Yes, That Plant is a Witch.

While formulating a new oil, one of the potential ingredients stood out to me very prominently.  In fact, I’ve grown that plant before in a koi pond. It’s impossible to get dried or preserved in any way, and increasingly harder to find potted. No, you’ve got to get it in small tissue culture cups specifically for planted aquaria. 

In short: The only way I will get the quantity needed for the oil is to order a fussy and temperamental ornamental aquatic plant, and grow it for god knows how long  - assuming I even can. And that’s sort of how it ought to be.

. • .

It’s incredibly easy to just buy a big, bulk, vacuum-packed bag of Wormwood or Mugwort from an online retailer and stuff something full of it without really ever engaging with the plant. Given that I’ve now been blogging for over ten years I’m not sure if I ever posted about my “Process”, but if this is a duplicate post, blame my neuroatypical brain, because I certainly will (the traitorous bastard). 

When I brush against a “new” plant or material I first try to learn about it in a broad-strokes generic way. Where is it from, what is its conservation status, how ethical is it to obtain, toxicity, etc. Then I dig deeper into “associations”, historical use or lore, whether or not it’s something that’s culturally specific, how common it is in cultivation, where it can be purchased reasonably/ethically, and a bit about its life cycle. If I ever acquire any, the first thing I do is a ritual act of introduction. 

This is something I have actually gone into deeper in the long-suffering “familiar book”, but a general gloss would be this:

I, and my plant familiar intermediary, reach out to a presiding spirit of that plant. We make formal introductions of who I am, what I do, what I am offering and what I am seeking. The presiding spirit usually communicates via my plant familiar at first - I get a filtered version of “do not do these things, but please make sure that other things are done.” or maybe “call me by this name, or in this way” or maybe “Leave me alone.” - in which case I dispose of the material I have as safely as I can. I don’t think most people do any of that, or anything even remotely close to that, and that kinda… sits weirdly with me?

The Disclaimer: Obviously each person’s Craft is going to be different, and that’s a good thing. In no way am I saying one way is “wrong” (I mean there are some wrong ways but if you emerge unscathed, congrats on your epic caper). But I wonder to myself whether simply using herbs like components might actually be a contributing factor in cutting off access to the “deepening” of that Craft that so many people seem to be looking for.  

For me… it’s sort of like: What is the point of all of this if it’s not forming meaningful connections to the unseen? Isn’t it highly practical to form a meaningful exchange with a powerful spirit who is ready, willing, able, and enthusiastic about contributing to the Work? 

Consider that the herb in a jar on a shelf, that bead on your strand, that shew-stone on your conjuration table all came from thinking, feeling, ensouled, creatures (“O thou creature of salt…”). Creatures whose “bodies” produce power for magic by way of their mere existence (much as you do). Consider how it might aid things if you had not only their dismembered bodies, not only their perforce presence, but their ongoing and enthusiastic participation. Not just a herb in a jar, but rather a witch who happens to be a herb in a jar, joining in the unseen coven. 

In a lot of ways that’s what people ought to mean when they describe plants as “allies”, but they often don’t. Where I find it I usually find it as a short-hand for “mind-altering” and very little about “partnership”. Rarely do I see acknowledgement of a specific plant having a specific spirit, or any reference to that relationship and how it may differ from others. 

I don't want to be part of Woo that places humanity on top of the mountain, lording over. I don't want to be the guy on the mountaintop. I want to be part of a community of beings - embodied, disembodied, never-bodied… etc. Working together. 

I work in this sphere - the meaty, bright, earthy, world of whatever we inhabit - and have been given the gift to see and feel and know and love my neighbors in other spheres that overlap this one (does my logo make sense now?). I have been given the gift of hands and flesh with which to DO things; The physical acts my nonphysical compatriots cannot accomplish without great personal cost. Through mutually beneficial and mutually cooperative work we can both achieve our goals.

I will not "rise above" this meat and earth. I will bring my internal godhead down into myself and work wonders from the earth, in the earth, for the earth. I will return to it what it has given me. If not... Get me off this ride, this ride’s going somewhere I don’t wanna be.

. • .

Long ago I had my attention yanked in the direction of Dandelions due to the rising popularity of them being used as an ad-hoc “mannekin”/mandragore. I did a full blog post about it after I’d settled in with the plant, and I find them (on the whole) to be one of the unsung heroes of the Viridarium/Green/Mythotypal Grove.

