Brother, when I speak of witchcraft I don’t mean the caricature empire sold us, like pointed hats, broomsticks, or devilish bargains.

For me, witchcraft is the art of being in right relationship with the seen and unseen. It is listening to the voices in the river and in the roots, hearing the song in stone, honoring the spirits that walk with us, whether or not modern culture admits they’re there. It is remembering that prayer, plants, and ritual have always been technology, long before silicon and screens.

Witchcraft is tending the old ways of reciprocity: offering before asking, blessing before taking, walking as if every step leaves an imprint on eternity. It is the rebellion of living as if the Earth is alive—because She is.

It is also the everyday, embodied magic: preparing remedies from herbs you’ve gathered with your own hands, knowing the medicine of your local plants, learning which leaf soothes a fever and which flower heals a grief. To me, that’s witchcraft too—being a servant of the land’s pharmacy and remembering that healing is a dialogue with life itself.

It’s not about power over but power with. Not manipulation, but participation. Not escape, but deeper presence. To me, witchcraft is what happens when devotion and imagination meet the wild intelligence of the world, and we allow ourselves to be re-woven into that web.