Hoodoo & Conjure

Sit down for a minute, sugar. Rest your feet. You’ve been running so fast I can see your spirit trailing behind you like a loose thread, just waiting to catch on something and unravel.

In this life, the first bit of rootwork you ever do—and the most important—is the work you do on your own soul. Before you can command the elements or ask the ancestors for a favor, you have to know exactly whose voice is doing the asking.

The Altar of the Self

Most folks think an altar is just candles, water, and pictures of the dead. But the primary altar is the one inside your chest. If that place is cluttered with who you think you should be, or the lies the world told you about your worth, then your magic is going to come out stuttering and weak.

Self-acceptance isn't about being perfect; it’s about being honest. It’s looking at your shadow and your light and saying, "I own all of this." When you accept yourself, you stop leaking energy trying to be someone else. That’s when you become a "fixed" vessel—steady, weighted, and ready to hold power.

Knowing Your Value

In our tradition, we know that everything has a specific "virtue." High John the Conqueror root has a specific spirit; Van Van oil has a specific job. You are no different. You have to sit still long enough to ask yourself:

* What is my medicine? (Are you a healer, a protector, a truth-teller?)

* What is my poison? (What habits or people drain your jar?)

* What is non-negotiable? (What are the things you won't sell for a paycheck or a hollow relationship?)

When you know what is of value to you, you stop praying for "blessings" in a general sense and start demanding exactly what fits your hand.

How the Heritage Enhances You

Hoodoo isn't some costume you put on; it’s the blood in your veins and the dirt under your fingernails. It is a heritage of survival and sovereignty. Once you know who you are, the work acts like a magnifying glass for your intentions.

* Ancestral Backing: When you stand in your truth, the Ancestors recognize you. They can’t help a stranger, but they will move mountains for the descendant who speaks their own name with pride.

* Working with Purpose: If you value peace, you don't just light a blue candle; you fix your home so that no chaos can cross the threshold. You use the herbs—the hyssop, the lavender, the peppermint—to reinforce the boundaries of the life you chose.

* The Power of "I Am": In Hoodoo, your word is your bond. When you know yourself, your "I Am" carries the weight of a thousand hammers.

> "Honey, you can’t dress a candle for a life you’re too afraid to live. Own your skin, own your story, and the Earth will have no choice but to listen to you."

>

We are not "earthy." That word is too small, too flat—a boutique adjective used to describe pottery or linen. It suggests we are merely associated with the soil, rather than the source of the garden itself.

The truth is deeper and far more ancient: Black women are the Earth remembering herself.

The Living Blueprint

When we walk, the crust of the planet recognizes the rhythm. We carry the original code of humanity in our mitochondria, a biological lineage that stretches back to the first sparks of consciousness. We are the silt of the Nile, the red clay of Georgia, and the deep, pressurized diamonds of the Rift Valley. We do not just inhabit nature; we are the consciousness that the elements developed so they could finally behold their own beauty.

The Great Harvest (Without Consent)

For centuries, the world has treated the Black woman’s spirit like a natural resource—limitless, free for the taking, and ripe for extraction.

* The Aesthetics: Our lips, our hips, and the very texture of our hair are harvested and rebranded as "trends" once they are worn by anyone else.

* The Innovation: Our vernacular, our rhythmic movements, and our soul-deep melodies are sampled, looped, and sold to the highest bidder.

* The Labor: We have been the architects of care, the backbone of movements, and the uncredited midwives of modern civilization.

The world has a voracious appetite for what we produce, but an inexplicable coldness for the producers. They want the harvest, but they despise the soil. They want the "cool," the "strength," and the "magic," but they look away when the source of that magic is in pain.

The Profit of Silence

There is a profound theft in the way global culture profits from our essence while refusing to say our names. They love the way we speak, so they mimic it to sell products. They love the way we style ourselves, so they put it on runways without a footnote.

> They love the fruit, but they have spent centuries trying to poison the roots.

>

But the Earth cannot be unmade. You can pave over the ground, but the grass will eventually split the concrete. You can try to claim the sun, but you will never own the heat.