Working with not only Dandelion as a material, or as a concept, but as a specific presiding spirit has intensified and deepened my relationship with the plant and plant spirit/s greatly. In our relationship I now know another witch who is keenly attuned to specific tasks that I find otherwise difficult. In return all I need to do is kick dandelion seed heads a reasonable amount, and not mow them until they’ve gone to seed.  The spirit and I have worked out how best to “interface” to accomplish the work, and the work goes very well indeed.

Dandelion is a psychopomp in reverse. It’s a well that burrows deep and brings up what is hidden. It is indispensable, and even though it’s hated and forsaken… there it is. You’re never going to get rid of it so you might as well get to know it.

Since I began to really pay attention, keep up and work with plants (animals, rocks, locations, etc.) in this way I have found that everything flowed more easily. And imagine my utter shock when one of them (and then more) showed up to circles or dream-sabbats in their finery. So, yes of course ... I'll get the little tissue cultured cup. I will grow the fussy plant. It deserves it. And I will welcome it, if and when it decides to join in.

. • .

And before you go: I've begun working on an as-yet unnamed Lenormand deck. If you hop over to https://ko-fi.com/rootandrock you'll be able to drop a few bucks in the tip jar to follow along with the creation process.

Ol' Bent and Bowed.

This morning (1) I had my snoot in a snip. I could list all the ten thousand things that resulted in a snipped snoot, but bottom line I was perturbed.

When I am in no fit state for man or beast I tend to go take a walk. Usually these walks are to think on my feet, visit the locals and be able to cuss and mutter aloud where no one can hear me. It gets shit out of my system, and lets in fresh air and land-energy to fill that void and prevent the re-entry of a bad mood for at least a while.

Re-Blogging: First Spring.

Early Spring Foliage - originally posted to my tumblr on 3/10/2014

The Signs of Spring are getting to be a little hard to ignore. But one could be forgiven for missing this one. A tiny 1/4” Least Bluet hidden in early chickweed and wood sorrel sprouts.

First Spring doesn't happen until it happens. I don't even bother trying to conjure up the land serpents until they show that they're ready to wake up. I mean, really... "Never tickle a sleeping dragon."

So when the first of them feels restless, when the blue has come off of its eyes and it seems ready to split the old skin and emerge shiny and clean then I will brave the chill of the night and drum and rattle and stomp until it gets the point and stops lazing about.

The first signs could be anywhere from early February to April. If it goes much later... I simply tickle the dragon anyway.

The Three Questions - Consumption and Adaptation in Craftwork.

This was going to be a post about how I made myself a ritual broom. It was all tidy and had it's ducks in a row. It was clean, and instructional, and got to the point early on. And then it exploded. Well, it didn't explode but the point changed - it went from a post about how I made a Really Traditional Broom that's Not Even Remotely Traditional directly to an examination of the process of "consumption" in the New Age, Witchcraft and Neo/Pagan communities.

Grumpbutt The Alraun.

Meet Grumpbutt - the grumpiest Alraun. This is a Dandelion, out of the ground about 10hrs. It’s not fully dry yet (and won’t be for some time). It hasn’t been shaped beyond cutting off the greens. It had that face right out of the ground. The grumpy, sullen, slightly pervy face.

On the opposite side? It has an ass. Two, tiny, dandelion-root, buttcheeks. Hence the name “Grumpbutt”.  This guy won’t be for sale, but some of the others (admittedly, less… er… animated) will be.

Drawing 'Drakes and Robe Rage 2!

Mandragora Madness! Drake Drudgery! Manniken Ma- er... I give up.

Not that long ago I asked Harold Roth of Alchemy Works for permission to do some stylized drawings from photos of his absolutely luscious mandrakes.

For those who have been studiously hiding under rocks for the last five years or more, Harold has been one of very, very, few Practitioners, let alone retailers, successfully growing and selling Mandragora officinarum roots and seeds. His roots are some of the loveliest I've seen anywhere, including the few wild roots I've seen uploaded online.

Since then I've been sketching little bits here and there, anthropomorphizing the forms without taking away the essential "rootness". I'm sure either Harold, or the final owners, could suss their own root's form out of some of the drawings. The whole , original, idea was to use one such drawing to illustrate a forthcoming book of mine - but the project has expanded. The roots are too visually awesome. I've got three done, and several more in the sketch stage. The root on the left is intended to be the illustration in the aforementioned book, but I may settle on the jaunty fellow on the right.

