• Letter From The Editor

    My name is Rabbit. I’m an animist, pantheist, polytheist, spirit worker, folk magician, and traditional witch.

    I’ve been practicing some form of these practices for about two decades and I’ve passed through quite a lot of steps on the path, from Hermetic and ceremonial practices, chaos magick, and demonolatry to druidry, reconstructionism, and initiatory paths. While I have my differences and disputes with a lot of these systems, all of these journeys were key to my reaching my current step on the spiritual path, and I don’t consider myself “finished” and likely never will.

    I used to be a pagan blogger around the 2012-ish to 2016-ish era, which now seems like quite a long time ago. I’ve done a lot of questioning myself about my motivations for writing again now: The social media landscape has definitely not gotten nicer in my time off. But I’m a writer at heart, and I think I often like to process my thoughts and feelings on things by writing about them. That’s just the way it is with me!

    Besides my beliefs, work, and responses to ongoing currents of pagan discussion, I’m likely to discuss local cultus, gnosis, veneration practices, spiritual book reviews and thoughts, and other ad hoc reflections. My hope is that my writing about my practice can speak to people in some way. I’d like to believe that I can create writing in the world that I would have loved to read ten years ago, when I was looking for shared feelings and signposts that I was going in the right direction.

    As an animist who does ongoing work toward gnosis, I experience the world as enspirited. My “witchcraft” is embedded in initiatory and folk traditions, and it’s definitely not secular. I venerate several different gods and spirits and my beliefs inform all aspects of my life, from politics and activism to my relationships and career.

    This also isn’t an academic project or a 101 guide. I’m going to write about my practices, viewpoints, and beliefs, and rarely anyone else’s. I also won’t share everything about my practice or work, or even half of it. Much of what I practice is for me–it would feel wrong to speak to the public about it, if not outright forbidden. I can also be, in no particular order, fussy, irritable, pedantic, rude, and prone to misphrasing things. I don’t really like to tack disclaimers to everything I write, but if we don’t get along for these or any reason, that’s fine! We can both go on our way.

    I hope that, if nothing else, this writing finds someone, and makes them feel like their community is just a bit larger.

    All the best,
    Rabbit.

  • Witchcraft Autopsy: Candles

    Candle magic is one of those evergreen techniques in witchcraft, but I’ve found that very few people who use it have any grounded working knowledge or system to explain how or why it works. Part of this may be because candle magic is simply so accessible: It’s inexpensive to get started with (even in specialty shops I’ve seen chime candles go for fifty cents or less), it has a built-in beginning and end, it looks and feels like it’s doing something, and–let’s be a little candid–it’s flashy! It photographs well. So you get a lot of early practitioners filming their camera spells and showing them off online, which only increases the number of candle spells beginners might see and want to try.

    There’s nothing wrong with candle spells. But as always, I think it’s worth examining what we’re doing when we do a candle spell, and considering if we might achieve that effect in other ways. From the animist perspective, there are a few things that I’m doing when I use a candle for spellwork, and I think it might be useful to examine these purposes, for a few reasons.

    One. It will fundamentally improve your craft to think about and develop it systematically. Simply reading spells out of a book and performing the actions might get you some minor results, but it won’t make you an independent practitioner.

    Two. Candle spells aren’t ideal for every situation, or we may have better tools. We can understand this tool in the way we can come to understand a hammer or a screwdriver: Learn its strengths and weaknesses, and apply it where it is the best fit.

    Three. Understanding the animist powers behind the candle can improve your work and thus its results. You can tap into the power instead of ignoring it.

    So, to begin: three of the functions of a candle, from an animist working perspective. Please be aware that they aren’t the only possible functions of a candle: These are just solid foundations to start from when looking at beginner candle spells. There are as many ways to meaningfully use candles as there are cultures that use them.

    Fire as gateway

    The first common use of a candle is as a vector through which to access fire.

    “What is the spiritual nature of fire?” is a massive, nebulous question that is out of scope of what I’m writing here, but often, fire is a gateway, a transformative force. It is raw energy, the conversion of one thing into another. In the center of the flame is a gate, and the gate can be opened, and an open gate can be passed through.

    If the object of the work is to harness the power of fire, then the candle is a purely practical matter. Its color does not matter, except insofar as it might be useful to keep the color and design plain to avoid distraction. Its shape and size does not matter, except insofar as it keeps the fire burning.

