties and associations.

Plants and Herbs

I decided to eat the anise hyssop (and here’s a really tasty recipe).

Not too long ago, I wrote a bit about the magical properties of hyssop. The thing that prompted me to do this was the ludicrous abundance of anise hyssop blooms (and also bees, moths, and butterflies) in the little pollinator garden in the front yard.

Anise hyssop and regular hyssop aren’t related, though. Anise hyssop, also called anise mint, is a member of the mint family. It’s called “anise hyssop” because the leaves and flowers have an anise-like scent and flavor — though I think it’s more reminiscent of root beer!

Anyhow, since some of the anise hyssop was getting tall enough to block the coreopsis and beautyberry, I figured I’d go harvest some. Sickle in hand, I shooed the bees to the other anise hyssop plants and got cutting. I also cut a few lavender flowers that were growing at odd angles.

From there, I separated the good leaves from the wilted or damaged ones, and removed the flower heads. I gave everything a good wash, then boiled it in equal parts sugar and water to make a lovely, herb-infused simple syrup.

A bowl of small, bright purple flowers and green leaves soaking in water.

Once the syrup was made, I strained out the plant matter and spread it on a bit of parchment paper in my dehydrator. After an hour and a half at 165 degrees F, once everything was dried to a crisp, I was left with some lovely candied flowers that do, in fact, taste exactly like root beer.

Anise hyssop is used as a carminative and expectorant, and is very soothing. I don’t really need an expectorant right now, but I plan to use the flowers and syrup to ease digestive complaints. The only thing is, I don’t really need that much. So what do I do when I’ve got way more delicious candied flowers than I need?

I make scones.

These are easy, nut-, egg-, and dairy-free, and delicious. They only require one bowl and about half an hour of your time.

Dry Ingredients:

  • 2 cups of flour (I used einkorn, but regular wheat flour is fine)
  • 1/2 cup sugar
  • 1 tablespoon flaxseed meal
  • 2 teaspoons baking powder
  • 1/2 cup cold vegan butter or coconut oil
  • 1 handful fresh anise hyssop flowers
  • 1 generous cup of blackberries (depending on their size, you may want to cut them into smaller pieces)

Wet ingredients:

  • 1/2 cup milk substitute of your choice (I used pea milk)
  • 1 teaspoon of vanilla extract

Tools:

  • A nice big mixing bowl
  • A spoon
  • A whisk or fork
  • A pastry cutter or fork (optional)
  • Measuring cups and spoons
  • A baking sheet
  • A sharp knife

Making the Scones

  1. Preheat your oven to 400 degrees F.
  2. Place the sugar and fresh anise hyssop flowers in your mixing bowl.
  3. Rub them together with your hands, until the flowers are mashed with the sugar and the mixture resembles moist sand.
  4. Add the flour, flaxseed meal, and baking powder. Whisk together until well mixed.
  5. Add the cold butter substitute or coconut oil. (You might want to do this in cubes or spoonfuls, it’ll make the next bit easier.) Use a fork, pastry cutter, or just your hands to work the fat into the dry ingredients. Keep at it until the mixture looks like coarse crumbs.
  6. Measure out a half cup of milk substitute. Add the vanilla extract to the milk and stir.
  7. Pour your milk into the mixing bowl. Stir until it’s just combined — avoid over stirring. If it seems too dry to hold together, add another tablespoon or two of milk.
  8. Fold in your blackberries.
  9. With floured hands, lightly knead the dough until it all comes together. Visualize yourself kneading health, love, and prosperity into the dough.
  10. Turn the dough out onto a floured surface. Form it into a ball, and pat it out into a flat circle roughly an inch thick.
  11. Slice it into triangles. If you like, you can use a toothpick or the tip of a knife to carve the tops with runes, sigils, ogham feda, or other symbols significant to you.
  12. Place the triangles on a baking sheet. Bake for about 25 minutes, or until they’re golden brown.
Unbaked blackberry scone dough, formed into a circle, cut into triangles, and inscribed with the runes jera, sowilo, teiwaz, uruz, algiz, and laguz.

Making Them Extra Fancy

If you like, you can also ice your scones. Mix up a cup of confectioner’s sugar, two tablespoons of milk substitute, and, if you like, some finely crumbled candied anise hyssop leaves and flowers. Stir well until the mixture is smooth and liquid. If it seems too thick, add some more milk substitute. If it’s too thin, add more sugar.

Once your scones are cool (give them about 20 minutes), drizzle the icing on with a spoon. Give the icing a few minutes to harden, then serve.

A baked scone, inscribed with the rune uruz and covered with a sweet glaze.
crystals

Selenite vs. Satin Spar: What’s the difference, and does it matter?

Oh, gypsum. You’re fertilizer, walls are made of you, you make tofu tofu, and you’re also some of the most coveted minerals on the crystal market.

If you like collecting or working with crystals, you’ve almost definitely seen it. It’s usually marketed as selenite (though it also frequently appears in flowerlike forms called desert roses).

There’s only one problem — like olive oil, wasabi, and citrine crystals, the selenite you know and love may not actually be selenite at all. This is another situation where mineral names and trade names collide, like you see with white turquoise.

