Fire
Mugwort, sometimes called dreamwort, is one of my favorite herbs. Its leaves have a pleasing shape, and the whole plant has a nice herby fragrance. Tear a leaf of mugwort and smell the deep, musty, herbal smell. It makes me think of the back room of a mythical apothecary—the scent of herbal knowledge.
Mugwort is easy to grow, even in challenging dry, rocky areas where other herbs may be unhappy. Practically no insects or diseases bother it and, because it's tall, it produces a lot of plant material in a relatively small area. It's extraordinarily effective at aiding dream recall and has little toxicity. Historically, it has been deemed extremely protective against pestiferous spirits in a variety of cultures.
Like vervain, mugwort is associated with the festival of Midsummer in a number of areas from China to Europe. But if vervain is the daytime herb of Midsummer, mugwort is the night side—a Midsummer Night's dream herb.
Mugwort is proof that we don't need to resort to exotic plants from South America or Africa for dreamwork. There are all sorts of native mugworts that are well worth trying, like Artemisia douglasiana, which grows out West. In fact, I have wondered whether mugwort's very commonness and familiarity are not a means for separating the wheat from the chaff in terms of witchcraft. Perhaps not recognizing the value of ordinary mugwort and preferring expensive exotics of doubtful purity that cannot be grown (and thus known) in temperate climes indicates a fault or lack in a practitioner's own personal magical “equipment.”
To my mind, practitioners of witchcraft are distinguished from the average ceremonial or ritual magician not only by their willingness to use what is readily available but also by their recognition of the value to be found in the common and everyday. Among herbs, you can hardly get more common and everyday than mugwort.
The other side of this coin is that, in my opinion, the powers that work through witchcraft are not coy. They don't hide in faraway countries or demand that we spend a lot of money to acquire admittance to their presence. They are “easy”—and easy to get. I think this very ease can devalue items like mugwort for some people. It reminds me of the hints found in alchemical texts about the identity of the starting material for making the Stone—this mysterious-seeming, never-named substance is described as common and everywhere despised. At least one alchemist has posited that that material is ordinary dirt.
Thus alchemists don't need to send to faraway places at great expense for the starting material for the Stone, but through work and reliance upon innate skills and the help of the spirits can find the right kind of dirt nearby. Witches experience the same generosity of the natural and spirit worlds with mugwort, an eye-opening, road-revealing herb that does not give us the answer, but shows us a way we can develop the skills necessary to get the answer—through dreams.
Mugwort's commonness recalls for me the alchemical Secret Fire. Mugwort can be that Fire for witchcraft. It has certainly had Fire associations in spades throughout history and in various cultures. For instance, in China, mugwort is incorporated into the initiation rituals of Buddhist monks. A ball of mugwort and fat is placed on the monk's shaven head and lit. The flame leaves a scar. I am not sure if it is that link to Fire that explains its use in the Buddhist initiation, but I wonder if this ceremony recognizes mugwort's effects on dreaming, which can certainly open the Third Eye.
Mugwort is a favorite herb in Traditional Chinese Medicine, especially in connection with Fire. Some have argued that moxibustion, the burning of mugwort fluff for medicinal purposes, is connected to a more ancient Chinese practice of burning mugwort to drive away bad luck and demons. In China, mugwort is mixed with fat and burned to evoke helpful deities.
As recently as World War II, it was a popular custom for people in China to pick mugwort before dawn on the fifth day of the fifth month (this is the Summer Solstice, known in China as Double Five) and make it into a bundle with calamus root, an herb with strong Sun associations. The bundles were then tied together with a red paper band and hung on either side of the main door of the house. They were meant to expel poisonous airs or influences and to ward off diseases arising from an excess of yin, which is composed of energies that are aligned with Earth, Moon, darkness, Water, space, matter, and rest.
Mugwort and calamus are considered very yang herbs because of their scents. Yang is the Fiery force that both opposes and balances yin; it's associated with heaven, Sun, light, Fire, time, energy, and activity. The very yang/Sun quality of these herbs fits with how mugwort so much lightens sleep that all dreams are remembered. Mugwort is like the sun's shining in the dreamworld.
