The Magic
of Plants
In the Celtic tradition, if trees are perceived as teachers, the plant world can be seen as our medicine cabinet. The trees nourish and sustain the spirit; the plant world feeds and sustains the body and mind. The creatures of the plant kingdom are our natural resources: they ground us in practice, they cause us to stop awhile and listen with intent and with the ears of the spirit.
We are surrounded by the plant world at every moment of every day. They are our closest allies and yet perhaps are the ones we take most for granted. The following pages will explore the nature of Celtic plant magic and their applicability in modern magical practice. I will introduce you to a body of herbal magical lore in the guise of the Physicians of Myddvai, a medieval collection of plant and herb medicine and magic. I will offer you effective spells and rituals that will connect you to a genuine body of Celtic magical material and a system of divination using the power of plants. The following examples of magical practice will deepen your relationship with the plant kingdom and its spirits while simultaneously connecting you to a storehouse of Celtic wisdom.
ª ª ª
Plant magic is the nitty gritty, the getting-down-and-dirty-with-nature aspect of Celtic magic, and in no uncertain terms, I absolutely love it. It forms a central aspect of my own spiritual and magical practice that brings color and deep connection to my spiritual workings. I must admit I am no gardener; I would even add that I am a poor gardener. I receive the most peculiar looks from people who cannot understand how I can live with weeds in the garden. However, surely a weed is simply a plant that should not be growing in that particular location? And if that is the case—well, I am perfectly happy for that plant to grow and be alive and thrive where it so chooses. Not, perhaps, the trait of a true landscape gardener, but considering I never aspire to be one, I am quite content with the weeds I have in my garden.
If we were to pause and look closely and sense the plant and its position, we would learn much about its nature—about its preference and the relationship it has with its neighbors. It is this pausing, the simple act of observing its nature, that I classify as communication. There’s no need to be airy-fairy here; I am not interested in summoning a tiny little Victorian- inspired creature with gossamer wings from the plant and having some deep and meaningful conversation with it. Being with the plant and listening to its subtle messages is far more effective and useful than being able to see a little fairy. Nothing against fairies, but surely the point of connection is not to have a psychic vision or see a supernatural creature but to form relationship? And the manner by which we do this is just the same as the practice of sensing the spirit of a tree: we stop, listen, and “be.”
My own personal perception of the plant kingdom is slightly different to the way I view the trees. The tree kingdom is slow-growing, long-lived, and imbued with a sense of deep wisdom that arises from their longevity; with that in mind, I tend to perceive them as elders, respected teachers, those to whom my ancestors turned for deep, ancient wisdom, a wisdom that arises from the land of now and the land of long ago. The plant kingdom, on the other hand, is predominantly fast—it lives at a bit of a pace. The majority (particularly here in northern Britain) are powerful expressions of the seasons and the drama of moon and sun. They respond to the great wheel, they do their jobs, and those of an annual nature retreat back into the soil to be absorbed into the memory of the earth. Perennial plant allies are quick to respond to their seasonal cues; they arise in a burst of praise to the great wheel, they display their wondrous beauty and individual expressions, and then, with a sigh, they retreat to their core beneath the soil to rest, to sleep until the sun or moon calls them next year. In my mind, that is magic in itself, but gosh—there is so much more!
The Function of Plant Magic
In my own practice, I categorize the plant kingdom as having three distinct functions that are particularly relevant for the magical practitioner:
- the power and inherent ability to heal and facilitate healing
- the spiritual message of locality-specific connection
- the ability to assist in sympathetic magic, spellcasting, etc.
It may well be that you perceive their classification as somewhat different to my own, but let me elaborate. Within the Celtic nations, the predominant alignment the people had to the plant kingdom was that of healing. This makes an awful lot of sense; with no hospitals, no doctors (in the manner we would classify them), and no pharmaceuticals, what do you do? Where do you turn to for help when Death is peeking at you from around the door? The Druids and their priests had the trees as the foundation of tradition, knowledge, and wisdom; they were the facilitators of mystery and formed the bridge to profundity, and it is more than likely that they also perpetuated and disseminated the knowledge of herb magic and healing. But that was the priest caste, the elite of society—what of the common people, those who toiled and turned the land, those who ensured that there was food on the tables of both peasant and elite? They were not doctors or nurses, they had no qualifications to speak of, and yet they had a bank of knowledge about the plant world that would be the envy of the majority today, and the reason for this was necessity.