Selenite is a very common name for gypsum in the crystal trade. It’s usually used to describe the fibrous, silky, silvery-looking form of gypsum sold as rough wands, polished wands, palm stones, or heart shapes. These stones have a silvery sheen and a decidedly lunar feel, so the name selenite makes sense, right?

Unfortunately, it’s a bit more complicated than that.

Okay, so. Selenite and satin spar are both the same mineral: gypsum. Gypsum is a variety of calcium sulfate, so it’s pretty common. There’s a good chance you live in it, and an even better one that you’ve eaten it before. No big deal.

The difference between selenite and satin spar lies entirely in how they form.

A hand holding a thin satin spar wand. The satin spar is slightly translucent and exhibits a silvery-white color overall.
A “selenite wand” (that’s actually satin spar), showing satin spar’s characteristic fibrous, satiny appearance.

Satin spar forms as thin, fibrous crystals. If you’ve ever seen it crumble (which isn’t uncommon to observe — gypsum is soft), you might have noticed that the remnants look more like small splinters. This gives this mineral a silky, translucent appearance with a silvery sheen. It usually exhibits chatoyancy, or a “cat’s eye” effect. Because of how it forms, this is the mineral that you usually see sold as “selenite wands,” palm stones, or charging bowls.

A roughly rectangular selenite plate balanced on a hand. The hand is visible through the selenite, save for a few areas where healed fractures or inclusions give the stone a slightly cloudy appearance.
A selenite plate, displaying its transparency.

Actual selenite forms as sheets. It’s usually transparent and colorless, though it may have impurities that give it a cloudy appearance. It’s much rarer than satin spar and is usually sold as flat specimens. The way it fractures means that it isn’t a good choice for carving into wands. Its unique crystal form is best exhibited as-is, though you may see it sold as charging plates.

Nope. The chemical composition, hardness, solubility, and everything else is completely the same. The only differences are clarity, fracture planes, and formation.

Satin spar and selenite are used identically. They’re both considered very high-energy crystals that are used to cleanse rooms, people, and objects, or even cleanse and charge other crystals. If you have a selenite that you’ve suddenly realized is actually satin spar, that’s okay. There’s virtually no metaphysical difference between the two.

If you work with crystals in a magical or metaphysical sense, then no. The usage, properties, and care instructions for satin spar and selenite are exactly the same.

If you collect minerals or have some specimens that you plan to sell to gem collectors, then yes. Selenite is rarer than satin spar. It forms and looks differently. If you have satin spar in your collection, and you want to find a piece of actual selenite, you’d be pretty disappointed to find that all of the “selenite” on the market is just more satin spar!

I’m all for accuracy, so I prefer to call selenite selenite, and satin spar satin spar. However, I also get that “selenite” has been a trade name for satin spar for a long time now, and me taking a pedantic stand isn’t likely to change that.

Like I said, it might be a good idea to remember that there is a difference. In magical and metaphysical circles, nobody’s that likely to care much. In gem collecting circles, people are more likely to use the term that’s more technically correct.

If you want to split the difference, you could call satin spar “satin spar selenite.” This isn’t really right, but it probably has the best shot at ensuring that the person you’re talking to knows what you mean.

Or just call them all gypsum and let everyone else figure it out.

Plants and Herbs

Echinacea Folklore and Magical Properties

Echinacea, or coneflower, is a genus of flowering plants found solely in parts of the US. They’re native to where I currently live, so I’ve added several different wild type and nativar plants to the front and back yards here. They’re a unique addition to the landscape, and help bring in even more pollinators than the bee balm and anise hyssop already do!

These flowers are probably best known for their medicinal qualities. The first time I’d ever heard of echinacea was from my father’s former significant other. She had some echinacea tea, and I overheard her talking about how she used it medicinally. (Though they’ve since split up, I’m still friends with her — she went on to become a bodywork therapist who specializes in sound healing and craniosacral therapy, and is one of the founders of the nonprofit Columbia Resilience Integrated Health Community Project. She’s a pretty cool lady.)

Unfortunately, the popularity of echinacea means that wild populations are suffering from overharvesting (two species, E. tennesseensis and E. laevigata, have only recently recovered from being on the endangered species list). If you want to use these plants, it’s best to grow your own. Fortunately, that’s really easy to do — they self-seed super easily and will grow pretty much anywhere there’s sun. They’re also great for helping populations of native pollinators.

Since these are American plants, they’re not found in European-based grimoires. They’re still very valuable to develop a relationship with, even if they don’t show up in old world folk or ceremonial magic.

To the Ute people, echinacea’s traditionally called “elk root” due to the belief that injured elk sought out these plants to use medicinally.

Echinacea roots are used as a physical and spiritual medicine. They’re a traditional healing herb for burns, pain, and inflammation, and some peoples have chewed them as part of their ritual purification ceremonies.

The name “echinacea” comes from the Greek word for hedgehog, “ekhinos.” This is because the center of the flowers is round and spiky, like a hedgehog.