Mugwort's Fire association comes through its connection to the Summer Solstice—the festival of Midsummer known as St. John's Eve, with its attendant bonfires. Mugwort was a part of St. John's fires all over Europe and North Africa. On the Isle of Man, mugwort is called Bollan feaill-Eoin (John's fease-wort). People gathered it on Midsummer Eve and made chaplets for themselves and their animals to protect against witchcraft. It was worn on the coat or cap on both May Day Eve and St. John's Eve. In France, mugwort was named after John the Baptist, the saint whose feast is held on Midsummer, and was worn to protect health. In Germany, it was worn and also thrown into Midsummer bonfires. In Morocco, Artemisia alba, or white mugwort, whose scent is very similar to our mugwort, was a Midsummer fumigant. It is still commonly encountered as an essential oil.
Thunder and Lightning 
Thunderstorms can usually be counted on at Midsummer. These feature another Fire manifestation—lightning. In China, mugwort is connected with the thunder god. In France, it protects against thunderstorms.
There is a curious Fire/Water, male/female, yang/yin thing going on with mugwort that appears in various cultures. Look, for instance, at the way mugwort—which, in different places is connected to Fire—is also connected to Moon, from the lunar goddess Artemis to its physical effect of helping one remember dreams. This hints at interesting possibilities in terms of interactions between vervain and mugwort. Does mugwort help us remember the vivid dreams that vervain tea can engender? This is an area ripe for witches' experimentation.
The goddess Artemis can function as the center of a web of mugwort activities, from protector of women in childbirth to Moon work like dreaming. Artemis evolved from a mugwort, and thus her name was used to create the name of mugwort's genus, Artemisia. I imagine it is in honor of her birth plant that the festival of Artemis at Ephesus—also known as Artemision—was connected with mugwort. The herb was ingested as part of that festival during the Full Moon, affecting the ability of her devotees to recall their dreams. I do not know if dreaming was part of the rituals at Artemis at Ephesus. It may have been that mugwort was ingested to cause wakefulness, which, after a day or so, can definitely open someone up to supernatural entities that might otherwise be missed. Such wakefulness may also serve to potentiate any ritual drinks that contain alcohol or other psychoactive substances.
Artemis, of course, was associated with Moon and with feminine biology. She protected women in labor, and the herb helped in delivery. She is the female dark (yin) to Apollo's male light (yang). Later, in some contexts, she was conflated with another lunar goddess, Hekate.
Midsummer unites the two halves of the year, as well as dark and light. Mugwort, an herb honoring a Moon goddess, was used on Midsummer in connection with the fires of that festival, to unite the dark and the light when sun time and moon time were equal—when Artemis and her brother Apollo stood side by side. An interesting project for that purpose is mugwort jelly made with natural apple pectin (apple being Apollo's plant). For a ritual item, which is what this is, mugwort and apple pectin are Artemis and Apollo, the perfect Midsummer combination.
3 lbs (1.5 kg) granny smith (green) apples
6 cups (1.5 l) water
2 cups (500 ml) white wine
2 tbsp (30 ml) chopped fresh mugwort leaves
2 cups (500 ml) sugar
6- to 8-quart pot and fine mesh sieve (or a few layers of muslin or cheesecloth)
First, make pectin from the apples. You can use a pouch of liquid pectin from the store, but I like making my own so I know exactly what's in it (and it makes me feel more connected to our ancestors).
Now make the jelly. Before you start, put a saucer in the freezer for testing the jelly to see if it's ready.
This recipe makes about four 4-oz (125 ml) jars.
This is not the kind of jelly you want to put on a peanut butter sandwich. Instead, spread some on a buttered cracker before bed. The butter fat helps you absorb the goodies from the plant. You can use this same recipe for all sorts of herbs. I've been wanting to try combining clary sage and mugwort into a jelly myself.
In cultures as far apart as China and Britain, mugwort has protected against witchcraft, demons, and bad luck. The Chinese believed that it kept devils off; similarly, Anglo-Saxon leech books claimed that it “puts to flight devil-sickness.”
