This is a revised version of a post I published on an older blog which is no longer available.
By late July the mugwort towers over me, their blossoms opening up to little brown-yellow tassels or pompoms. Their scent is heady, and the wind-blown pollen can make me sneeze on a dry day. While many things are languishing in the heat, the mugwort is in their full glory and power in the last half of summer. They look ragged, having grown so tall and bloomed out, but they’re incredibly potent, and especially ready to take the plant loving witch on a journey.
I make a simple wreath of mugwort flowering branches, and take it indoors to my cool, dark bedroom. I get comfortable in bed, lying on my back. I crush a leaf of mugwort and use the juices to draw a pentacle over my forehead, which immediately pulses intensely for a few moments before slowing into a gentle thrum. I rest the wreath on my chest, and place a single fresh leaf over each closed eyelid.
I whisper a prayer to my Gods, and the spirit of mugwort, to grant me safety as I journey. Then I enter the journey with my favorite visualization of descending 13 stone steps. At the bottom of the steps I find myself at the entrance to a dark forest, and I follow a short path to a meadow with a massive, flat-topped rock at its center.
In my vision, tall mugwort dances in the meadow under a starlit sky. Here I am visited by an antlered God, a figure I always find equal parts unnerving and compelling. But he always shows me many things about the shadows, the parts of myself I’m unwilling to share with the world at large, the parts of myself that are only allowed free reign in this other place.
He shows me how so many of us need an otherworld where day to day reality is reversed, twisted, or overturned. The more the witch strives to be kind and generous, the more she benefits from a place where being “good” and “nice” isn’t required or even expected. In this shadowy otherworld, the witch can consort with dark and wild spirits, and can learn secrets and access deep magick. It’s not necessarily a “good” place, or a safe one. But it is, for some of us, an essential place, where it’s easier to commune with the old Gods, and where fear can be a tool of learning and transformation. There’s power in accepting one’s own darkness and looking directly at one’s fears.
Mugwort can take us there. Moreover, mugwort can help us make the journey there and back again safely, protecting us and helping us stay truly ourselves no matter what we encounter. Because while she helps us to travel and to see, mugwort is also intensely earthy, allowing us to maintain our own connection to the land and our bodies as our spirits wander elsewhere. Hold on to mugwort as you travel so you won’t be lost in the shadows.
I’ve heard complaints from some practitioners that mugwort causes nightmares. This is sometimes true. I would ask, however, what is a nightmare but an involuntary journey to the world of shadows? Nightmares teach us. I would say mugwort brings us true dreams, or at least teaching dreams—but not usually sweet ones. For sweet dreams turn to lavender, chamomile, roses. But if you want to see into the darkness and find the truth hidden there, fly with mugwort. She might carry you to frightful places, but she will keep you safe.
All text and images in this post, except bottom photo of blooming mugwort, by Michelle Simkins. Please don't reproduce text or images without permission. Bottom photo courtesy of Pixabay.com, a royalty free image site.
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