Today, echinacea is often touted as a way to help prevent or eliminate respiratory viruses like the common cold. Research doesn’t really bear out assertions that coneflower can significantly help with the common cold, but there’s evidence to suggest that coneflower’s immune activity may have a lot to do with the bacterial populations within the plant itself. These studies are on isolated cells in vitro, however, not on humans. Overall, it seems like echinacea isn’t really a great remedy for upper respiratory viruses.

Topically, infusions of echinacea are helpful for soothing the skin. Prepare a strong brew of the root (and any other soothing herbs you like, like chamomile or marshmallow), filter out the plant matter, and add the liquid to a bath.

Some green witches use echinacea as a way to increase the power of their spells. It’s best employed when attempting to overcome a problem that doesn’t respond to other measures, but adding a little of the root or seeds to any spell will help increase its effectiveness.

Hanging a sachet of echinacea over the bed is said to act as a fertility charm.

A bright red cultivar of echinacea, showing the characteristic spiky center surrounded by a ring of bright, daisy-like petals.
One of the bright scarlet echinacea cultivars in the front yard. You can see a bit of the mysterious pumpkin vine in the background.

Coneflowers are also associated with strength and vitality. Sprinkling powdered echinacea root in one’s shoes is said to increase physical vitality and endurance. This is particularly interesting to me, since the same is said of mugwort. Both echinacea and mugwort are pretty opportunistic plants that will tolerate poor soils. The plants’ own resilience could be why they’re connected to the idea of endurance and strength.

Some sources also claim that placing a single echinacea flower on one’s brow can enhance psychic abilities. Interestingly, mugwort is also used to enhance psychic abilities.

When cut and kept in a vase, it’s believed to bring prosperity into the home.

The large, brightly colored flowers are frequently used as natural offerings to the spirits of a place.

Coneflowers are also part of an herbal formula to attract same-sex love, particularly by men. Combine deerstongue herb (which has a lovely vanilla aroma), echinacea, and imitation musk, ambergris, and civet.

Echinacea is associated with the planet Mars and element of Earth.

In general, it seems like the flowers are used for offerings and laying on the body, and the roots and seeds are used for everything else. The roots and seeds are also said to have the most magical power. I can definitely see that — seeds, in particular, are symbols of infinite potential. If you want to start something new, include some seeds in your spell.

The easiest way to use echinacea magically is to include a bit of the whole seeds or ground root in sachets, jars, or herbal spell blends. There doesn’t seem to really be a limit to what this plant can empower.

You can also steep some larger bits of root in a carrier oil and use it as a protective or empowering anointing oil.

Personally, I plan to experiment with using echinacea alongside and in place of mugwort. There seems to be a fair amount of crossover in both their ecological and magical uses, though their planetary and astrological correspondences differ. Echinacea is native and grows like nobody’s business here, while mugwort is invasive. I’ll definitely harvest invasive wild populations of mugwort when I have the chance, but I’d like to see how far I can get with the herbs that I grow myself.

Medicinally, echinacea tea may be made from the flowers, leaves, or roots of Echinacea purpurea. This can be taken internally or used topically. Traditionally, it’s a remedy for inflammation and pain. Nowadays, it’s often touted as a treatment or preventative for respiratory viruses, but research shows that it probably isn’t very good at that last bit.

Overall, this herb is pretty safe, but people who are allergic to members of the daisy family will definitely want to avoid it. It isn’t known how safe this is for people who are pregnant or nursing, so ask your doctor if you have any concerns.

divination · Witchcraft

The Whole Show — Combining Divination Methods

I love divination. Back when I’d just started learning, I knew that divination — more than any other magical skill — was something I wanted to become good at. I have different tarot decks that I use for different purposes, oracle decks, Lenormand cards, a set of ogham staves, a set of runes, a scrying bowl, and multiple stones that I use for crystal scrying. There’s just one problem: What do I use?

I used to get tripped by that a lot. Which method was going to be easier? Which was going to be more explicit? Which would be more accurate?

A set of carved wooden runes.

Why not use them all?

At first, I hesitated. Admittedly, some part of me was afraid that reading multiple divination methods would give me answers that were confusing at best, and contradictory at worst. It seemed like an easy way to end up concluding that divination wasn’t telling me anything useful to begin with.

Nonetheless, I pushed on. It had to be worth a try, right? In retrospect, I’m very glad I did.

When I have a very pressing question, I do a lot. I cast a rune and an ogham stave. I read a tarot spread of my own devising. I draw an oracle card. I scry in a stone or bowl. I go outside and see what the birds’re doing and what the trees have to tell me. I drop into a trance and see what bubbles up to the surface.

And every time, it paints a very clear, coherent picture.

Tarot cards on a purple velvet cloth.

Each method has its own use case and emphasis, so how do you put all of that together?

The trickiest part is viewing each method in their own cultural context. Many guides to runes and ogham, for example, have simplified the meanings to the point where they’re very far removed from their original* interpretation.

(* Or allegedly original. There are large gaps in our historic knowledge of how some divination methods were used, which adds to the confusion. One example of this is the ogham forfeda. Is Mor the beech, Scots pine, or the sea?)

