A Reflection on Nature, Nuance, and the Many Tongues of the Craft
Witchcraft’s Echo
A Reflection on Nature, Nuance, and the Many Tongues of the Craft
Witch, What Shapes You?
Witchcraft isn’t a single thread. It’s a tapestry—stitched from memories, griefs, breakthroughs, bloodlines, trauma, and desire. No two witches are spun the same, and that’s the beauty of it.
At Gloam + Pestle, we don’t pretend there’s a singular path. We recognize that your craft is textured by who you are—your ancestors, your wounds, your culture, your queerness, your neurodivergence, your resistance. Witchcraft, here, is a becoming. A reckoning. A love letter to every part of yourself you were once told to hide.
So ask yourself: What are the voices that echo in your bones when you light a candle? When you touch soil? When you whisper spells into the dark?
That is your Witch.
And no one gets to name it but you.
Nature Isn’t Nice—It’s Necessary
Let’s be clear. Nature is not polite. She doesn't do tidy endings or sugarcoat the storm. She devours and resurrects. She doesn’t ask for permission to bloom, rot, or swallow whole.
And yet, many witches walk around preaching “love and light” while side-eyeing the compost.
But here’s the truth: if your magic ignores decay, destruction, and death, it’s not nature—it’s decor.
Here, we bow to the full cycle. We know that baneful herbs have their place. That rot makes the richest soil. That grief can be the most potent offering.
To be a Witch of the land is to know the land. In its droughts and floods. In its hornets and honeysuckle. In its shadow.
The Craft is not sanitized.
It is sacred.
And sacred things bleed.
Witchcraft is Not a Hashtag
The idea that witchcraft needs to be “palatable” to be real? Trash it.
This isn’t an aesthetic—it’s an act of reclamation. Of remembering. Of refusing.
We do not practice for approval.
We do not soften the edge to make others comfortable.
We do not dilute the poison just because it stings.
Witchcraft holds space for the tender and the terrible.
It honors both nettle and rose.
It tells the truth when no one else will.
We’re not here to please. We’re here to do the work. And sometimes, that work is messy, painful, or even terrifying. And that’s when it counts the most.
Living Unapologetically: What That Really Means
Living unapologetically doesn’t mean steamrolling others or yelling louder than the next Witch. It means rooting so deeply into your own practice that it no longer needs to prove itself.
It means tending your altar without guilt. Saying no without overexplaining. Hexing when needed. Praying when called. Being quiet when you’re listening. Being loud when you’re rising.
It means taking up space as you are—in your full spectrum. Not just the shiny parts.
And yes, it means fucking up sometimes. It means learning, unlearning, re-rooting. We’re not aiming for perfection. We’re aiming for integrity. And that requires grace—for yourself and others.
When Another Witch Walks Differently
The next time you meet a Witch whose ethics don’t mirror your own—pause.
Don’t react. Reflect.
Ask: What wound are they tending? What hunger do they carry? What wisdom do they hold that I haven’t tasted yet?
The Craft is not a monoculture. It is an overgrown, glorious wildwood of practices, spirits, dialects, and spells. And yes, it is sometimes a thicket of disagreement. But instead of cutting each other down, what if we grew differently—together?
You don’t have to agree. But you do have to listen. That’s the price of real community.
The Craft Lives Because We Do
Your craft is not static. It shifts with your breath, your seasons, your heartbreaks. You’re allowed to change. In fact, you’re expected to.
So let it be living. Let it be unruly. Let it be yours.
And the next time someone tells you what Witchcraft is “supposed” to look like, ask them this:
Have they danced with the dark soil?
Have they spoken with the wind?
Have they stood in the storm and said, “I still choose this”?
We have.
And we always will.
