Foreword

By Andrew Theitic

The spirit of Samhain casts a deep, mysterious shadow through all facets of our world. Those of a mystical nature will naturally sense the shroud between the worlds thinning as the summer days of heat and lush flora begin to subside, replaced with autumn’s chill breezes and flame-colored leaves. With the approach of the Hallows season, even the most mundane of our acquaintances will also begin to ramble on about strange sounds in the night, deceased relatives visiting them in dreams, shadows staring at them or acting strangely. It cannot be helped.

It’s no wonder that society should feel this way. The gradual decline of the sun’s arc, the shortening of daylight and lengthening of the nocturnal, the first raw winds and wild storms that batter our homes and lives, and the eventual rebirth and renewal of bud have been immortalized in legends, fables, and folklore throughout the world. In our common mythology, goblins and ghosts, both literal and figurative, return each year to haunt the land. It was not merely the changing temperature or solar fluctuations that nabbed human attentions, but the seemingly sudden loss of the Earth’s prosperity in such a beautifully dramatic fashion.

In the Northern Hemisphere—particularly in those areas with latitudes close to the pole—there are few seasonal shifts more striking than the splendidly colorful change from summer’s heat to winter’s frost, accompanied by the perceptual withering and demise of the local flora before their inevitable rebirth. It is ironically these transitional times that tend to bring us back to ourselves, connecting us to the abode between the world of matter and spirit, and invoking the inevitable spiritual “regroupings” that occur at these times.

In the mundane world, we begin to gather together in celebration of the harvest’s bounty, enjoying newly stoked fires, hot drinks, and seasonal delicacies with our family, friends, and neighbors. But those gatherings are not only mundane. Throughout the centuries, our families, clans, and villages—as well as groups of like-minded spiritual seekers—also brought to the hearths and bonfires those herbs deemed sacred to gods, magic, and the ancient mystical traditions.

Most obviously, the death of warmth and abundance points to the inevitable death of us all one day, and the massive debt each of us owes to the land, the harvest, and the lines of our ancestors stretching back to the dawn of time. Along similar lines, it is best to acknowledge that we owe our very earthly existence to the constant influence of the botanical world. From the food we eat to the air we breathe, we are forever indebted to our bountiful allies for the gift of life.

Working with plants is a most rewarding hobby, as we learn to tend and befriend these sometimes alien-seeming life-forms. Not surprisingly, those of a mystical bent in ancient times found each plant to have a particular spirit connected to it, as well as affinities with specific animals and fairies among the Greenwood.

Throughout history, many of our most ancient texts and writings have been lost, yet our link to the flora of our world has remained ever constant. At first, photosynthetic respiration may seem the most important part of our relationship with plants. Then again, handed down through generations of interaction with these beautifully complex organisms have been fables and myths, rhymes, charms, and brilliant bits of folklore woven through with the joys and sorrows of our lives, manifesting the manner in which we are bound to the land for our very survival. Only now, in our modern era of city streets and easily delivered conveniences, do we feel divorced from the Earth and the countless species of trees, plants, lichen, and fungi that surround us. However, the plants remain forever living, thriving, and awaiting our attention. They come to us as foods and flavorings, as medicine, as spiritual and magical foci, as incense for strewing and scenting the home, or as gateways toward mind-altering experiences—or all of the above.

As the seasons reflect the thinning of the shroud or veil—the theoretical psychic membrane between the worlds of flesh and spirit—so do those of an occult persuasion look to Mother Nature for a means of contact between these worlds. Rite, ritual, and herbal extraction combine with spiritual focus as the adept first turns inward in reflection before leaping outward in astral projection. Meditation, the use of potent botanicals, and ecstatic trance and dance have been used for thousands of years, and still are, to forge new pathways of consciousness and perception, deepening the seeker’s wisdom with the aid of spiritual and chemical allies found nearly everywhere the adept is willing to look.

This path, like most, is strewn with traps and pitfalls. Many a courageous explorer, herbalist, and Witch has paid a steep, if not final, price for meddling disrespectfully with the more dangerous plants of the pharmacopeia, be they psychotropic, deliria-inducing, or downright venomous. Even seemingly innocuous herbs can contain toxins and alkaloids that can cause discomfort and pain in the hardiest of individuals. Conveniently, our ancestors had much to say concerning these plants. Evidence about their reactions and relations to seasons, animals, and we humans fortunately was preserved for the contemporary Witch and magician alike. In addition, they also had much to say about the myriad spirits tied to the plants, the forest glades and underworld gateways, odd stones and ancient burial mounds, the portals between this world and those glimpsed only by folks daring enough to search for them.

So, with decades of experience in both the mystical and mundane expressions of the Greenwood’s prosperity, you will be hard-pressed to find a more experienced and friendly guide through Samhain’s haunted, leaf-strewn woods than Ellen Evert Hopman, who knows the hooks and crooks of the road as well as its best picnic areas. When wandering paths lined with dangerous denizens, like the screaming Mandrake, the stunning Aconitum or Wolfsbane, and the dread lady Atropa belladonna, these are necessary attributes indeed. With a keen eye and a Druid’s touch, she’ll steer you clear of accidental poisoning and hospital trips while keeping the practical in mind, the ingredients fresh, and the recipes easy to follow, all the while allowing the mystical lore its fair share of breath and expression. Let’s take a walk, shall we?

ANDREW THEITIC lives in Providence, Rhode Island, with his husband and two magnificent dogs. He is the publisher and editor of The Witches’ Almanac and has been a practicing Witch and magician since the early 1970s. In addition, he chairs several nonprofit organizations that benefit the Craft, magical, and Pagan communities.