The lack of consensus means that it’s not really doable to just jump into multiple different divination methods and combine them immediately. It’s important to work with each one separately, to learn its limitations and develop a kind of personal interpretation of its meaning. This doesn’t mean that you have to reinvent the wheel by discarding all of their conventional interpretations, but I highly recommend keeping a divination record that allows you to look back and see how each reading turned out. This can show you what cards, runes, symbols, and so forth tend to show up for you, and when.

After that, the only question is what order to put everything in. Personally, I enjoy laying out the tarot spread first, then ogham, then runes, and finally an oracle card. Once I have this story before me, I consult nature and, if need be, scry or enter a trance.

Putting the results together is honestly the easiest part. Here’s how things shake out for me:

  • Tarot tends to show me the “why” of a situation — what feelings, mindsets, energies, and hidden facors are bringing something about.
  • If I use Lenormand, it tells me the “what.” While it might seem like that would be extremely useful, I usually skip Lenormand reading. Believe it or not, knowing what happens is usually a lot less important than knowing all of the other stuff. Think of it like being told the future by a genie who’s a bit of a prick — knowing what isn’t as helpful as knowing why, how you’ll feel about it, and what you need to do to.
  • Runes usually highlight the most important connecting concepts that unify the whole for me.
  • Ogham usually tells me what to do or focus on.
  • Oracle cards generally offer reassurance, or a way to look at the bright side and get through a difficult situation.
  • Nature augury tells me if a situation is generally positive or negative. If something very unusual appears to me, it can give more specific information akin to ogham reading.

If this sounds like a lot of work, it certainly can be! It’s also very rewarding, and even a bit thrilling to see everything come together.

If this interests you, but you don’t want to perform it yourself, that’s totally understandable. This is one of several readings I can do for you, if you like. Just check out my shop!

Uncategorized

Wild Bergamot/Bee Balm Folklore and Magical Properties

Monarda species, also known as bee balm, Oswego tea, and wild bergamot, is one of my favorite native flowers. The blooms themselves are striking, the leaves are fragrant, they spread very easily, and they thrive where other plants falter. They’re fantastic additions to permaculture guilds, since they’re good at attracting oft-neglected native US pollinators like the raspberry pyrausta moth. It’s also tolerant of juglone, a natural herbicide produced by black walnut trees.

Bright pink Monarda flowers, growing in a bed of maroon Coreopsis.
Some bright pink Monarda didyma flowers in my garden, planted along with some deep maroon-pink lance leaf Coreopsis.

The name “wild bergamot” is a bit misleading — these plants aren’t related to bergamot at all. Monarda is part of the mint family, while actual bergamot is a citrus fruit. I haven’t been able to find an explanation for why this group of plants is called wild bergamot, so I can only venture that it’s because of the fragrance of the leaves. They’ve a sort of minty-citrusy-herbal scent, very reminiscent of Earl Grey tea.

Wild Bergamot Magical Properties and Folklore

Monarda plants are native to the US and have a very important place in the medicinal lore of indigenous American people. The leaves soothe stomach aches when used internally, treat wounds externally, and ease headaches when used as a poultice. The name “bee balm” comes from the plants ability to calm bee stings.

After the Townshend Revenue Act of 1767, colonist American people began boycotting imported British tea. Instead, Monarda leaves provided a suitable substitute.

Bright pink Monarda flowers, of a cultivar called "Marshall's Delight."

Since Monarda is native to the US, you won’t find it in ancient herb lore or medieval European grimoires. It still has a pretty long history of use as a magical ingredient, however, as people have adapted to using what’s around them over the centuries.

Some magical resources claim that lemon balm and bee balm are synonymous. Though they’re both members of Lamiaceae, the mint family, they aren’t the same plants. Lemon balm is Melissa officinalis, native to Europe, and pretty sedating when drunk as a tea. Bee balms are Monarda species, native to the US, and gently stimulating.

Due to its associations with medicine, it’s considered a healing herb.

Monarda can also be used as a purifying and cleansing herb.

It is generally considered to be ruled by Mercury and the element of Air. Due to these planetary associations, it’s sometimes used in spells for money or success in business/academic endeavors.

Using Wild Bergamot

You’ll be pleased to know that, unlike a lot of the magical herbs I talk about, wild bergamot is edible. The whole thing. Stems, flowers, and leaves. The flowers can be used to add color and interest to salads, and the leaves make a wonderful tea. You can also use the leaves to flavor pork or poultry dishes. If you do want to eat your Monarda leaves, treat them like most other herbs: Harvest the leaves before the plant flowers, when they’re sweeter and more tender. They tend to get a bit tough and bitter after the plant matures and flowers appear.

Personally, I find wild bergamot leaves and flowers to be a very nice addition to drinkable/edible brews. Use it in place of Camellia sinensis leaves as a base for magical teas. Historically, it has been drunk to ease flatulence and as a gentle, general stimulant.

One thing I enjoy doing is making simple sugar cookies and decorating the tops with magical sigils. Candied flowers, chosen for their properties, can both decorate and empower these edible spells.

For purifying, pack some fresh leaves into a large muslin tea bag and place it under your bath faucet. You can also brew Monarda leaves into a tea, strain out the plant matter, add the liquid to a bath, and fully submerge yourself.