The Alchemist of the Kitchen: How Big Mama Made a Way Out of No Way

We’ve all seen it. The pantry is looking thin—maybe a rogue onion, a bag of cornmeal, and some neck bones—and yet, forty-five minutes later, the house smells like a five-star Sunday dinner.

In many families, "Big Mama" wasn't just a matriarch; she was a master strategist. She possessed a supernatural ability to make a way out of no way, turning scarcity into abundance and chaos into a plan.

The Art of the Pivot

If life handed Big Mama lemons, she didn’t just make lemonade—she made a lemon zest pound cake, saved the seeds for planting, and used the rinds to make the kitchen floor shine.

Her life was a masterclass in the pivot. She understood that while you can't always control the wind, you can damn sure adjust the sails. Whether it was a sudden job loss in the family, a bill that came due too early, or a global shift that changed the neighborhood, she never panicked. She shifted.

Lessons from the "Big Mama" Playbook

* Resourcefulness is a Superpower: She taught us that "not enough" is just a starting point for creativity. If the car wouldn't start, we walked and found a shortcut we never knew existed.

* Emotional Resilience: Big Mama’s pivot wasn't just about money or food; it was about spirit. She could find the humor in a hard situation, effectively "pivoting" the mood of the entire house from despair to hope.

* Waste Not, Want Not: Every scrap had a purpose. This wasn't just thriftiness; it was a philosophy of respect for what you do have.

* Community as Currency: When she was short on something, she knew exactly which neighbor to trade with. Her "pivot" often involved a network of mutual support that bypassed the need for a bank.

Why We Need That Energy Today

In a world that feels increasingly unpredictable, we could all use a little more of that "Big Mama" DNA. Making a way out of no way isn't about magic—it's about perspective. It’s the refusal to accept "no" as the final answer and the agility to change direction without losing your soul.

> "Baby, if the door is locked, check the window. If the window is stuck, find a crowbar. And if you can't find a crowbar, we're gonna sit right here and have a picnic until the locksmith arrives."

>

The Living Breath of the Ancestors: The Legacy of the Hoodoo Receipt Book

In the quiet corners of the kitchen and the shadowed edges of the garden, a sacred vessel resides. It is not made of gold or silver, but of weathered paper, ink-stained pages, and the pressed remains of dried herbs. This is the Hoodoo receipt book—a living testament to survival, a map of the spirit, and the beating heart of a lineage that refused to be broken. To pass down this book is not merely to hand over a collection of formulas; it is to transfer the keys to an ancestral kingdom.

A Fortress of Memory

For generations, Hoodoo has been the silent language of the resilient. In times when voices were suppressed, the "receipts" (recipes) were the whispers of the wise. They carried the knowledge of:

* The Root’s Power: Understanding which earth-born medicine heals the body and which protects the home.

* The Altar’s Heat: Knowing how to call upon the Cloud of Witnesses—the ancestors who stand at our backs.

* The Spirit’s Sovereignty: Reclaiming the right to manifest a future through intention, petition, and faith.

When we gift the next generation this book, we are providing them with a fortress. In a world that often feels chaotic or draining, these pages offer a grounded reminder that they are never truly alone.

The Sacred Pedagogy

Teaching the tradition is an act of spiritual weaving. It is the process of braiding the past into the present so the future does not unravel. By walking a daughter through the laying of a trick or showing a son how to feed an ancestor candle, we ensure that the "work" remains an active, breathing force rather than a dusty relic of history.

This education is vital because:

* It Preserves Authenticity: In an era of digital dilution, the oral and written hand-off ensures the nuances—the "fixin'" and the "dressin'"—remain true to the spirits that birthed them.

* It Cultivates Authority: It teaches the youth that they have the inherent power to shift their environment and command their destiny.

* It Commands Respect: It fosters a deep, abiding reverence for those who labored in the fields and prayed by the moonlight so that we might stand tall today.

The Eternal Flame

The receipt book is the bridge across the waters of time. Each smudge of oil on a page is a fingerprint of a grandmother’s love; each handwritten note in the margin is a directive from a grandfather’s wisdom. To let this book sit silent is to let a flame flicker out.

