Earth witch, p.1
Earth Witch, page 1
Copyright © 2022 by Britton Boyd
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this work in any form whatsoever, without permission in writing from the publisher, except for brief passages in connection with a review.
Cover design by Kathryn Sky-Peck
Print book interior design by Frame25 Productions
Hierophant Publishing
San Antonio, TX
www.hierophantpublishing.com
If you are unable to order this book from your local bookseller, you may order directly from the publisher.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022910056
ISBN 978-1-950253-31-9
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1: Heeding the Call
Chapter 2: A Time to Rewild
Chapter 3: Genius Loci
Chapter 4: Earth, Trees, and the Body
Chapter 5: The Cycles of the Earth
Chapter 6: Ancestors and Descendants
Chapter 7: The Dreamworld
Chapter 8: Committing to the Path
Conclusion
Appendix A: List of Practices
Acknowledgments
Suggested Readings
To you, Holy Mother, who gives us all life.
Introduction
The land and witchcraft have always been intimately intertwined. Magic lives in the soil, in the backwoods, in the bones of the dead, and in seemingly desolate places in nature. It lives in spring blossoms, in summer fruits, and in fall harvests. At its core, it enables us to merge with these seasons and cycles and be in recognition of the landscapes in which we find ourselves. And, in the process, it leads us to a greater understanding of our own cycles and needs.
Like the earth itself, we often need a wintering of the soul in order to truly appreciate these landscapes. My goal in this book is to invite you to plunge your hands into the soil, to collect those bones, and to discover these seemingly desolate places where magic lives. I hope to help you find a pathway and lineage of witchcraft that is oriented toward a deeper personal connection to the land. My intention here is to encourage you to seek out that deep, mysterious connection with the earth, because this connection is so crucial to the practice of being a witch.
If you're new to witchcraft, this book can provide you a supple foundation of practices with which to work—ones that flex and bend with you as you spiral toward a yet unknown destination. If you're a seasoned witch, this book may either challenge or affirm your beliefs. In either case, this book is meant to have a little bite, to leave some grit between your teeth. It is my hope that this grit will strengthen your spiritual immune system and shift your personal microbiome.
The magic of the earth witch stands as anathema to capitalistic haute couture witchcraft. The tools and goods of the earth witch are found in thrift stores, and in boxes of free items found on the side of the road. They are traded and bartered. A sun-bleached shirt that is imbued with memories. An item that is lost and found again. The path of the earth witch is cyclical, weaving, and spiraling. It ebbs and flows, waxes and wanes. It is not a linear path of upward growth. It may, in fact, cause you to take two steps backward in order to take one step forward.
As I write this, I am witnessing the tail end of winter here in the high desert I call home. I feel myself stirring from a deep cycle of spiritual and physical hibernation. A restlessness grows inside of me to find the first blooms of the sagebrush steppe, yet they won't be here for a little while longer. While I grow restless inside, the land tells me to wait, to sleep, to dream, to be still and present to the existing moment. To move slowly in a continuous embrace of the darkness within and without.
As capitalism has crept insidiously into modern witchcraft and other spiritual traditions, witches have often felt this same restlessness as a need to advance their craft swiftly, to put it on public display, to rush forth in pursuit of what could be called spiritual materialism. Yet what we truly seek is a form of progress that cannot be measured in terms of dollars or possessions. It is only with time and an erotic merging of the land and ourselves over many seasons that we can experience something real and profound. I encourage you to give yourself the time and space to rest, digest, and think metaphorically.
Walking the Earth
In 2017, I took an exceptionally long walk—2,660 miles to be exact. I walked from the Mexican border all the way to Canada following the Pacific Crest Trail. Over the course of six months, I trod through creeks raging from high snow melt, destructive wildfires, scorching deserts, and snowy mountain passes. This journey was one of the hardest and most gratifying things I have ever done.
When I started my hike on the Mexican border, I was brimming with excitement. I passed through the beautiful southwestern desert, taking shade beside massive boulders and collecting cool water that poured from rocks, from sources unknown. But when I made my first camp that night, the gravity of what I'd undertaken finally hit me. I felt lost and confused, and wondered what the hell I had gotten myself into. A sense of regret and a strange sadness descended upon me. I knew that what was about to transpire over the next several months would utterly change me, inside and out. I questioned whether I was even capable of it. When I awoke the next morning, I realized I had bedded down in a pile of decaying poison oak leaves. I itched horribly for days to come.
My journey through the desert broke me apart into millions of pieces. I endured a wrenching breakup with my partner and felt devastated and even more lost than before. I didn't sleep well for weeks, lost my appetite, and became an unholy burden to those around me. I cried all the time. I drifted off amid frogs, toads, scorpions, and tarantulas as I wept myself to sleep.
Then, during one particularly difficult afternoon, I just let everything go. I rolled a cigarette, knowing that smoking can be a prayer if you do it mindfully. As I took my final drag, I realized that life as I knew it was over. I had been fighting to keep everything the same, even though I knew that everything was changing. Right then, I committed to myself that I would stop looking backward. The path forward was the way for me. And it was this commitment to accepting change that helped me find a new path and add a whole new page to the book of life that I was writing.