To purify spaces or groups of people, bundle fresh Monarda stems together, dip them in salt water, and use them to asperge.

Monarda is known to attract bees, as well as ease their stings. Since it’s connected to Mercury and Air, it’s also used as a success herb. Brew a strong tea from the leaves and use it to wash your front door and steps to attract success to your door like bees to a flower. You can also add this tea to floor washes, if you wish.

A prickly-looking Monarda seed head. Its rounded, comprising many small tubes formed by the base of the flowers.
A Monarda seed head. Each of those little “tubes” houses a single loose seed, which will be picked up by birds or scattered by the wind.

In general, Monarda is a very nice herb that plays well with others. In my experience, it acts as a general attractant — magically drawing in your desires the same way that the flowers call to hummingbirds, moths, and bees. Its flavor and scent are delicious and intriguing without being overpowering, so it’s an excellent addition to brews, kitchen witchery, and spell jars. (Most members of the mint family smell pretty acrid when burned, however, so I’d avoid putting it in incense.)

If you’re in the US, Monarda is a delightful addition to the garden. It’s easy to grow, thrives on neglect, and produces an abundance of seeds and rhizomes. You’ll have plenty to harvest and share, but, unlike non-native mints, it’s not considered invasive.

Plants and Herbs · Witchcraft

Yarrow Folklore and Magical Properties

You know, I never really connected with yarrow. I know it’s kind of a magical herb staple, but I was always more into mugwort and its ilk. For some reason, yarrow just didn’t quite grab me the way that certain other herbs did.

All of that aside, I have lots of it now. When I embarked on my crusade to murder the grass and replace it with useful things (my rules are that they must either feed me or the local fauna, and preferably both), yarrow was a natural fit. It’s a lovely plant that gets tall enough to fill the space in my flower beds, and it’s very aromatic. Working with it in a gardening capacity has given me a new appreciation for it as a magical and medicinal herb, and the bees really seem to enjoy it.

Yarrow Folklore and Magical Uses

Yarrow is one of the oldest medicinal herbs. Like, pre-pre-history old. Archaeologists have identified yarrow among the belongings of a 65,000 year old Neanderthal.

Achillea specimens are found pretty much everywhere, with the exception of Africa and Antarctica. There are Achillea millefolium subspecies found in Europe, Asia, the Arctic, the Himalayas, the Alps, the Carpathians, the western US, Alaska, the US in general, and one particular that’s endemic solely to California. It’s probably not surprising that it’s often considered an aggressive weed, and may be best confined to areas that you either don’t mind having it take over, or allow you to control its spread.

Interestingly, all of these subspecies seem to have different medicinal effects. There’s some overlap, of course, but each subspecies appears to have different ratios of medicinal compounds.

The genus Achillea is named for the Greek hero Achilles. Chiron taught him the plant’s medicinal properties (specifically using it to treat wounds — hence its other common name, woundwort) and carried it into battle. It’s anti-inflammatory and antibacterial, so it’s a good plant to reach for to treat minor cuts, scrapes, and bruises.

White, yellow, and pink yarrow flowers in a green field at sunset.
Chiron was half-man, half-horse, and a great healer. That makes him the Centaur for Disease Control.

This connection with battle may be why yarrow is also used as an herb for courage.

Yarrow is a protective and purifying herb. Like many herbs used to cleanse and protect, this action is borne out by its ability to repel pests. Experiments with birds using yarrow as a nest lining found that it inhibits the growth of parasites. The connection between repelling pests and magical protection is seen pretty often, as with pennyroyal, or fennel, for example.

In Europe, scattering yarrow across the threshold of a home was believed to keep evil from entering.

Yarrow is historically a divination herb. In China, one way to cast the I Ching involved counting stalks of yarrow. In Europe, it was used for love divination. You’d take a yarrow leaf and stick it up your nose, tickling yourself with it as you said,

Yarroway, yarroway

Bear a white blow.

If my love love me,

Let my nose bleed now.”

Traditional

Another method for love-divination involved placing yarrow under your pillow. If you dreamt of your love, it was a positive omen. If you had a bad dream, or dreamt of other people, it wasn’t.

An old Gaelic incantation for yarrow-picking went thus:

I pluck the smooth yarrow,

That my finger be sweeter,

That my lips be warmer,

That my voice be gladder.”

Yarrow was said to be a sacred plant to the ancient Druids, used for weather divination.

In the Victorian language of flowers, yarrow represented everlasting love.

Yarrow is connected to Venus and the element of Water.

Using Yarrow

Since so many practitioners of witchcraft and Druidry have pets and small children, I probably wouldn’t recommend just strewing your threshold with yarrow. Instead, scatter some of the dried herb under your front doormat, where curious hands or snouts can’t get into it. You can also grow yarrow near your front door — it’ll feed your local pollinators and help keep evil away.

Yarrow hydrosol is another useful way to work with this herb. It’s good for your skin. (For real, an ointment containing yarrow was researched for its ability to help heal episiotomies. Ouch!) It can also have a purifying effect, so it’s a nice way to prepare yourself for rituals. The leaves and hydrosol are also fragrant, so the scent is a nice for getting into a magical mindset.