    When my object is to use fire, I like to use a plain white unscented seven-day candle in a plain glass jar, or a plain beeswax candle. The glass jar protects the flame from the wind when I’m working outside, but is clear and thin enough that I can still make meaningful contact. I will also use the same candle until it is totally burned down unless there’s some other reason that that wouldn’t align with my goals. But ultimately, as long as it will stay lit for the duration of the work, most plain candles will do for me. The only caveat is that I like to use candles that have no meaning imposed on them, which is why I favor very plain types.

    Candle as proxy

    Consider a figure candle–that is, a candle in the shape of an object. Male and female figures and sometimes genitalia are often available in witchy shops, as an example. What kind of magic might you do with a genital candle? Generally, I’ve seen people do love and relationship magic with these, such as “come to me”-type spells. But what is burning the candle down actually doing?

    To use a figure candle to control or influence a person, I must first associate the candle with the person. I am making a connection, however that might look in your practice, between the candle and the target. This links their spirit to the work, which is the vector through which the work might influence them. Whatever part of their spirit is linked to the candle will be melted. I could “melt” their heart. I could “melt” their resistance to me. I could “melt away” their sexual power. I could do them harm. But the mechanism behind this action is the connection between the candle and the target. The candle acts as a surrogate sacrifice for the work.

    When my object is to use the candle as proxy, things like color and shape generally don’t matter much to me; the candle will be what it is because I command it so. But it can be useful to use these things as a “mental lever” to convince yourself. If colors or shapes resonate–if the particularly vivid imagery of melting a penis or an anatomical heart or a politician will get your heart in the right place–I say go for it.

    Candle as offering

    Sometimes the candle is not actually being directly worked with, but as an offering to a spirit ally in exchange for their participation in the work.

    In this use case, the candle itself becomes secondary. The spirit is the operative power in the work. You are honoring, making an offering, or making an exchange with a spirit who can theoretically agree to work on your behalf in exchange.

    In this case, it is worth identifying what it is that is actually being given. What is it that the spirit wants? Is it devotional energy, channeled through the flame? Is it a simple rite of exchange that allows the power to flow? Is the candle itself an effigy of the spirit to honor it? Some gods or spirits demand certain candles or rites; for example, I work with spirits who desire specifically black candles and materia.

    In these cases, I will work with the spirit outside the scope of the ritual to understand its needs and wants. Divination or work that creates contact with the spirit prior to the working can be very useful for this. Some spirits are very particular, and often I will develop a pattern of always offering the same thing, even at the same times, which establishes a deeper ongoing working relationship. Other spirits simply want acknowledgement and invitation to step in and do their thing, and they don’t need or even want anything fancy.

    Candle as spirit and sacrifice

    On the other hand, the candle itself is an object, and like all objects it carries a piece of spirit with it. This spirit can be awakened, or some other form of spirit can be put into it.

    It is possible to work with the small spirit of a candle directly. I have found that many or even most manmade things don’t have “wakeful” spirits unless they are awoken. Things that are already awake tend to be the things that we talk to or greet as “creatures” (such as old cars and misbehaving heaters). Other things must be “woken up,” which is a topic too dense for here, but if the candle is a wakeful spirit it can act as a proxy sacrifice for the work. For example, I might get a candle in an aligned color or shape, name the candle, and anoint it in oil to feed it before burning it. Candles are meant to be burnt and the spirit should be aligned to the purpose. The candle becomes a collaborator in the work.

    As an example, I might do a binding of families. The candle could be named both of the two family names, carved into either side. (You could also use two candles close together.) It becomes a symbolic family member. Then the candle is lit and so the two families are joined as the names irreversibly melt into each other.

    Working with the candle directly in an animist way is more complex than using it as a vector for fire. When I do this kind of work, I typically choose a small candle that I can attend for the entire time it is burning down, such as a chime candle. I personally don’t worry about color too much because I find most color meaning charts to be meaningless, but there are some colors that are meaningful to me from tradition or experience and I choose between them, or there might be another color that speaks to me in some way. I might name the candle in the process of waking it to its purpose, and may carve its name into the side; its name might be something simple, like a family name or a noun, or a magical or sigil name. I often feed the candle with oil, which I have some defaults for, but may feel drawn to specific plant allies depending on the work.

    If you’re working with the candle as a collaborator, you should acknowledge it and thank it for its work. This is the kind of work that I can write about, but ultimately not give you a “recipe” for, in the same way that there’s no one way to work with all spirit allies.