For the rest of my hike, I gave myself up to the wonder of the land around me—the incredible elevations of the High Sierras, the devastatingly beautiful snow-melted raging creeks, the slippery icy passes, the flat, sometimes boring, stretches of high plains. The lush, dense forests of the Pacific Northwest provided a striking metaphor for just how easy it was to become disoriented and lose my bearings along the way. I endured the hot dry deserts of Oregon, snow squalls in mountain passes, bone-chilling cold, and raging wildfires along the Columbia River. The last 500 miles of my trek took nearly everything I had within me. But I was determined that nothing would keep me from moving forward.
Then, while walking through a massive old-growth forest one day, I felt the earth speak to me. I moved my consciousness into my heart center and listened to what the forest had to say while I walked. The trees were alert to the wildfire and the smell of smoke in the air. But they'd been there before a million times over—these ancient trees. They asked me to be present more often—or rather, showed me how—and requested that I not dwell on the bitterness of my past. It was a simple message really, but a transformative one when put into practice.
At that moment of understanding, I called upon my ancestors and spirits known to me, and I made another commitment. I pledged to orient my life to be in service to the earth and to them. I prayed for the right resources to help this to occur. I committed to making my new life different from my previous one—a life that facilitated a deeper connection to my work, to witchcraft, and to this deep calling to walk a spiritual path. I pledged to make this calling my life. Not something I engaged in on weekends, not something I practiced when the moon and stars were perfectly aligned, but every day. I would breathe it in, would work it and express it. I made an oath there and then that I would not stop, that I would persist to the end.
I carried a small handful of osha seeds with me that I'd gathered from a plant I greatly admired. This plant, known as bear root, resists conventional cultivation and loathes a civilized garden bed. Its seeds need the soil of mountains and snow melt to germinate. I had gathered a few handfuls of the seeds as a talisman of sorts so I could carry their magic with me. On this particular day, I scattered them to the wind, saying: “As you grow, so do I.” I spoke aloud. While osha plants grow slowly, they grow more robust with age. I wanted to be like them. To resist conventional cultivation, to remain wild, and to flow with the ebbs and tides of the seasons. I knew that I needed these forces in my development.
The last days of my incredible 2,660-mile trek were particularly grueling, plagued by a raging whiteout blizzard. When I finally arrived at the end of my journey, I felt the rush of safety and security that a well-worn path provides. I was proud that I had met the challenge. But then I asked myself: “Now what?” Now, I had to fulfill the commitment I'd made to my spirits, to my ancestors, and to myself. That was my now what: To see my journey through to the end of the new path that had opened before me in the old-growth forest. My journey had given me new metaphorical tools to use along that path—going with the flow, not resisting when I faced roadblocks but, like the power of water, flowing freely and finding new ways around them, persisting through pain, and knowing when to rest. I didn't kn
On the way home, I found a lovely little yurt on some shared land in Oregon. The yurt provided me a place to “come down” from my hiking high, as well as a supportive community with whom to connect and share meals. It felt like home, and I sensed a strange peace there. So I set up my altars and arranged my few humble tools. Then I walked into the oak forest that surrounded my yurt. That forested refuge became my protective cauldron-like space in which to process everything and open new doors.
Finding the Path
So, what does this long-distance hike have to do with being an earth witch? Lots of things, but let's focus on two of them for now.
First, this hike reminded me of something that I already knew deep in my bones. It reminded me that, throughout the ages, witchcraft has naturally been earth-based, as it uses the plants, roots, and stones that are available within a local ecology. In this sense, the phrase “earth witch” is similar to the phrase “wet water.” The truth is that the practice of witchcraft has always been tied to the earth, and my hope is that by the end of this book you will understand that all you need for your practice is right beneath your feet. You don't have to purchase anything.
Second, we often mistakenly assume that our practice will follow a straight and narrow path—free from obstruction, free from getting lost, free from injury, free from pain, free from consequences. But just like my 2,660-mile trek, the path of an earth witch defines neither a linear nor a static journey. Like nature, this path ebbs and flows; it breathes and pulses. So, how do we maintain the tenacity required to persevere along our path through the ups and downs of life?
It takes both incredible will and incredible surrender, and knowing which one you need at a particular time is part of the art of witchcraft. Unfortunately, you will not always be on a spiritual high when walking the path of the earth witch. It will be beautiful for sure. However, you will also have your down moments when you wonder just what the hell you've gotten yourself into. Sometimes, it will seem as if you've veered far off the path, becoming lost and confused. But that's part of the journey, too. I wandered off the main path of my long hike many times, but I always made it back, in part because I always knew when I'd lost the trail. The tracks before me looked different, and I felt a strange sense that something was “off.” The same is true of life. We have a cord of connection to our primary path and, when we veer away from it, it pulls us back. It lets us know we've gone off-track.