For divination, you could either learn to cast the I Ching with traditional yarrow stalks, or include it in a spray or sachet to use while reading tarot, runes, or Ogham staves. Including it in a dream pillow is said to lead to prophetic dreams.

A soft, dreamy image of pink yarrow flowers.

As a Venus-ruled herb, it’s also a good choice to include in love jars or sachets. Traditionally, its power was to help the user find their true love, and keep lovers together. That makes it a worthwhile addition to spell to draw in true love and help it last.

Medicinally, yarrow hydrosols, infusions, and ointments are great for topical conditions like stings, bug bites, scrapes, burns, scratches, cuts, and bruises. (Never put anything ointment-y over deep wounds, puncture wounds, or animal bites, however.) Teabags or poultices of yarrow are also nice for easing sore eyes — just be careful not to get yarrow in them! If you’re allergic to yarrow or other members of the Asteraceae family, skip yarrow and use something else.

This herb is also used for treating a ton of internal conditions, from digestive trouble to colds and flu. But, like I mentioned previously, each subspecies seems to have its specialties. Before using yarrow internally, you should consult with a qualified herbal practitioner to choose the safest and most effective herbs for your condition.

Uncategorized

Blueberry (and Bilberry) Folklore and Magical Properties

I love blueberries. Few things are as delightful as a fat slice of warm blueberry pie or cobbler, with a generous dollop of ice cream (or non-dairy ice cream equivalent, as it were).

I was very excited to find that the previous occupants of this house had planted some blueberry bushes in the back yard. Unfortunately, these bushes weren’t exactly thriving — they’d been planted in an area that’s under trees. It gets plenty of light during the late autumn to early spring, but very little in the warm months. Our soil is also hard clay, and it didn’t appear that the area had been given much organic matter.

So, as much as it worried me to do it, my spouse and I uprooted these bushes and moved them into a much sunnier spot, blended well with a generous amount of shredded bark and leaf compost. We also planted two more bushes of a different variety, to fill out the tree guild we’re building around the Chehalis apple tree I talked about two weeks ago.

A cluster of ripening blueberries on a bush.
Some lovely little unripe blueberries on one of the bushes in the back yard.

This post isn’t about soil composition and permaculture, though I could definitely go on for volumes if it was.

No. Today, I want to get into some of the folklore and magical uses of these wonderful little balls of deliciousness.

It should be noted that blueberries (Vaccinium angustifolium, V. corymbosum, et al) are a strictly New World fruit. There’s a European relative called the bilberry (or European blueberry, Vaccinium myrtillus) that’s very similar, and the magical properties of these fruits are virtually interchangeable. If you live in an area where bilberries are native, use bilberries. If you live where blueberries grow, use those instead.

Blueberry and Bilberry Folklore

While blueberries are named for their deep purplish-blue color, the name “bilberry” is likely of Scandinavian origin. The Danish word bølle means “whortleberry,” which is another word for certain members of Vaccinium including the bilberry.

You can tell blue- and bilberries apart by their fruits. Blueberries grow in clusters, are a purplish-blue, and have a blossom end that looks a bit like a pentagon with five pointed flaps. Bilberries grow alone or in pairs, are almost black, and have a circular, smoother blossom end.

A bilberry on a bilberry shrub. The blossom end is facing upward, showing a distinct lack of the pointed flaps found on blueberries.
As you can see from this bilberry’s “butt,” they have rounder blossom ends and lack the pointy flappy bits of American blueberries. Compare it to the unripe blueberries in the photo above this one.

In Ireland, bilberries (fraochán or fraughan) are traditionally gathered during the last Sunday in July and the first of August. The first of August is Lughnasadh, a festival marking the beginning of the harvest season. Bilberries and blueberries are a traditional addition to Lughnasadh festivities all around the world.

Since gathering bilberries was traditional for the beginning of the harvest season, they were treated as a kind of oracle. If the crop was abundant, other crops would similarly flourish. If the bilberries did poorly, everything else would, too.

In ancient Greece, bilberries came from Herme’s son Myrtillus. King Oenomaus of Pisa had been given a prophecy: He would one day be killed by a son-in-law. Seeking to avoid this fate, Oenomaus decided to prevent his daughter, Hippodamia, from ever marrying by challenging every one of her would-be suitors to a chariot race on the Isthmus of Corinth. If the suitor won, he’d get Hippodamia. If he lost, Oenomaus would kill him. Since Oenomaus’ chariot was pulled by horses given to him by the god Ares, there was no way he could ever lose.

Then came Pelops. Hippodamia fell for him immediately, and went to her father’s servant, Myrtillus, for a favor. She wanted him to sabotage her father’s chariot so he’d lose the race, and Myrtillus, full of unrequited love for Hippodamia, agreed. On the day of the race, Myrtillus switched the metal linchpins of Oenomaus’ chariot with ones made of beeswax. Oenomaus’ chariot flipped, and Pelops beat him easily.