Here's a really poor photo from my phone, with water-marks to deter dirty thieves, who should really know better than to steal anything from a witch. These were done on regular printer paper, with pencil sketches, over which I used Micron pens, and Faber-Castell pitt pens. If anyone I know well enough to trust would like to see larger scans, let me know.


Fully willing to admit the inkwork might be evocative of the Xoanon press artworks. But this is a style I've used and loved for a very long time, prior to even knowing about the existence of Xoanon. All I can say is perhaps, just perhaps, this sorta art is just meant for juju-doings.

The Robe Rage - AGAIN!

Well, I located some fabric, and have begun drafting my pattern. Several things have occurred to me, the main part of which is that I have gained a LOT of weight these last two years. I suppose walking all over Texas in the summer heat did more for my figure than I realized. And I also suppose I was walking far more than I realized. Luckily there is still enough fabric, though once I do trim back down I'll really be swimming in my robe.

I may be borrowing my mother's sewing machine for some of the finishing touches. My machine is a very practical beast, it does strait lines, slightly curved lines, zigzags and buttonholes if I hit it hard enough. Her machine has a hundred little programmed stitch designs, including vines and leaves - of course, her machine is also the most fickle thing I've ever operated. Finishing hems with little dark green vines would be lovely, I must admit.

Final tally is 3 packages of pre-cut 2yrd lengths, and one 5yrd "bolt". There will be enough material to fully sew and line the robe, hood and add pockets. I may have enough spare material to make a lined bag or two, including one to store the robe itself in, and a very large number of small, unlined, rune/tarot bags.

ETA

I cut out the robe tonight (12/13), and in dinking myself up a bit, have less fabric than expected, but still enough to finish the project. Remember: If you've told yourself to cut something on a fold, bloody well do what you said and cut it on the fold.

Persimmons - Godfood.

Diospyros virginiana, the Eastern Persimmon, has a large part of my childhood tangled up in it's corky, fruit-laden, branches.

Persimmons are late-ripening. It's mid-October here and the majority of the fruit is still unripe. Only a few are sweet enough to tempt, and the high amount of tannin still present makes them very drying to the mouth. But oh, they are sweet - so delicious and sweet! They would make an excellent marmalade, or fruit addition to breads/cookies.

One of the stories my grandparents used to tell was of how you could split the pits open (like a split pea) to foretell the winter's weather. A general consensus was taken of the seeds from that single fruit, who's "germ" takes on the shape of cutlery.

Apparently it's GON' RAIN. Also, I have the dorkiest paper towels ever.

A spoon meant a wet winter, or heavy snow. A knife meant a bitter, cold winter. A fork meant one that was mild, or dry.

Persimmons are shaped rather like a pomegranate, and pair well with them. Their fruit is best eaten after all others would've been considered spat upon by the phouka. Here, they're not good for eating until they begin falling off of the tree in November. They are a fruit of winter, wrapped in autumnal shades, and hanging on the tree after the leaves have fallen.

They are fruit of the underworld in this regard, no less special than pomegranate, and sometimes sweeter still.

The Dandelion.

The Orbit of The Solar System in an unassuming,
occasionally bothersome,
little,
flowering,
--- weed ---

Dandelions are the bane of suburbia, and for that I already like them. Millions of dollars a year are bent on their destruction, and ultimately these efforts will fail spectacularly. Unfortunately for these grass-obsessed suburbanites, Dandelion's deep taproot makes it beneficial, breaking up hard soil and bringing up nutrients to less hardy, shallower-rooted, foliate brethren... like grass.

Dandelion leaf packs more nutrition per cup than spinach, being a significant source of Vitamins A, C, K, Calcium and Iron. It also contains Biotin/B7, which proves itself valuable in regrowing hair and (some say) aiding in weight-loss. My mother used shampoo infused with biotin and regrew her hair in a matter of about a month after Chemotherapy. It is also useful for liver detoxification, and as a diuretic.
Dandelion leaf and root can be consumed in teas, leaving it's nutrition more or less intact, a caffine-free "coffee" can be made from the roots, for either medicinal or ritual purposes.

They like to grow just about anywhere, but I've found them to prefer shadowy places where they will often overrun other plants (saturn), iron-rich soil (mars), and damp corners (moon) which bring a far different picture to the Lion's Tooth than one might think. It's radiant flowers (sun), white, globe-like seed heads (moon) and lush foliage (venus) round out a picture of a very complete little herb. As a bit of an aside, I have never found so many grub-worms as in the plot of dandelions I harvest from, and some of the roots wound right through a fire-ant hill (ouch).