If we scratch away at the surface of magic and of all spiritual traditions and practices, we will find one simple and overriding component: survival. This is the basic fundamental truth that underlies all traditions, all religions, and the practice of magic: our need to survive and to make sense of that overwhelming mystery at the end of life, death. One could say that all religions are “death traditions” in that they teach us how to live to ensure the best outcome or result when we die. Survival—or, in the case of the revealed religions, learning to live and being present—has been replaced with learning how to die and the preparation for the life beyond this one. But look to the plant kingdom and the messages are quite different. They teach us about being here now, being in the bloom, and singing in praise of living and being; however short, however fleeting, the beauty of life is in its living, and this is the mystery of the plant world.
The effective practice of plant magic is not restricted to qualified herbalists; anyone can practice this ancient art safely and effectively. All that is required is a depth of connection that is based on knowledge, relationship, and study. If we approach the plant kingdom with good intention and honor, and if we utilize their power in a way that benefits ourselves and our communities, if we strive to be in service to nature and the gods, then the plant world will lend us their wisdom and work with us as allies in magic. The message of the plant world is particularly seasonal, and we can learn so much simply by watching, listening, and sensing their response to the great wheel; in doing so, we learn how to harness that power in truly beneficial and inspiring ways.
A snowdrop stirs within its bulb—it senses the pulling of the sun, hears the calling of life, and steadily it breaks through the soil and lifts its head towards the glowing orb in the sky. And for just a few days it simply is, with no motive other than to do what snowdrops do: its flowers gently nod their heads in the breeze. Their flowering will ensure the continuation of their kind, but it does so with no concern for its own individual death; it is a reflection of now, of the present, of that window in the great wheel that belongs to it. The snowdrop becomes a part of the song of spring, and its power is the expression of that season and all that it stands for; it is the blooming of life after rest. We emulate this time when we come into the springing of our own life, the fertile time and the period of greatest potential, the attributes and qualities embodied in the snowdrop.
Herb Magic: The Celtic Connection
It was claimed that Gwydion’s magic in summoning of the army of trees was fathomed by the “use of language and the materials of the earth,” 89 the power of words, incantations, and charms in conjunction with the kingdoms of plant and tree. Cerridwen, who was skilled in magic, sorcery, and conjuration, took to gathering the herbs and flowers of the land to create her brew of Awen. The creation of Taliesin himself, according to “The Battle of the Trees,” was said to have been formed from various items of the natural world, including flowers and plants; all these things claim that the power of plants was not just essential for these acts of magic but part and parcel of the entire process. The magic simply would not have occurred at all had it not been for the plant allies. In one of Wales’s most enigmatic manuscripts, The Myvyrian Archaiology, we find the following information contained in triadic form:
The three pillars of knowledge, with which the Gwyddoniaid (magicians) were acquainted, and which they bore in memory, in the first a knowledge of divine things, and of such matters, and the homage due to goodness, the second, a knowledge of the course of the stars, their names and their kinds, and the order of times. The third a knowledge of the names and use of the herbs of the field and of their application in practice, in medicine and in religious practice, these were preserved in the memorials of vocal song, and in the memorials of times, before there were bards of degree and chair. 90
From the above it can be deduced that the Celtic magicians were versed in spiritual matters, the movements of the stars and the divisions of time, and the function and qualities of the plant kingdom. However, what is significant in this triad is the stipulation that the knowledge of the plants was in relation to their medicinal and religious use. This implies that both the physical and energetic functions of the plant were essential knowledge for the practicing Celtic magician. The preservation of such knowledge and wisdom is also stipulated with the suggestion that the power of the voice and song was vital to ensure its perpetuation. What good is knowledge if it is not preserved; what good is information if it is not disseminated? Our task, if we wish to take it, is not only to learn about the power of the plant kingdom but also to ensure the continuation of the knowledge by sharing what we know with others who can continue that work. Our Celtic ancestors recorded their knowledge of the plant kingdom and of their use in healing and magic, and although obscure to many in the twenty-first century, aspects of this storehouse of wisdom are relevant to practitioners of Celtic magic today, and by accessing it we open the doors of ancestral magic.