Some versions of the story say that Oenomaus, with his dying breath, asked to be avenged. Pelops then threw Myrtillus into the sea, and Hermes turned him into a bilberry shrub when he washed to shore. Another version says that Pelops, Hippodamia, and Myrtillus were traveling, when they stopped at an island so Pelops could fetch his new bride some water. When he returned, Hippodamia was in tears. Myrtillus had tried to sleep with her, she cried, while Myrtillus protested that she had promised to do so in exchange for sabotaging Oenomaus’ chariot. The enraged Pelops then killed Myrtillus.

In the folklore of some of the people indigenous to blueberry’s native range, blueberries are called “star berries” for the star-shaped blossom end.

In the Victorian language of flowers, bilberry represents treachery. This symbolism is likely borrowed from the Greek story of Myrtillus.

Blueberry and Bilberry Magical Uses

Blue- and bilberries are associated with protection and luck in European witchcraft.

Dried bilberry leaves are used in protective powders but can also be used whole for prosperity and luck.

The fruit is similarly used for protection and hex-breaking.

(Considering bilberry’s associations with treachery and crop divination, I wonder if their protective properties stem from their connection to physical danger and starvation. Today, we know that fruits like blueberry and bilberry can protect against oxidative cellular damage due to their antioxidant content, but their traditional connection to protection goes back much farther.)

Using Blueberries and Bilberries

Blueberries and bilberries couldn’t be simpler to use. For kitchen witches, include them in recipes for protection and the removal of malevolent enchantments.

Crushing the fresh berries can yield a pigment suitable for drawing protective sigils on paper talismans, the skin, and anywhere else you might need them. Just bear in mind — both of these berries are sweet, and your talismans may be sticky and likely to attract bees this way!

To protect your property, dry bilberry or blueberry leaves. Powder them well, then sprinkle the powder around the perimeter of your home or yard.

White, bell-shaped blueberry blossoms.

To break a hex, jinx, or run of bad luck, burn dried blue- or bilberry leaves. Use the smoke to fumigate the same way you’d use incense smoke.

Blueberry and bilberry don’t appear to be reversing herbs. That is, they don’t return treachery or malevolent magic to the sender. They just keep it from affecting you.

Since bil- and blueberry seems to predominantly be a protective herb, I would hesitate to use it solely for drawing luck. It appears that it’s virtue in luck drawing lies in its ability to get rid of jinxes and other things that hold you back. For luck spells, then, I’d pair blueberry or bilberry leaves with an ingredient used more specifically for attracting good luck. The berry leaves can clean up the things standing the way of your luck, and the other ingredients can draw it in. Allspice, chamomile, and fenugreek are all good options to consider here.

Interestingly, strawberries are sometimes used in small amounts for luck drawing. You could then theoretically make a jam, smoothie, or pie with both blueberries and strawberries, and, when appropriately made and empowered, use it to attract good luck to you.

It remains to be seen how my poor transplanted blueberries do, but the newer ones seem to be thriving. When the time is right, I’ll harvest the fruits and some of the leaves, and hopefully have enough protection and hex-breaking to last me all year!

life · Neodruidry · Plants and Herbs

Apple Folklore and Magical Properties

So, apples.

They’re versatile, inexpensive, and delicious. You can use them to carve stamps, prepare stuffing, or make a pie. Got an apple core? Feed it to worms or toss it in compost. They’re a delightful package of deliciousness, nutrition, and fiber.

They’re also pretty prominent in the religions of the areas from which they come. Eris tossed a golden apple and started the Trojan war. Iðunn’s golden apples give the gods youth, immortality, and vigor. Manannán mac Lir tempted Cormac mac Airt with a branch covered in nine apples of red gold. Emain, the otherworldly Plain of White Silver, had silver boughs with white apple blossoms.

We don’t have magic apples here, though I feel like Chehalis apples come close. I was drawn to their colors, ranging from emerald green, to golden yellow, to a pale, almost ethereal shade somewhere between the two. (I’ll just be happy if I get to eat one of these apples without the birds and wasps getting to them first!)

An apple ripening on a tree.
One of the little Chehalis apples on the tree in the back yard.

But apples are more than just magical symbols of the Otherworld, anyway. They’re also an indispensable ingredient in kitchen witchery, and even herbal healing.

Apple Folklore

Teasing out the folkloric significance of apples is more challenging than it might seem. Up until the 1800s, the word “apple” was used not just for apples, but also for as a generic term for fruits other than berries. This is why we have “oak apples” (a plant deformity caused by gall wasps), “earth apples” (cucumbers or potatoes, depending on who you ask), “love apples” (tomatoes), or “May apples” (a low-growing relative of barberry).

Ethnobotanists have made some compelling arguments for apples being used as a symbolic substitution for fly agaric mushrooms (Amanita muscaria), an entheogenic fungus. This is an interesting bit of information to keep in mind as you read through the rest of the folkloric and symbolic significance of apples.

The fruit eaten by Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden in Christian mythology is often said to be an apple. This is particularly interesting when you consider the effect of that apple and Terence McKenna’s “Stoned Ape” theory of humanity’s development. This widely-criticized theory holds that entheogens (specifically Psilocybe cubensis) are responsible for much of the progress of humankind. If Adam and Eve’s apple could be viewed as an entheogenic fungi, then the Christian story of the fall of man would be an allegory for entheogens leading to the development of clothing, agriculture, and more.