Dandelions are said to be sacred to Hecate. This association, oft-quoted in folklore, is hard to track down to it's sources (Hekate Liminal Rites certainly doesn't discuss it) but it seems universal, and I certainly cannot disagree with it. It bleeds a cloudy sap - possibly referred to in The Root-cutters by Sophocles: "Medea recieves the juice whitely clouded, oozing from the cutting". Dandelion is liminal to it's core, sending as much plant below as above.

In magic they assist with communion with the underworld. Like the taproot of the Dandelion, the witch using it may reach into the deep places and bring up something of value, otherwise lost. Here, too, is a tie-in to psychic "sight" and insight and in calling and summoning spirits.

Some modern Traditional Witches have employed Dandelion root as an alraune/alrune. The root does have a tendency to grow in the manner of a human figure, and is far less troublesome to obtain than the Mandrake ordinarily is (of course, a quick stop at Alchemy-Works can nab you a mandrake/seeds). The investment in the Dandelion is less about finances or rarity, and more about willingness to dig deep enough to get the whole thing. Even small dandies can reach down very, very far.

In incense the leaves are generically leafy, providing a papery "lady's mantle" quality of scent. The roots are deeper, sweeter aroma. I like to add one or both to blends designed to contact and summon spirits. A particularly strong tisane/tea of the plant makes an excellent wash for scrying mirrors, or (filling a bowl) a nice substitute for one. Particularly thick roots can be carved into some rather lovely beads, strung into prayer strands, or hung around the necks of votive statuary.

No part of this article may be reproduced without permission. If I find this chopped up and plastered all over neo-wiccan sites I will issue takedowns.

Labeling Jars/Bottles.

When I was a rather young witch I got a few of the "essential" herbs and some jars. My first mistake was putting adhesive labels on the jars, my second mistake was hand-writing the names on them. My writing is... downright awful.

About a year down the line I wanted to re-use the jars, and it took several hours of scrubbing in hot water to get the adhesive off of them, because stacking labels has annoyed me deeply since the days of yore. I got rid of the adhesive label.

First: Wash and dry your jars. I suggest the "sanitize" cycle on a dishwasher for most jars, but some are too delicate or weirdly made. For those, HOTHOTHOT water in a sink with a good dish soap. For tinctures, or any other liquid (or for things you're going to ingest a lot of) I strongly suggest you use canning jars. Best to not risk poisoning yourself off of an antique Strychnine bottle, no matter how cool it looks. Ensure all lids, caps and corks fit properly. I've had jars that didn't quite "seal", and had a bunch of beetles infest my herbs, ruining them and costing me a pretty penny.

I also suggest not hand-writing the labels, unless your handwriting is very regular, very readable, and very bold. Personally, I design mine on the computer in photoshop (or gimp), and print them on various artisan papers to get unique looks out of 'em. My reason for the aesthetics? They take up a lot of space, I want 'em to look pretty while they do it.

The Process

Here's one of my old bottles. That label annoys me. The design is a faded, water-maked, Celtic knot-work, which is nice but - not so fancy, and lacked information. I lettered it with an ink pen that appears to fade incredibly fast. In the poor light of the temple-room (I hate ceiling lights with a passion due to chronic migraines) I can't read the label and may accidentally grab the identical Gum Arabic bottle when aiming for the copal.


Next I get a bowl of warm water and a sponge. I get the sponge soaking wet and apply it right over the label. This saturates it and re-hydrates the glue, making it release from both the label and jar. If I'm cleaning out old jars to re-use, rather than just re-labeling something, the whole lot goes into the kitchen sink or bath tub with some soap. Once the labels are off, they go into the dish washer (if it's safe).

Wow, this label was thirsty. It turned completely translucent in a couple of seconds and peeled off easily.
You can also see a potential downfall of hand-lettering with a fine pen - moisture just destroys the lettering.

Nearly every commercial jar I've messed with will work the same. Most labels will peel off dry, but a few are glued over the entire label, and have to be soaked. I save all of the jars from pasta sauce, pickles, etc. and re-use them for herbs and tinctures.

AHH! The secret weapon. A craft glue-stick. These things are so damned useful (brand names aside). I've repaired tarot cards, used one to plaster a (temporary) letter of annoyance on a bad neighbor's car, and oh yes, to glue my herb labels on.