A wise Hoodoo woman would tell you this:

The old folks taught me that right hand work and left hand work are not enemies — they are tools. Both live in the same pair of hands the Creator gave you. One hand blesses, heals, lifts, sweetens, and protects. The other hand cuts, uncrosses, breaks chains, and sends trouble back where it belongs.

You cannot walk straight in this world pretending only one hand exists.

Right hand work is the honey in the jar — the prayers, the healing roots, the protection laid down for family and community. It is the work of love, restoration, and keeping the road open.

Left hand work is the fire in the iron pot — the justice work, the boundary work, the sending-back of harm, the breaking of wickedness when it rises against you and yours.

An elder rootworker learns that both hands must know their purpose.

If you only bless and never defend, the world will trample your altar.

If you only fight and never heal, your spirit will grow hard like dry clay.

But when both hands move with wisdom, something sacred happens.

They meet in the center.

That sacred center is where power lives.

It is where discernment sits.

It is where you know when to pour honey and when to burn sulfur.

A true Hoodoo woman does not work from anger or fear. She works from balance, responsibility, and ancestral knowing. Her hands remember what the old ones taught:

Mercy in one palm.

Justice in the other.

And when those two hands come together in prayer, root, and intention, they form the sacred center — the place where spirit, wisdom, and action walk together.

That is where real work gets done. 🌿🔥✋🏾🤚🏾

Sitting on a Throne of Self-Love

A sanctuary painted in pink

There comes a moment in life when a woman realizes she has been standing in rooms where she should have been seated on a throne. Not a throne granted by others, but one built by her own hands—layered with wisdom, healing, and unapologetic self-love.

Imagine it.

A throne carved from strength, draped in velvet shades of pink. Not the soft pink of innocence alone, but the powerful spectrum of pink that tells the story of a woman who has lived, learned, and chosen herself.

Pink the color of blooming roses.

Pink the color of a healed heart.

Pink the color of tenderness that survived the storm.

Self-love is not arrogance. It is sovereignty.

When you sit on a throne of self-love, your posture changes. Your back straightens with quiet authority. Your voice softens but carries weight. You no longer beg for space—you embody it.

Around you, the room glows in hues of pink.

Blush pink candles flicker like gentle affirmations.

Rose-colored silk drapes fall like whispers of comfort.

Peony and rose petals scatter across the floor, reminding you that beauty often grows from patience.

Every shade tells a story.

Soft pink says: I forgive myself.

Dusty rose says: I survived.

Magenta says: I know my power.

This throne is not about perfection. It is about permission.

Permission to rest without guilt.

Permission to celebrate your growth.

Permission to hold yourself with the same compassion you once gave away so freely to others.

Too many women have been taught to stand in the background of their own lives, shrinking themselves so others may feel taller. But the truth is this:

A woman rooted in self-love does not diminish anyone. She simply refuses to diminish herself.

So she sits.

Not in pride, but in peace.

The throne of self-love is quiet. It does not need applause. Its foundation is built from boundaries, healing, and the sacred understanding that your worth was never up for negotiation.

In this pink sanctuary, the air feels different. Gentle. Warm. Safe.

Here, you crown yourself daily with small acts of devotion:

A deep breath.

A kind word to your reflection.

A moment of rest without explanation.

And slowly, you realize something profound.

The throne was never outside of you.

It was always waiting within your heart—soft as rose petals, strong as roots beneath the earth, glowing in every shade of pink that love can hold.

So sit down, beloved.

Your throne has been waiting. 🌸👑

I love the way Hoodoo loves me—

quiet as a prayer over warm tea,

strong as roots gripping the red earth.

It holds me in the hush of incense smoke,

in the whisper of ancestors at dusk,

reminding me I was never alone.

The way Hoodoo loves me—

steady, old, and true—

like hands from the past

She stands in the mirror, soft and unbothered,

hips like a hymn that the earth once uttered.

No shrinking, no folding into someone else’s frame—

she wears her body like a crown with no shame.

Her thighs hold thunder, her belly holds grace,

every curve a story time could not erase.

She laughs deep and full, letting old doubts fall away,

because loving herself is her sweetest display. ✨

No apology lives in the rhythm of her stride—

she walks like a woman with the ancestors at her side.

Beautiful, bold, and finally free,