HERBS + WOODS + SMOKE + WATER
What's Good for the Field is Good for the Hearth
For many cultures throughout the world, seasonal rites and festivals have long been integrated with regional cycles of building, planting, harvesting, hunting, fishing, and supporting community; reflecting the relationships and reciprocity of people to the land where they live. In many places, they still are. And for our collective ancestors, this connection to land and ceremony was a reflection of their interconnectedness with the plants, animals, weather, and topography of land and place.
For those of us now living in non-agrarian societies, it can be a little harder. Capitalist consumer culture, by virtue of its mechanisms, inherently disconnects us from the ebb and flow of cycles and seasons. Making room in the fast pace of contemporary life, even for something small and personal, can feel like a great luxury. And we don’t all have access to free time, space, or such monumental entities as oceans, rivers, or bonfires. But I believe it's an act of radical defiance to realign and reconnect ourselves with the pace of our bioregions to pause, observe, and commemorate the cyclical changes and seasons we're a part of. When we’re able to accommodate moments that mark the passage of time, we’re grafting into longstanding traditions that honor potent, shapeshifting, life-giving, and caretaking forces. Foundational elements such as fire and water both embody and symbolize these forces, shaping us and the earth, thus establishing themselves as catalysts for the origins of our most significant rituals. Philosophically, they remind us what it means to be human, and an integrated part of our natural world. And I believe when we're purposeful and attentive, we can easily fold these meaningful rituals into our lives today. It’s all part of the process of learning and unlearning, of decolonizing and unsettling settler colonialism [1], and re-establishing actual relationships with both the human and non-human world.
Throughout history, water and fire have played an important role in cleansing, protection, offerings, and blessings. Nearly every culture has some tradition of lighting up great bonfires; or smoldering herbs, woods, and resins in ceremonies to mark rites of passage or spiritual initiations. People have long worked with water as a religious, spiritual, and magical material; even for seemingly ordinary chores, medicines, and foods. Today, we have a multitude of ways to incorporate the uses of fire and water more intimately into our lives. History even guides us on how, from documenting ritual foods and medicines to cleansing and blessing, and even the use of perfume. We may base our methods on these histories but also our current connections to cycles and seasons, our relationships to plants or bodies of water, personal beliefs and practices, and our cultural traditions. In developing our own personal relationships with the land and local plants where we live, we expand and deepen our understanding of the limitless potential within each collaboration.
Even more to the point, I believe it’s a radical act to push against constructs of colonial, capitalist indoctrination to insist on pausing, looking, and noticing the surrounding world and its cyclical changes; from day-to-day, to a year, and across decades. To observe and honor these changes is to defy a system that asks us to detach ourselves not just from the earth, but from our very own bodies. When we stop and set our will towards re-engaging a conversation with the land, sea, and sky where we live, we resist deeply embedded training to regard our surrounding world as only an extractable resource. The world is a part of us, and we are a part of it; there is no separation between humans and nature. Fire and water are world-builders and community-building catalysts that we have a potent connection to, even now. The sooner we realize we’re in relationship with the earth and all its inhabitants, the more likely we will be to take actual responsibility for our actions and our impact; and the better it will be for us all.
So in light of relationships, I've been reflecting on why and how water and fire have such a predominant role in ritual and ceremony across cultures [2]. Over the course of many months, I've been writing these works in reflection of how important it is to talk in depth about what practices we build when we step away from practices that harm, and how the history of those practices isn't rigid but helps build a better template for what we do now, and in the future. So in the next few parts, I wanted to dig in a little deeper to expand on each element more specifically as they relate to ecology and humans, and the relationships humans have had with these elements across time; and how it's possible these may lead us to concrete actions, and better futures.
For many cultures throughout the world, seasonal rites and festivals have long been integrated with regional cycles of building, planting, harvesting, hunting, fishing, and supporting community; reflecting the relationships and reciprocity of people to the land where they live. In many places, they still are. And for our collective ancestors, this connection to land and ceremony was a reflection of their interconnectedness with the plants, animals, weather, and topography of land and place.