Plants and the Great Wheel of the Year
Upon the great wheel of the year we see the passing phases of the wheel of life, of our own yearly growth and development through birth, fruition, fertility, vitality and bounty, maturity, reflection, decline, and death. We can capture a glimpse of this in the triad I mentioned earlier, which states that the men of magic knew the order of times. Our aspirations, ambitions, and vocations pass through the seasons of the great wheel, and the more we align to them, the more in tune with the seasons of our being we become.
The entire life cycle of the human can be seen emulated in the above qualities as they traverse the annual great wheel, and our allies in the plant kingdom can teach us so much about the meaning of the cycle of moon and sun and the way in which it affects every single living creature on the face of the earth and down to the depths of our oceans.
All the seasons are miraculous, wondrous, awe inspiring, and filled to the brim with beauty and magic, and if we look to the plants and how they respond to it, we begin to live the year with lucidity, being aware of the cycles of the great wheel in a manner that is conducive to growth and experience. Rather than wishing the winter away—and miss out on the opportunity for reflection and quiet contemplation—we can choose to live it, and our allies in the plant kingdom can show us how. Spring will come; the sun will be reborn; but for the time being, lest we traverse backwards along the Great Wheel in an attempt to halt its incessant momentum, the plant kingdom shows us how to be fully present in time as active participants, not reluctant passengers.
Within the pages of the Physicians of Myddvai, which will be explored a little later, we find reference to only two festivals of the great wheel and the plants that are symbolic of them: the Summer Solstice, to which the powers of the oak and vervain are emblematic, and the mistletoe of the Winter Solstice. This is useful, for it gives us a snapshot of the past and the associations of the plant kingdom that our ancestors considered significant for each festival. These shall be explored at greater depth a little later. These plant associations are indicative of ancestral connection and the relationship our forefathers had with the great wheel.
The agricultural or land-based festivals that punctuate the great wheel are locality specific, and the manner in which we connect to them can only be based on our observation and relationship with the natural world. The four agricultural or fire festivals, as they are commonly referred to in Celtic traditions, are fluid—they are not marked by the stations of the sun, they are the manner by which the land responds to the activation of the sun’s power upon it. It is doubtful that our Celtic ancestors would have celebrated all eight festivals that are commonplace in modern Paganism. In British Celtic mythology, only Calan Mai (Beltane) and Calan Gaeaf (Samhain) are popularly mentioned, and yet the archaeological record informs us that our earlier ancestors certainly marked the passage of the sun against the standing stone monuments of northern Europe. However, in modern Pagan practice, the celebration of all eight festivals is both fitting and a powerful method of connection.
With this in mind, I present the commonly accepted Celtic names of the festivals of the year, together with their common Pagan names and plant associations in northwestern Wales. Contrary to popular Pagan belief, the Celts did not believe that the year ended and thus began at Calan Gaeaf/Samhain; it was believed that the year concluded, fell into a period of darkness and gestation, and was reborn anew on the morrow of the shortest day of winter—that is, on the turn of the sun.91
|
celtic |
common pagan |
plant |
|
Alban Arthan |
Winter Solstice |
hellebores (Christmas rose) |
|
—the highest point of the winter— |
||
|
Gwyl Ffraid |
Imbolc/Candlemas |
snowdrop, crocus |
|
—the feast of Ffraid, goddess of spring, |
||
|
Alban Eilir |
Vernal Equinox/Eostra/Ostara |
daffodil, |
|
—the highest point of spring— |
||
|
Calan Mai |
Beltane |
hawthorn flower, borage |
|
—the calends of May, the true beginning of summer— |
||
|
Alban Hefin |
Summer Solstice |
St. John’s wort, vervain |
|
—the highest point of summer— |
||
|
Gwyl Awst |
Lammas |
marsh samphire |
|
—the feast of August— |
||
|
Alban Elfed |
Autumn Equinox |
sedum, ivy |
|
—the highest point of autumn— |
||
|
Calan Gaeaf |
Samhain/Halloween |
winter honeysuckle |
|
—the calends of winter— |
||
Communicating with Plants
We communicate with the plant world in the same manner as we do with trees: we observe, we feel and sense them; channels of communication open by means of this connection, and it is by proxy of this channel that we receive information about the plant. By observing the plants within their habitats, we align ourselves to the passage of the seasons. Our ancestors did not share the same calendar as we currently use; ours is artificial and devised by man, and our ancestors did not rely on the turning of a calendar to inform them that Beltane was near—it would have been the plants that dictated the arrival of summer. This has not changed, and it is by observing plants and the way in which they respond to the seasons that we communicate with them. Remember: they do not have vocal chords, their needs are different to yours, and any communication you have with the plant kingdom will be subtle. For the channel to be effectively opened, you must access your sublime powers in order to perceive them.
