Before I had language for “rootwork,” I had land. I had fresh mint by my great-grandmother’s steps. I had mason jars filled with leaves I wasn’t supposed to touch. I had herbs steeped into tea that tasted like prayer. I wasn’t taught by books. I was taught by the Earth. And the Earth never needed to explain herself.
In Hoodoo, plants are not props. They’re not ingredients. They’re not trendy.
They’re elders. They’re teachers. They’re spiritual collaborators.
When I work with basil, I’m calling in peace. When I steep hyssop, I’m clearing something heavy. When I keep red clover near, I’m remembering my bloodline.
And before I ask anything from these plants, I speak to them. I give thanks. I listen.
You don’t need a yard. You don’t need the perfect setup. You just need to remember that you’re not separate from nature — you are nature. And nature recognizes her own.
Start with what’s near. Start with what feels right. Let the land teach you what Google can’t. You don’t have to know every ritual — just move with respect.
Covered by spirit. Guided by blood.
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