Woden's Herbs
Mugwort is one of the Nine Herbs of Woden that appear in the Anglo-Saxon Nine Herbs charm against poison. These are given as:
Christianity perceived attack by elf-shot and flying venom as demonic possession (deōfol-seōcnes), which mugwort, along with mandrake and periwinkle, can protect against. Likewise, in Britain, leech books advised folks to hang mugwort over the door of a home to protect it from these supernatural attacks, just as was done in China. So mugwort seems peculiarly able to evoke similar responses from different cultures.
Mugwort has a particular connection with protecting eyesight. In Great Britain, a wreath either worn on the head or looked through at the Midsummer bonfire preserved eyesight. This is interesting in connection with the use of mugwort for clairvoyance or divination through dreams.
In mugwort, we have an example of how a practice that may once have been sacred devolved into simple love magic. A man reports how, in 1694 on Midsummer (St. John the Baptist's Feast, Jun 24), he saw twenty women on their knees “weeding.” He found out they were looking for the coal of mugwort root, which could be found only at noon on that day and which they then put under their beds to dream of their future husbands. This coal was really “the old hard black root of the mugwort.”
I have grown mugwort, and I have never seen this root, so I think this story is apocryphal. What's interesting to me is the implication here that an activity that was formerly part of serious magic has devolved into a love charm. This is reminiscent of the yarrow love charms mentioned in chapter 5, and implies that simple folk love charms may be a container for descriptions of older, more powerful magic operations.
The fact that mugwort is connected to activities and times similar to those of vervain may have to do with its psychoactive properties or growth patterns. Vervain usually blooms at Midsummer, which seems to account for at least some of its connections to that festival. In North America, mugwort blooms in the fall (mine usually do in late September to early October); but in England, it begins blooming in July and continues through September. Certainly mugwort is good and high by the Summer Solstice, however, which is the best time for harvesting.
Before using mugwort for dreamwork, consider exactly what you want from the dreamwork and from the plant. Try to pose your question in the most succinct way possible before asking the herb to guide your dreams to an enlightening stage.
One problem with mugwort is that, while it will indeed help you remember your dreams, it will help you remember every scrap of your dreams, including all the unimportant junk. In this way, it works as a dream herb much as it works as a denizen of the garden—all over the place all the time. Another down side of mugwort is that, although it is not toxic, it does seem to work by keeping you half-awake throughout the night. I have found that it takes me several days to “recover” from a mugwort evening. Also, witches should be aware that mugwort loses its power the more frequently it is used. It is best to confine its use to once every two weeks at most, or it loses its effectiveness. To me, this recalls the way some chemicals that have the opposite effect—to cause sleepiness, like melatonin or tryptophan—work for a while and then seem to stop.
Mugwort leaves are excellent for teas, dream pillows, curative and protective baths, smokes, stuffing poppets, and making dream jelly. You can extract the fresh herb (leaves and flowers) into 25 percent alcohol at a proportion of one part herb to one part alcohol. Add a teaspoon of the tincture to a small cup of warm water and drink before bed for dreamwork. Some people find a dream pillow stuffed with dried mugwort leaves is effective. Most commonly, however, mugwort is drunk as a tea shortly before bed. Add a tablespoon of dried herb to a cup of boiling water and infuse for fifteen minutes, then strain and drink.
The best time to start mugwort seeds is after the Winter Solstice when the moon is waxing, because you will be harvesting the upper parts of the herb. Mugwort seeds are small and need to be on the surface of the soil to germinate. This shows how “weedy” plants relate to the activity of humans and other animals. Seeds that need surface sowing have been designed to germinate after the soil they are in is dug up—“disturbed,” in gardening language.
If you want to stimulate the germination of seeds that fall around an established planting of mugwort, do a little surface cultivation around the plants with a claw or hoe. You can do this in a ritual manner, incorporating requests for help from Underworld entities in your work (bringing to the surface). Consider this in relation to perennial mugwort's need for an annual winter nap in the Underworld. We can think of this plant and other surface sowers like rue, wormwood, tansy, mints, and tobacco as being expert at moving between worlds. I also enjoy the lesson that mugwort seeds teach us. Here's a tiny, dust-sized seed that grows into a large, aggressive plant. Size means nothing about power with mugwort.