As the previous list demonstrates, I tend to identify certain plants with the passing of the season, and their arrival each year is like greeting an old friend. I am familiar with them, I anticipate their coming as they stir beneath the ground or luscious green shoots appear to proclaim their imminent arrival. The daffodils of spring are late in my region, and yet they bring with them the promise of warmth as their golden heads bob in the breeze, mimicking the glowing orb in the sky. I collect a handful of dying heads each year to dry and pound into incense recipes that require freshness, vitality, anticipation, and the promise of a new season.
The red campion is the one I look forward to seeing the most. In my peculiar little mind, there is no plant as gracious or sublime, more beautiful and wondrous as the humble decorator of the hedgerow; it is the plant I love above all others. It is the campion that defines my relationship with the plant world; I sense his coming weeks before his due arrival, and yet I do not long for him during the winter months. I sense his whispers from the warming soil as he sends his body upwards, his pristine pink head bobbing in the noonday sun. To my Celtic ancestors he is known as the blodyn neidr, or the snake flower; he is favored and sacred to the snakes and is the plant that they are drawn to the most; he sings of snake goddesses so loved by the ancient Druids. The crushed seeds, according to lore, were used as a salve to treat snakebites. Locally he is also called blodyn taranau, thunder flower; it was believed that to pick the flowers would cause thunderstorms, and yet the seedpod is alleged to protect one from lightning strikes. My communication with the red campion has developed into a love affair; his resilience and sheer ability to grow in some of the most hostile and barren grounds belies his strength and determination, qualities that I use magically. A bundle of dried red campion seed heads hangs near the main door to the house to protect us from damage by the frequent thunderstorms we encounter here.
Red Campion Protection Charm
An old charm of unknown source instructs that one make a small red or pink pouch and into it cast nine seed heads of the red campion. Upon its outer surface, with fine ink one should draw an outline of the flower in full bloom with a sharp lightning strike set within it. An englyn is then sung thrice while holding the pouch between the palms:
Snake flower, thunder flower, fairy flower sing
Make this place a sanctuary and to it may you bring
Protection from thunder and the flashing gods of light
Lend your power to this place, sagacity and might.
The pouch should then be hung near the main door of the home.
Together with certain charms, his flowers and leaves I imbue into creams and oils, incenses and tinctures to imbue my magic with the properties I perceive him to hold, and this results from the subtle communication between me and the glorious red campion.
Meditation
The awareness of plants
Stop for a minute or two—take a breath with the land beneath you, breathe in the sky above you, and deeply breathe with the rhythm of the seas that surround the shores of your land. Read the following paragraph, then put the book down and perform this simple task.
Go outside and approach the nearest plant—do not be selective, simply allow your eyes to fall on a plant regardless of what it looks like or if you are familiar with it. Get as close to the plant as you can. Note its color, its growth, and the patterns of its leaves if it has any. Does it have any flowers? If so, what insects is it attracting? What does the color of the flowers tell you? Who are its neighbors, and what relationship does it seem to have with them—is it growing in competition, is it struggling to get to the light? Notice the plant: touch it, smell it, close your eyes and touch it again. Note how it feels against your skin. What subtle impressions do you receive from the plant, if any? Direct a blast of emotional energy towards it with gratitude and bid it farewell for the time being.
Return to your tasks, go about your business, and think no more of it. Sleep, and on the following day consider the plant and its qualities, look it up online or in books. What properties is the plant purported to have, and do these match anything you perceived? Note these impressions in your journal.