The larynx, which is usually (though certainly not always) more prominent in male humans, is called an “Adam’s apple” because of a bit of folklore that claimed that the prominence was created by the fruit sticking in Adam’s throat.

In later Christian mythology, Jesus Christ is portrayed as holding an apple. Here, the apple transforms from a sign of the fall of humanity, into a sign of redemption. Considering that this redemption leads to eternal life, this apple is somewhat akin to the apples of Iðunn.

In the Norse Prose Edda, the goddess Iðunn is said to carry an ash wood box in which she keeps golden apples. When the Norse gods begin to grow old, they eat her apples and become young again. The gods, then, depend very heavily on Iðunn’s presence and good will in order to maintain their youth and strength.

Apples weren’t always associated with youth and life, however. In the Heiðarvíga saga, the poet speaks of the “apples of Hel.” These appear to be the antithesis of Iðunn’s apples — the food of the dead.

In Greek mythology, Eris felt insulted when she wasn’t invited to the wedding of Peleus and Thetis like the other gods were. As revenge, she tossed a golden apple inscribed with the words “to the fairest” in between Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite. They immediately began arguing over who deserved it, and asked Paris to mediate. Aphrodite promised him the hand of the most beautiful woman in the world if he chose her, so he did. Unfortunately for everyone, that woman was Helen of Troy, and Paris’ decision kicked off the Trojan War.

The island of Avalon, the mythical, mystical place of Arthurian legend, is the Island of Apples. The name “Avalon” is thought to stem from the Welsh word “afal.”

In Cornwall, Kalan Gwav (Allentide) is a time for giving shiny, bright red apples to friends and family as tokens of luck.

In the Irish Echtra The Voyage of Bran, Bran mac Febail sets out on his adventure when he receives a silver apple bough brought from Emain, the Plain of White Silver.

The Irish sea god Manannán mac Lir’s golden apples emitted a kind of magic lullaby. This could soothe people afflicted with injuries or illnesses to a healing sleep. The name of his paradisical home, Emain Abhlach, comes from the Old Irish “Ablach” (“of the fruits” or “of the apples”).

Apples, fresh flowers, and sheet music on a wooden table. One of the apples has been cut in half to expose the seeds. An ornate knife sits nearby.

In the mythology of the people from the North Caucasus, there is a tree that groows magic apples capable of guaranteeing a child to whoever eats them.

During the Jewish holiday Rosh Hashanah, people dip apples in honey and eat them to bring in a sweet year ahead.

Wiccan lore views apples as a sacred symbol. This is because, when cut in half horizontally, their seeds and core form a pentagram.

An old bit of boat builder’s lore holds that it’s bad luck to make a boat from apple wood, since apple wood was used to make coffins. Doing so was believed to doom the sailors to an early grave.

A common bit of marriage folklore says that, if an unmarried woman peels an apple in one long, continuous piece, then throws it over her shoulder, the peel will fall in the shape of the first letter of her future spouse’s name.

Wassailing is an old English folk practice performed to bless the trees and bring in a big crop in the next harvest season. (I went to a wassail ceremony earlier this year, and it was a ton of fun!)

The Magical Uses of Apples

Apples are a common autumn food and addition to altars for autumn and winter holidays. This is because they’re in season during autumn, and tend to keep very well if they’re stored properly. Apple sauce, apple cider, dried apples, and carefully-stored fresh apples were vital additions to the western European diet during the cold months.

An apple bough with buds, flowers, ripe fruit, and unripe fruit is said to mark a door to the Otherworld.

In general, apples are magically associated with love, fertility, protection, and prosperity. The flowers are excellent additions to charm bags, the fruit is great for kitchen witchery, and the leaves can bring fertility and prosperity to one’s home or garden.

Using Apples in Magic

Apples are possibly one of the easiest and most convenient magical ingredients. Since apples are pretty sturdy and edible when raw, they’re often used as a kind of edible “package” for magical intentions. Hold an apple in your hands, visualize it filling with your intention, whisper your intention to it, and eat.

If you have access to apple leaves (either pruned or fallen — please don’t pick fresh leaves from the tree), bury thirteen of them in your garden. This is said to increase its productivity for the next year. I’d argue that you could also add these leaves to compost, or bury pruned or fallen apple wood in your hügelkultur mounds.

Apple blossoms are great ingredient for love magic. Their action is said to be gently seductive. They are also used for peace, contentment, and success. This suggests that they’d be a useful addition to any spell for attracting happiness into one’s life.

Apples are also said to be protective. Apple cider vinegar can be a useful (and pungent) addition to jars and bottle spells for protection against both one’s enemies and malevolent energy.

Another small Chehalis apple ripening on a tree.
Another little Chehalis apple.

I can’t tell you how excited I am for apples this year. The springtime apple blossoms were incredible, and I check on the ripening fruits with excitement every day. Here’s hoping you can find ways to incorporate these magical fruits into your meals, rituals, and daily practices.