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Because protection can also taste good

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🪻Flower Power Tea🌹

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The actions of repelling negative energy & banishing are associated with everything except for the crackers & cheese.

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Unboxing Tarot Decks Through the Ages 🔮💀🌙 | Ancient Rare Historical & Modern Tarot Cards

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Witch Tip No. 38

Need an herb but it's too expensive or you need to save space? Look for it in the supplement aisle (in capsule form) and use that instead, it is often cheaper, with more compact and resealable packaging!

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1-800-Fairy-Vibes 🦋

Your energy whispered before you even spoke.

✨🌬️🪬

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via vangoghcore

johns_plant_adventures

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Hoodoo Ain’t for Everybody — And That’s Okay

As someone who walks the path of Hoodoo—not because I found it online, but because it lives in my blood, my bones, my people—I feel it’s time to speak plainly.

Lately, I’ve been feeling a shift. I’m not the only one. More and more folks in the Hoodoo community, especially Black folks who’ve inherited this work through our families or come to it through ancestral callings, are speaking up about something that’s been sitting heavy on our hearts: Hoodoo is being treated like it’s open to everybody. And that’s a problem.

Let me be real clear: Hoodoo is Black American folk magic. It was born out of slavery, survival, resistance, and deep spiritual knowledge carried from Africa and blended with what our ancestors could find and use in a world built to crush them. It’s not a trend. It’s not “just magic.” It’s not interchangeable with witchcraft or Wicca or whatever new aesthetic is popular this week.

This is our tradition. It was built in the shadows of plantations and backwoods kitchens. It was whispered between grandmothers and aunties, handed down in prayers, in oils, in roots, in the way we survived when nothing was left to hold onto but God and grit.

And now, it’s all over the internet.

Non-Black folks are selling jar spell kits labeled “Hoodoo.”

People with no connection to the culture or history are making content, writing books, and calling themselves rootworkers.

Things that used to be sacred are now trending hashtags.

It don’t sit right. It shouldn’t sit right.

The truth is, more of us are starting to say: we want Hoodoo to be a closed practice again.

Not because we’re trying to gatekeep out of spite—but because we are tired. We are tired of seeing the sacred used carelessly. We are tired of seeing folks profit off our culture while ignoring our history. And we are tired of having to constantly explain that you don’t get to choose to practice Hoodoo the way you choose a new hobby.

This work comes with ancestors. It comes with accountability. It comes with pain and power that can’t be separated from Blackness.

And yes, we’re protective. We have every right to be.

So here’s what I’m asking, if you’re reading this and you’re not part of the Black community but you’re drawn to Hoodoo:

Sit with why.

Is it because you want power without responsibility?

Is it because it looks cool on social media?

Or is it because you’re longing for connection—and maybe you need to find it in your own roots, your own ancestors, your own folk traditions?

Because Hoodoo ain’t for everybody. And that’s not hate—it’s protection.

We protect this work because it protects us.

Because our grandmamas didn’t fight to keep it alive just to see it turned into a gimmick.

Because our spirits, our roots, our ancestors deserve better than exploitation.

If you care about Hoodoo, respect it enough to leave it to the people it belongs to.

If you’re a practitioner, speak up. Set boundaries. Keep the sacred sacred.

We don’t need permission to reclaim what’s ours. And we don’t owe anyone access to our medicine.

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