Most perennials come back stronger after a winter spent in the Underworld. Mugwort comes back like gangbusters, always increasing its territory. This aggressiveness is in line with how it interacts with the human body. In fact, there is nothing subtle about this herb. At the same time, however, mugwort does not send as many chemicals through the ground as its cousin wormwood, which can stunt the growth of neighbors. (Likewise, biologically, wormwood's components are quite rough on the human body.) Mugwort can send enough, however, to deter the germination of other seeds. That said, I grow these plants in a bed with other aromatics like yarrow, tansy, and feverfew, and everyone seems to get along fine. It may be a different story for nonaromatic plants. Mugwort can overwhelm other plants physically rather than chemically, elbowing them out of the way without destroying them. If plants can survive with less access to sunlight, water, and nutrients, mugwort doesn't damage them. Likewise, mugwort has little toxicity when ingested.
Tiny seeds like those of mugwort can be intimidating to a new grower, but they shouldn't be. Just sprinkle the seeds over wet seed-starting medium and lightly press them in with your fingertip. Give indirect sun exposure or direct artificial light for germination in one to three weeks at a warmish room temperature—around 75°F (24°C). If you want to be certain of the greatest amount of germination, cold stratify the seeds for a week (see chapter 2). As is true for most seeds of temperate herbs, don't make the mistake of trying to germinate them in too warm an environment.
After hardening off, transplant your seedlings to full sun and rich, moist soil (although they will grow in dry rocky soil once they get their sea legs). Space them one foot (30 cm) apart; believe me, they will fill in heavily. If you want to give plants to friends or put them in a different location, you can dig them up and divide them in the early spring, before they leaf out. Mugwort typically gets to be two to four feet (60–120 cm) tall, but mine easily grow to five feet (1.5 m) without any fussing over them. The plants are hardy down to –30°F (–34°C). Harvest at the beginning of blooming.
I can tell you from experience that cutting down a mass of mugwort to about the length of a forearm (which leaves plenty of stalk for the plant to form leaflets the following year) means that the plant will expand by underground roots (rhizomes) to a much greater extent than it would have done if you had just left it alone. Think of this as the plant reacting to threat, or perhaps as the plant realizing it is in a good environment for vegetative rather than seed reproduction. Remember, this is a plant that enjoys growing around people. It is not found deep in the woods, but rather along the edges of things, where it's sunny and we can spot them easily. Like many of the other witching herbs, it attracts our attention with its scent, the food of the spirit world.
Because mugwort is a big plant and is pretty tough, it's a good candidate for drying by simply hanging. It's not only easy to dry this way (and keeps its goodies intact during the process), but it also looks nice while it's drying. If you can, choose a waxing moon and the beginning of a dry period to harvest mugwort. Just when the tiny whitish buds start to form at the tops of the plants, cut the stalks an arm's length or more from the ground, leaving something for the new leaves to get started on in the spring.
Make a bundle of the stalks as big as you can grasp in your hand and tie it toward the bottom. I like to use jute twine for this, because it holds the stalks securely and doesn't rot. Hold two sides of the bundle and open it like the blade of a scissor. Place the “crotch” of the bundle on a line strung in an area protected from the elements, or just make the tie of the bundle long enough to hang the whole thing from a nail in a rafter. I use my clothesline, which is under the patio roof. It helps if the herb bundle is outside, but it should be out of the sun and out of the elements.
Test the leaves every day for dryness; they should break instead of bend. It usually takes a couple days. If it's raining a great deal or is very humid, this kind of drying won't work and you're better off using a dehydrator. When the leaves are dry, take the bundle down and untie it. Strip the leaves off the stalks. Pick out all moldy or diseased bits and toss them. It's nice quiet work, although a little messy—a good time to get to know your herb in its final form. Breathe in that good mugwort scent. Store the dried leaves in jars. I like big bailed jars for this. Just make sure that all the leaves are thoroughly dry when you pack them away, or some will get moldy and ruin the whole batch. You can chop the stalks and dry them further, and then grind them for making incense and powders, especially for protection.