I apply this over the entire back of the label, and it gives me enough time to get the label even, centered and smoothed out before setting up completely.


Here's the completed bottle. The label tells me what the herb is, what the latin name is (I think the "spp." may be an error on my part. I don't know what type of Copaifera it is, and I was always taught "spp." is the appropriate abbreviation for "species" but I don't much care if it is wrong). It also tells me that this is an incense material, given the swirly incense burner bit on the label.

Some are marked with a skull (poisonous), or a teacup (teas/edible herbs), others are marked with a pentacle (non-incense-able herbs for witchy purposes that do not fit into another category).

In the eventual temple I'll be switching over to larger jars for almost everything, and will also include planetary, elemental and "used for" type info to act as a handy reminder for myself and others.

For reference, this label uses Caslon Antique as it's font (packaged as "tsp adore 10") . I used it because it's highly readable with a corroded, antique, look. Many fonts similar to this are both readable and whimsical enough to be a sound addition to any font-o-phile's library. I've had a local store show high interest in getting a set of customized labels for their jars, which would be a delightfully fun project!

Well, that's one container down and an absurdly large number left to go!

Wildcrafting Time - Again.

The moon is waxing, and it's not quite so terribly hot that I can't -breathe-, so it's time again to do wildcrafting of herbs, curious, and whatever else I come across that sparks my interest. That whole solstice bit is icing on the cake, as far as I'm concerned.
The "haul" consisted mostly of leaves for pressing (I press, paint and frame them to make unique artwork). I got two remarkably large oak leaves (nearly 11" long), a couple Catalpa, some American Sycamore, elm and small oak. A huge portion of Horsetail reed, Black-Eyed Susans, some pomegranate blooms/leaves/stems, Coreopsis (dye flowers) and a nice portion of Wood Sorrel. I also came across a couple of lovely little land-snail shells, which are destined for beads. Some of this will be available for sale or trade, soon.

The shocker for a friend of mine (who was busily talking in my ear while I gathered stuff) were the Black Eyed Susans. They are, and I am not joking when I say this, one of the best herbs for untangling and diffusing domestic abuse. The best method, of course, is a .45 to the side of the abuser's head (though a bit overkill, I will admit), but for those of us on the outside who want to establish a more gentle method of control - Black Eyed Susans.
These bright flowers resemble the sun mid-eclipse. Representing that moment when we lose sight of all light, at the darkest possible moment, just before the sun returns. Employing them in either gentle spellwork designed to ease strife, or malicious work designed to insert honey-locust thorns covered in platypus venom into the urethra of an abuser helps to tie one's efforts into the situation at hand. They also help the person suffering the abuse to keep their chin up, which can be invaluable.

The pomegranate bits are going to be incorporated into an incense for underworld journeying work, which will be a trial/experimental run before I consider making more for wider consumption.

I also went on a bit of a 'spree', re-photographing old artwork (and new) for deviantart. I've been making small woodcraft items, pyrographing mostly, and they're turning out nice enough to be proud of. The "new" camera is also doing justice to some of my older works, so I've been replacing old images/uploads with new. And yes, that kind of stuff will be available by commission, or eventually posted up online.

Since it's the Solstice, I took note of what plants were particularly available right now for a future "Midsummer" incense. It will likely balance dark, earthy scents with light, airy ones... because with incense it's hard not to be very literal.

Farewell, Green Lady.

The Wormwood plant I've had for nearly as long as I've been a witch seems to have passed away. I've had the pleasure of knowing her company for about twelve years, and at her peak of growth she was nearly six feet across, and almost nine feet high.

In my old home (she has been transplanted) I could lean out of my octagonal window (about eight feet off of the ground) and pick leaves. During windy nights her smell would waft in, keeping away bugs, and inviting stranger things (like the owl who once flapped right in my window!)

Every spring, summer, and fall, I would harvest leaves for incenses and washes. She was one of my closest allies, and verged on what I would call "familiar" territory. She had a voice, she spoke. She shared wisdom. Her spirit was vibrant, if jealous and hasty.

By this time of year she should've already been about an 8-12" puffball, and I see no sprouts. I don't -feel- life in her anymore. She's gone quiet. I'll wait until Beltane-eve, and if she has not sprouted I will send her off in the ritual fire. Hopefully, freeing whatever of her might still be bound in the stems of the previous season.

I believe that when you name something, you give it individuality. Not that humans have this high and mighty power, but rather... the Naming of a thing begins it's awakening, stretching, coming alive in senses, even to it's spirit. When we speak to plants, and name them, we begin to awaken them and if we are good to them they will speak back.