    Wax as materia

    I see very little in beginner spaces, and this is somewhat of an addendum to the previous categories of candle work, but melting a candle also renders you perfectly good spellworking materia. Wax is versatile. It can be bottled, ground, crumbled, broken, or buried, or certain candles can even be used to safely pour wax on human skin, just to start.

    One significant exception to this, in my opinion, is when candles are offered to spirits. In this case it is typically inappropriate to use the wax in a way that the spirit does not specifically invite or allow, as the candle and its wax has been given away and is no longer freely yours.

    If I were doing candle work with the object of using wax as materia, I would use the wax in the same way I might use some other enspirited materia, such as a plant. I would make sure it was aligned with my purpose.



    These are not the only aspects of candle work. In particular, other traditions will have meaningful and specific applications of candles. Look into other traditions’ use of candles and consider them carefully. For example, why do the Catholics use different candles, when, what kinds, and why? How do Buddhists use them? In cultures which use candles as offerings, why is that offering meaningful? Some magical traditions use specifically-colored and -shaped candles for specific workings; can you discern why? Examine candles in your own culture. What are your candles made from, and where do they come from? Would it be meaningful to make your own candles?

    Consider a spell where a candle might be useful. Do you need a proxy for someone who isn’t available for the working? Is fire and transformation a crucial element? Are candles the most accessible materia for the work?

    Consider a spell where there might be a better tool. Cord cuttings are very popular on social media right now; is there something a cord cutting is doing that a ritual knife couldn’t do better? A money spell might ask you to use a green or gold candle; what is that spell doing within your framework, and is there a better way to access that function?

    And as a last note, I’d like readers for whom this has been useful to reflect on “candle maximalism.” I’ve described several techniques here, but at the end of the day, all of these techniques can be achieved using a bulk box of white unscented tealights. I’ve provided alternate examples, but the vast majority of the time, I’m using either plain seven-day candles or plain chime candles. The former are under ten dollars and the latter come in bulk for dirt cheap. It is useful to consider where aesthetics assist the work, where they are needless or even get in the way, and, unfortunately, what might be enticing to beginning witches that might be easy to upsell. You should have nice things that you like in your practice, but you do not need the twenty-dollar herb-coated moon-kissed custom taper from Etsy to do meaningful work.

    The only way to learn and understand the work systematically is to do the work and do it thoughtfully. Go forth!


    I’m not certain if I’m going to keep doing autopsy writing like this, so if this is helpful in any way, please let me know. Thanks!

  • Tending the Garden Soil

    I haven’t always been a “tending the witch’s garden” kind of witch. In fact, I would call it a more recent development.

    This is my second year tending a full garden. While I gardened when I was younger and grew up in gardens and farms, I’ve spent the majority of my adult life tending pots and indoor plants to varying success. None of that has compared to the experience of tending a full garden and the lived wisdom that I’ve developed doing it, even in just this past year.

    Most of my land kinship was developed on the land where I grew up. This place remains deeply meaningful and important to me, but I don’t return there often, and where I live is different. They’re on opposite sides of the Appalachian, which is a natural ecosystemic barrier. I characterize my love for and experience with the Appalachians by my life lived on either side of them. The soil, the trees and forests, the crops, the plants and animals, the insects are often different–not so much that you’d notice on a glance, but materially.

    These days I live in the Piedmont. I started my deepest animist work as a dirt witch, and the difference in soil is the most dramatic to me. I grew up in coal country. The soil is what I know now is alfisol, a term I only learned in adulthood; I knew it then by its thickness, its moisture, its rich darkness, and the tight way roots would pack it. The soil where I learned to look at soil is rocky, so rocky it’s hard to grow any real crops on it without a lot of effort, and often coal-laden; I remember walking through the mud barefoot and coming back with the soles of my feet completely black.

    Here, where I live now, the soil is mostly ultisol, a bright red clay soil. Where it isn’t clay, it’s sandy. Many of the forests I’ve been through have a clear divide between the canopy of deep-rooting trees and the underbrush of shallow-rooted ferns and grasses, plants that thrive on this kind of dirt. The two soils have a very different character: to support the ecosystem, yes, but also to look at, to hold, to smell, to walk on. They have their own unique histories.

    This is something I think about a lot. Soil is the fulcrum point between rot and new growth, and it carries the histories of the living and dead within it. When I think of developing a relationship with the land, I don’t think of plants or animals first but the soil itself.