Exercise
Blodeuedd, the maiden of flowers:
A Ritual of Calling
And Math said, “We must endeavour, you and I, to conjure a wife for him out of the flowers, using our magic and enchantment.” And so they took the flowers of the oak, the broom, and meadowsweet, and from them they called forth the fairest and most beautiful woman that any living soul had ever seen, and they named her Blodeuedd. 92
Blodeuedd was created by the great magicians Math, the son of Mathonwy, and Gwydion in response to the curse that Aranrhod placed upon her illegitimate son, Lleu. Erroneously Blodeuedd is frequently referred to in both human and owl form by the name Blodeuwedd, which is only given to her upon her transformation into an owl by Gwydion’s magic. When we are initially introduced to her in the fourth branch of the Mabinogi, she is created and arises from the cauldron, formed from flowers, and she is named Blodeuedd, which literally means “flowers or blossoms.” When she is cursed to the night in the guise of an owl, she is renamed Blodeuwedd, meaning “flower face,” a typical folk name attributed to the owl; for centuries the owl was commonly referred to as Blodeuwedd.
In her Blodeuedd form she is a force of nature, and not one to be reckoned with. There is an important and vital message to be gleaned from her tale. The magicians create her with every good intention to break the curse laid upon Lleu, but in doing so they also serve to demonstrate ignorance and arrogance—and yet we must not smite their characters for this trait, for that is a necessary function of their personalities; they are flawed. However, they assume that Blodeuedd will do their bidding and conform to the standards they place upon her, but this is doomed from the offset—she is flowers, she wants to be flowers, her ordinary state is held in the color of flowers and the aroma they carry on the breeze. She cannot conform and she cannot be controlled; she is a force of nature.
The two aspects of Blodeuedd offer immensely powerful and profound opportunities of connection and relationship; she can teach us so much about the nature of flowers and their virtues. By developing a relationship with Blodeuedd, we increase our attunement and connection to the plant kingdom.
Begin by reading the fourth branch of the Mabinogi in its entirety.
You will need spring water for your ritual cauldron and an equal quantity of oak flowers (acorns are fine at a push), broom blossom, and the flowering heads of meadowsweet; place these in a bowl next to the cauldron. Suggested magical allies for this rite would be Gwydion or Cerridwen. Perform the triskelion ritual as described in chapter 5. After the vowels of Awen have been chanted, allow your eyes to close gently and recall your impressions of the flower goddess and the mysteries contained within her tale.
With your wand in your power hand, hold both hands over the flowers and repeat the following three times:
Three powers of three flowers, three powers in you combined
Three flowers of plant and tree, your wisdom forth to find.
Oak, broom, and meadowsweet, your powers great to see
Goddess of the blossom, Blodeuedd, I call to thee.
Gather up the oak flowers and chant the following thrice, tossing them into the cauldron on the second repetition and holding your wand aloft over the cauldron throughout:
Blodeuedd, come by blessed oak, stout and strong and fast.
By Druid’s shout from ancient times, your magic here I cast.
Next, gather the flowers of broom and chant the following thrice, tossing them into the cauldron on the second repetition and holding your wand aloft throughout:
By sweep of broom its spell is cast
To call you forth by magic’s task.
Come, arise, take form and shape
Lift your head, O lady, wake.
Finally, gather the flowers of meadowsweet and chant the following thrice; again, cast the flowers into the cauldron on the second round, holding your wand aloft:
By scent of flowering meadowsweet I sing
Your form and face it doth so bring.
From depth of cauldron, lady, come
Appear to me by day is done.
Now plunge your wand into the cauldron, connecting yourself to the deep, to the hidden world and the abode of the gods. Stir the cauldron anticlockwise with your wand, eyes closed, and recite the following over and over, quicker and quicker, until your mind is concerned with nothing else:
By the power of these flowers, Blodeuedd rise and sing
Form and shape of blossoms, goddess to me bring.
Wisdom from the world of plants and those that humble dwell
On the earth and ’tween the planes, their wisdom forth to tell.
Allow your mind to become lost in the mantralike fashion of the chant; keep it going until you literally lose your mind. When you are utterly and truly exhausted, stop stirring and fall to the ground still, empty, with visions of Blodeuedd your only sight. Sense the power of the goddess and the mysteries she holds and speak to her in that quiet place, in that space between the worlds, held in sacred space.
Conclude the ritual as directed in the triskelion ritual in chapter 5. Think no more of it, return to your daily business, sleep, and on the morrow reflect on the ritual and your connection to Blodeuedd. Record the experience and any insights in your journal.