Moreover, there is value in veering off the path. So many that I meet ask: “Am I on the right path? How do I know I am on the path I want to be on?” No matter where you are, you're on the right path. Not being on your “true” path is a part of the journey—you'll always find your way back. Little jaunts off the main trail are an adventure. They help us see what we might not have seen otherwise. We may find treasure, like a particularly good patch of huckleberries, a stunning view, or a very old tree to gaze upon in wonder. Going off-track teaches us how to get back on that well-worn path that brings us surety and the inner knowing that we're on the correct trajectory. So, fear not if you feel that you're not quite on the path you want to be on. You're on an adventure—a quest—and you'll be pulled back to your own unique equilibrium in due time.
How to Use This Book
Witchcraft isn't a phase; it isn't a fashionable moment we have in the height of its cultural popularity. It is a way of being and a way of life. Maybe it works for you; maybe it doesn't. But if you choose this path and commit to it, life will be full, beautiful, and challenging. Walking this path is an ongoing practice, even when the light dims or when you feel blinded by it.
To that aim, I offer this book as one small guide to return your withcraft to the energy of the land and all that this includes. As you will see in the pages that follow, this entails more than what you may initially think, like nature, plants, and animals. It is also your body, which is of the earth. It is also your spirit, which is connected to your body and therefore also of the earth. It is also your ancestors, who were of the earth, and your dreams, which are how the earth may be speaking to you. As you will see, all these things are connected, because we are all one and all equal.
You'll also notice in these pages that I do not refer to spirits or plants as “it” but as “they,” “them,” and “who.” This clarifying distinction is very important to me, as it gives animacy to what is considered inert and dead matter in modern culture. Plants and spirit are living and breathing beings, and I refer to them as such here. And I use the word “spirit” to refer to the animate intelligence that lives all around us.
Furthermore, I want to be clear that it's not enough just to read and think about the ideas I share here. You must do the work and bring them into your practice. For this reason, I include specific practices at the end of each chapter that I have found integral to making a conscious connection to the earth and all that surrounds us. You'll find a list of these practices in the Appendix at the end of the book. The practices outlined here can help you become a witch who listens to the voice of the land and the earth. I call these “practices” to remind you that they are ongoing and never perfect.
While I feel that you can perform these practices anywhere—no matter where you are geographically—it's impossible for me not to be influenced in my own practice by my own surroundings of the high desert in eastern Oregon, and you will see this clearly in the book. What I encourage you to do is to rely in a similar way on your own unique surroundings. (You likely already are.) For we are all intimately influenced by our environment, whether we know it or not. If you feel lost or disconnected, simply keep reading. My intent is to help you see the sacredness right beneath your feet, right outside your door.
While a long-distance hike like mine is done in a season—spring or summer—the spiritual practice of witchcraft is both year-round and lifelong. Seeing it in this way may seem daunting, as there will be times in your craft when you may not feel like practicing. These are normal phases. Knowing when to push yourself and when to rest is key. You will find your own path-walking rhythm. Small steps, they say; don't walk too fast; just move at a comfortable yet persistent pace. One person I hiked with was affectionately called Little Engine. She walked slowly, but always made it. We each have our own pace. Some are jackrabbits who speed and stop, while others are like tortoises, slow and persistent. Find your own special rhythm and don't compare it to another's. You move at your pace because that is what works for you.
Your enthusiasm will wax and wane just like the moon, so remember this: When you lose the trail, lapse, or take a long break, getting back into the flow of things can be a painful and sometimes disorienting process. Learning how to get back on track is a valuable exercise and the more you do it, the better you'll get at sharpening those tools that help you return to the path. If you fall off the metaphorical wagon, fear not. You can always pick up the trail where you left off. It's not going anywhere. It's there, waiting for you.
Now, let us begin.
Chapter 1
Heeding the Call
We are born with whirlwinds, forest fires, and comets inside us. We are born able to sing to birds and read the clouds and see our destiny in grains of sand. But then we get the magic educated right out of our souls. We get it churched out, spanked out, washed out, and combed out. We get put on the straight and narrow and told to be responsible. Told to act our age. Told to grow up, for God's sake. And you know why we were told that? Because the people doing the telling were afraid of our wildness and youth, and because the magic we knew made them ashamed and sad of what they'd allowed to wither in themselves.
—Robert R. McCammon
To feel the call to witchcraft is to feel the call of the wild. It is to be lured into otherness—to be different. Sometimes we feel it in our breath. The wind whispering of mystery, sweeping away dust motes and uncovering what was hidden, but there all along. Sometimes it appears in the quickening of our blood, like spring sap rising as we root deeper into the soil. It's a pulse that reverberates something subtle, but with a rumble of distant thunder, bringing awareness of the deepest caverns of our hearts. It can move and bend like a river, molecules reshaping and changing with every ripple and rapid. It can move us from the trance of ordinary life and into a strange otherworldly wakefulness. Sometimes it can feel like a crackling fire, all-consuming and radically transforming. It can feel devastatingly beautiful. It is at this crossroads that the realm of earth witchery truly unfolds for us.