For those of us now living in non-agrarian societies, it can be a little harder. Capitalist consumer culture, by virtue of its mechanisms, inherently disconnects us from the ebb and flow of cycles and seasons. Making room in the fast pace of contemporary life, even for something small and personal, can feel like a great luxury. And we don’t all have access to free time, space, or such monumental entities as oceans, rivers, or bonfires. But I believe it's an act of radical defiance to realign and reconnect ourselves with the pace of our bioregions to pause, observe, and commemorate the cyclical changes and seasons we're a part of. When we’re able to accommodate moments that mark the passage of time, we’re grafting into longstanding traditions that honor potent, shapeshifting, life-giving, and caretaking forces. Foundational elements such as fire and water both embody and symbolize these forces, shaping us and the earth, thus establishing themselves as catalysts for the origins of our most significant rituals. Philosophically, they remind us what it means to be human, and an integrated part of our natural world. And I believe when we're purposeful and attentive, we can easily fold these meaningful rituals into our lives today. It’s all part of the process of learning and unlearning, of decolonizing and unsettling settler colonialism [1], and re-establishing actual relationships with both the human and non-human world.
Throughout history, water and fire have played an important role in cleansing, protection, offerings, and blessings. Nearly every culture has some tradition of lighting up great bonfires; or smoldering herbs, woods, and resins in ceremonies to mark rites of passage or spiritual initiations. People have long worked with water as a religious, spiritual, and magical material; even for seemingly ordinary chores, medicines, and foods. Today, we have a multitude of ways to incorporate the uses of fire and water more intimately into our lives. History even guides us on how, from documenting ritual foods and medicines to cleansing and blessing, and even the use of perfume. We may base our methods on these histories but also our current connections to cycles and seasons, our relationships to plants or bodies of water, personal beliefs and practices, and our cultural traditions. In developing our own personal relationships with the land and local plants where we live, we expand and deepen our understanding of the limitless potential within each collaboration.
Even more to the point, I believe it’s a radical act to push against constructs of colonial, capitalist indoctrination to insist on pausing, looking, and noticing the surrounding world and its cyclical changes; from day-to-day, to a year, and across decades. To observe and honor these changes is to defy a system that asks us to detach ourselves not just from the earth, but from our very own bodies. When we stop and set our will towards re-engaging a conversation with the land, sea, and sky where we live, we resist deeply embedded training to regard our surrounding world as only an extractable resource. The world is a part of us, and we are a part of it; there is no separation between humans and nature. Fire and water are world-builders and community-building catalysts that we have a potent connection to, even now. The sooner we realize we’re in relationship with the earth and all its inhabitants, the more likely we will be to take actual responsibility for our actions and our impact; and the better it will be for us all.
So in light of relationships, I've been reflecting on why and how water and fire have such a predominant role in ritual and ceremony across cultures [2]. Over the course of many months, I've been writing these works in reflection of how important it is to talk in depth about what practices we build when we step away from practices that harm, and how the history of those practices isn't rigid but helps build a better template for what we do now, and in the future. So in the next few parts, I wanted to dig in a little deeper to expand on each element more specifically as they relate to ecology and humans, and the relationships humans have had with these elements across time; and how it's possible these may lead us to concrete actions, and better futures.
1 ] This is a repeat footnote from the preface of this project, but to reiterate this is a term I learned from Indigenous scholars; and specifically, a term I read in the paper by Corey Snelgrove, Rita Kaur Dhamoon, & Jeff Corntassel, Unsettling settler colonialism: The discourse and politics of settlers, and solidarity with Indigenous nations, Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education & Society Vol.1, No. 1, 2012, pp 1-40
2 ] I just want to mention that my use of European and diasporic histories is to demonstrate some of the precedent or origins of these practices but I am not European, and I didn't grow up fully immersed in a culture of diasporic witchcraft or folk magic; therefore not the authority on any of these. If you want to learn more about contemporary European practices located in Europe as well as what diasporic practices look like in the US, I've included a selection of both European and American journals, podcasts, practioners, writers, and witches.
2 ] I just want to mention that my use of European and diasporic histories is to demonstrate some of the precedent or origins of these practices but I am not European, and I didn't grow up fully immersed in a culture of diasporic witchcraft or folk magic; therefore not the authority on any of these. If you want to learn more about contemporary European practices located in Europe as well as what diasporic practices look like in the US, I've included a selection of both European and American journals, podcasts, practioners, writers, and witches.
This piece is adapted from a series of courses taught in 2019 and 2020. Acknowledgements and transparency of resources may be found on the home page for this project.