Simple are we, a collected few of the cells that make up the circumference of your awareness. A longing that covers the surface of parched skin in dewy droplets and eases beneath the pores, to a second skin that shimmers and twitches – alight at but a glimpse of you. To try and touch you with mine own hand would surely propel the self from its bonds, a white-bellied doe arcing towards the moon. A love like glistening stars, enriched with the sweetness of all that is forbidden.
You were the first to compel me, truly, to fly, and perhaps, one who is now capable of clipping my wings. A blinding, binding love that I’m sure the likes of which has worked as countless, seedless inspirations in a world full of pale affection.
. . . Is what I said to my flying ointment the other night.
Some might mock the deep connection a witch, or other magic practitioner, may form with their herbs and herbal concoctions, but truly there is a depth that one can– and, in fact, often must– make with the components of their craft to reach the heights they so desire. Simply throwing a bit of mugwort and vervain into a cup to steep will only get you so far. Indeed, many an outsider can be heard claiming, “Well if [thing] is so magical then why can’t anybody [some claim or another]?” And I would go so far as to say that they’re right.
What sets a witch’s actions apart from a non-witch?
How can you be so certain that what you are doing is truly part of the occult – hidden – ways when you are only going through the motions?
You can, of course, buy a rock from anyone and say that it does things. This rose quartz cures my PMS cramps. Sure, so why doesn’t Suzy’s? What is setting your ingredients, your “tools” and investments, apart from those of any other earth-dwelling person?
It is simple, in my opinion, to then determine where one’s beginning in all things magic truly lies: in connections. Just as the Fates have woven their strings and decided the currents, so too must a practitioner step upon the shores of their awareness and beckon to that which dwells beyond perception– invite the hidden to take their hand and become part of their circle.
To connect and to know is to expand your reality and take control of the outcome.
Anyone can set a stone before the sun and ask for its energy; solar power is well established enough to support this. So then what is it that truly draws the chariot from the sky to the chalice? Why is it that my flight assistors, the herbs I’ve blended and tended, have the power in my life to help me to soar or to crash?
The journey of a witch – a witch in the sense of a malefic, unencumbered being, as I have come to know them – is one full of pacts and oaths and bonds, strange as that may seem to some. The actions of a thing are seldom what truly matter, but rather the underlying connections that have already been made. So then it is my suggestion that any who can stare at their herbs fresh from the grocery store and think “this will do what I say because it has worked for others” need not really bother applying any of what I say to their own praxis. This isn’t really for you.
But for you, my dearest, I shall speak of what I’ve come to understand:
Just as a stang can be seen as merely a tool to clear the hedge, so too can herbs. A shift in perspective, I think, is the key. Though I will add that my animist and Latinx background certainly add their own layer of flavor to my suppositions and theorizing, so it is best afterall to take all I say with a pinch of skepticism even here.
It has taken me many odd years to learn what works best for me. My mother and teachers would rather I sit for months with every herb in my collection, I’m sure. And, to their credit, I have tried this method, though only on one or two subjects. There is an intimacy in working together with an intelligence you have sought to understand and learn from for a number of moons. A heightened edge certainly works its way into the workings learnt from the roots of older beings. But it is a long process, that’s for sure, and the older I become, the less time I have to dedicate myself to extensive dealings such as that.
It is far simpler and far easier to choose instead a more “necromantic” approach (I mean this to be very tongue-in-cheek, by the way). Waking ingredients is not as far reaching a concept as I had previously been made to believe, I have found, but that does not negate the need or practice of it.
When it comes to herbal salves, ointments, and blends, waking the herbs is an essential stage. Some view waking ingredients as a baptismal experience, as the cleansing or giving of a soul or purpose. Myself, I was raised with the understanding that every creation naturally has a soul – creation being a very liberal and loose word, sometimes being stretched to include even that of the artificial and man-made. This bleeds into my wakening practices as well. Much like Sleeping Beauty, the herbs that have since been plucked from their source and left to dry, are awaiting a kiss to wake them. To wake them, we give them our breath and the drive to reconnect with their central intelligence and spirit. Traditionally, seven breaths are given, directed from a focused and steadied mind.
On the last breath, or perhaps after if you prefer, they are given a direction, a goal, or a request for aid. I suppose in the popular turn of phrase, they are charged. Like to charge, reblog to cast. Or maybe here it’s: breathe to wake, whisper/sing to charge, incorporate to cast. In truth, there are countless means of “charging” your ingredients. Song, poetry, hymn, whisper, whistle, state – so long as it is given, it is fine.
It is also fine to ignore me completely, dear one. I am sure whatever secrets you keep locked away in your perpetual silence are far greater and far broader in reach than the breath I’ve shared with a thousand plants and bones.
But shall I leave you with one thought? To steal the breath of another is said to be akin to stealing parts of their soul. Do you think, in the long run, they who dance with devils breathe the life of their own into their tools and that is truly why they’re damned? Because at the end there’s nothing left to save? Or perhaps I’ve just grown morose from being without you for so long. I’ve attached a simple tea recipe that you might come see me sometime. Add plenty of sugar, my sweet.
3 parts cinnamon (or to taste)