  • February Field Notes

    I’d like to start writing about my spiritual life more reflectively, on a day-to-day basis rather than an abstract basis, and I thought doing some monthly notes (in the style of Leah Middleton) would be a great way to move into that.

    February was a tumultuous month for me in many ways, characterized by trauma and regrowth. This trauma came into my life in the wake of a vast Saturnian work that I’m in the process of: death, crucible, rebirth. Before the trauma, I was embracing the flow of reconnection with the spiritual work, and in its wake I had the tools and context to make sense of it. The making-sense, though, doesn’t erase or undo the trauma; it only narrativizes and transforms it.

    My proximity to the work has a serious ebb and flow pattern. I pass back and forth, on the scale of seasons or even years, from work to reflection. We used to call the reflection period the “fallow season”: a period where the land is left untended and unplanted to allow for regrowth and restoration. In these periods I will do very little active work and little to no ritual. I do often have deep reflections and revelations during this period, but make no progress in other ways. As I pass into the “flow” period, these revelations assert themselves and inform the more formal work. This season it began with a revision to my ancestor veneration practice, which deepens in unexpected ways all the time.

    As we enter false spring, I have also been reflecting on the physical work of gardening last year, which taught me so much about the land and the flora, both native and domestic. It was my first year gardening deeply in the Piedmont, and it has so much to tell me. The first step of this year’s work is to amend the soil, which is a complicated and spiritually rich process when you engage with it on that level. For most things, planting will wait until April, but the foundation has to be laid now.

    Finally, this month I reengaged with my spiritual community. I joined a group seid and laid a question before the seer. I let a second question go unasked aloud: Is this kind of work a path forward for me? Is this a service that I feel called to on behalf of my community? Trancework is something very close to my heart, and community service as well, but I have never merged the two. I am going to attend another ritual in March, and see where it takes me.

  • Animist Witchcraft

    I practice an animist witchcraft, or folk magic. So what does that mean?

    To put it very simply: I believe that all things that are magic, be it ritual or spellwork or folk tradition, are the work of spirits. It may be allied spirits; it may be gods, or ancestors, or divinity or divine currents; it may even be my own spirit. But for me, there is functionally no difference between magic and spirit work, to the point that I rarely call what I do “magic.”

    For me, almost all of magical work is the development, deepening, and maintenance of relationships with these spirits.

    For example, take the spirit of rosemary. (There is the spirit of an individual rosemary plant and then there is the spirit of Rosemary, which is a distinction for another time.) Rosemary has many skills or powers, which we may come to know through cultural knowledge or personal gnosis, but how can we as practitioners access these skills? The animist answer is to have the spirit work on your behalf.

    In short, if an object magically heals or hurts or changes, that is because its spirit is conducting that operation.

    There are a lot of nuances to this, and spirits of a specific nature are going to behave according to their nature no matter what you do. But the work of animist witchcraft is to build that relationship: Introducing yourself to the spirit, pursuing gnosis about and alongside the spirit, making offerings and agreements with the spirit, and developing deeper knowledge of its nature. When I work with rosemary, I do not think of it as a line item on a list of spell ingredients, but as an active participant in the work.

    Animism is not limited to living things (flora, fauna, and fungi). Every thing has a spirit, from lands, natural features, and rock formations to houses, roads, and manmade items.

    This can make my work look very different from formulaic spellwork. I would usually rather do work with one or two well-known and familiar allies than herbs and stones I’ve never introduced myself to before. It’s also easier to deepen some relationships than others; I have more opportunities to organically develop a relationship with plants that will grow in my backyard garden in the Appalachian Piedmont than plants that will only grow in the desert or the jungle. (There are ways to develop these relationships without literally growing the plant, but I’m sure you can appreciate the advantage.)

    Relationships can be unpredictable. Sometimes a friendly stranger can change the course of your life. Friendships can ebb and flow; they can be “for a reason, for a season, or for a lifetime”; you may be close companions, or have only a few things in common. On the other hand, some people will simply not like you or not get along with you for little to no reason. Some people won’t like you because of the company you keep. All of this goes for spirits as well. The key is to understand these nuances and conduct yourself mindfully.

Animism means that all things are enspirited. Every living being and object, from birds and rocks to houses and car keys, has a spirit.

Our spirits are all interconnected, drawn from the same divine current.

A cave painting of a deer from the Lascaux caves.