I believe that each plant can share in a pool-spirit ("Deva"), but that when we cultivate a plant, or honor it with Craft, it's Deva becomes unique. She was still a Grand Wormwood, but she was also Green Lady. My scrying mirrors rest on a bed of her, my runes nest like eggs in her, my ritual dagger is kept gleaming and free of rust by oils infused with her.

I am going to miss the old gal.

The Severe Beauty, Belladonna

The nightshade family is diverse. It runs the course from nondescript black berries that can viciously extinguish your life, to huge, plump, near-white fruit that explode with an acidic sweetness and are incorporated into very progressive marinara.

Nightshades are all poisonous to one degree or another. Their modern descendants, the Tomato, contain the poison in their greenery, and not the fruit, though. The toxins in Belladonna and it's relatives are tropane alkaloids like atropine, scopolamine, and hyoscyamine. These toxins effect the involuntary actions of the body, and poisoning can be catastrophic. Among the most mild are pupil dilation (and it's companion, light sensitivity), but on the darker side, tachycardia (heart racing), loss of balance, rash, slurred speech, confusion, panic, convulsions, heart failure, coma and death.


Belladonna means "beautiful woman", and the deva/spirit/ally of this plant is the epitome of this archetype. She is gorgeous, luscious, tempting, and fatal. Her beauty is refined to a razor's edge, and so perfect that it is poisonous. She has turned fine features and graceful curves into pain. She is woman, weaponized.

Like any Femme Fatale, she lures you in with these looks for her own ends. Belladonna is jealous, vindictive and envious. A mask of certainty over a sea of chaos. Sampling her is opening yourself to the chaos inside.

It has become extremely trendy to take Belladonna recreationally, on the kick that "it's natural therefore safe" or for it's "witchiness". I've seen it's inclusion in incenses with no warning to keep it to the outdoors, or well vented areas. I've seen it touted for sleep (based on the film Practical Magic, I'm guessing), with no warning that an overdose means death. In short, I see a lot of people who fail to realize that gorgeous woman cannot be tamed, nor used.

Old herbals cite the use of Belldonna in plasters, poultices, and extracts applied to obscure locations such as a toenail (slower and more diffuse absorption). But never, NEVER is she taken internally. The only references I find to the internal ingestion of this Beautiful lady is by the condemned. There's sparse folklore about accused witches being slipped the poison so that they would simply fall asleep and die before they got to the gallows.

She rules death/Daath, and this connection is often viewed with a veil of childlike glitter by modern pagans. Death is the welcomed sleep, unless it comes too early, and too painfully... then it is a hateful thief. The great cycle is defined by intense joy, and intense suffering. Her realm is suffering, sad to say. From stinging nettle-thorn to bitter poison-fruit, her Apple of Sodom becomes ash in the mouth.

But... (and there's always one of those), if one wishes to explore the power of the plant, she is there to speak. You don't need to ingest it, or even touch it. A glass jar of supple, raisin-hard berries never needs to be opened to commune with her. Meditation works shockingly well to speak with her. Before I ever did any real research a nighttime chat with Horse Nettle (a nightshade relative) left me dizzied and drunk, and not in a good way. But her lessons are sharp. Visions of the gallows, of suffering, of torture, of weaponized beauty, and hateful power.

Herbs and You.

http://kitsune-aka-cettie.deviantart.com

Someone recently asked me about what I mean when I say I have a working relationship with the deva/ally of a plant. I explained that each plant is sort of like a hive-mind. Each is it's own individual, but the species collective shares traits so closely, and are so fluid that Wormwood from one place -can be- the same plant spirit you knew from another place. But it's also more than that... it's about experimenting with the plant's physical side.

I am an unashamed hater of hokey. I have a real hard time with "too weird to be true" tales told with a sly grin and try as I might I can't dig the following out of that mental place for me, so I will just have to try to dampen the snarkiness on it for a time.

Whenever I procure a new herb (or locate the growing plant in my yard), I take the time to mediate with it. Not "Ohm" with the lights out, but still, quiet, time spent feeling both the physical quality of the material*, and it's energetic nature. I will burn a bit*, simmer a bit, taste a bit*, see how it grinds in a mortar, see how it chops or breaks in the fingers*... and fill out a little sheet something like this (note, this is not the actual sheet, but terribly close). * (assuming it's nontoxic)