Witchcraft at its very root is a connection to the land beneath your feet. It is to walk in such a way that the spirits of that land recognise your footfall and acknowledge you. How that connection is then taken further into the outer world is a complex story for each individual to tell, but understanding the roots is what concerns us here.

One thing these roots do not share is universality, for each is its own manifestation. They are beautifully intricate and different, governed by the landscape in which they reside. They are not variables of the same things, nor are they modified only by landscape and associations that we may attach to them. It is the kingdom of Elphame, a domain as myriad as the endless meanings we often ascribe to it. It is a place made distinct by those who reside there, people who are not omnipresent in all landscapes but instead singular and unique.

This landscape is also present in places the witch might not be accustomed to looking at. The rubbish laden alley and the polluted river, the refuse tip and token tree in a city square. The boundaries of these domains are often in flux and it is here that I must offer caution. There are ways and means of bridging these spaces, of travelling to and from Elphame, but this must be done with care as it should come as no surprise that in places tainted by our careless ways the witch will rarely be well received, regardless of good intentions. It is not enough to be outraged at the land’s treatment, for even a cursory study of historical witchcraft will demonstrate that the gifts and acceptance of Elphame is given to those with the resolve to make full and furious use of them – alas history has not been kind on judging those who did.

It cannot be overstated, Elphame is not all encompassing and the same; it is different places, different people, different landscapes. A limitation of many rites is their fixed nature in defining how and when something should be worked, an issue exacerbated further if the practitioner doesn’t take it upon themselves to modify and customise the work in accordance with the needs of the land on which it is initiated. The ritual should not be taken to the land, it should come from the land. To do this we must seek out the sacred.

You may have an idea in your mind of what is considered sacred. That view might also be shared by some, and yet rejected by others. There is no universal definition of sacred because it is just a construction we have devised to help us navigate the interface of reality. The water of a river can be seen as sacred, and that same water can also be very polluted causing others to see it as almost banal. Yet, this same water can also make its way into the pipes beneath your very feet, so where exactly does sacrality begin and end? Is not the water that you drink sacred? Is relevance really defined purely by an individuals perception of what is considered special or is there more to consider?

My own understanding of this comes primarily from the river which flows through the valley in which I live. It, like many rivers here in Lancashire, has a long and colourful history linked heavily to the cotton industry that dominated the northwest of England throughout the 19th and 20th centuries. These rivers were the lifeblood of all during this time and yet their use for such resulted in unprecedented pollution, the relationship was far from two way. As long as the water flowed and the mills could run, that was all that mattered. Today the rivers are recovering and people such as myself are there to take guardianship over these spaces, but this comes with some caveats.

The land is not happy, it is not welcoming, nor is it content. The land is bitter, enraged, sore and vengeful. It is beautiful and terrifying, turbulent and sweet. The spirits of place are like surly doormen, guarding the pathways that lead to Elphame in a manner akin to a clubs bouncer, ready to knock you on your arse for the mere cheek of assuming that you are welcome. The valley is owed some space, it is owed an apology, and the Sisters[1] in this particular valley will take what they are due. The polluted is made sacred simply because it is polluted, it has taken on identity beyond itself and the impact of this has rippled through both this world and Elphame. It is a point of importance, a place of relevance, and this distinction renders itself sacred. What concerns the witch here is their ability to recognise it as such.

Developing the tools to think in this way is a difficult track to follow, a dangerous path that can have some call into question your subsequent actions. As stated before it is not enough to be outraged, it is not enough to be upset. It is here we can look to the ancestors of our past for inspiration, to the Isobels, Betsys and Andros, who took the gifts of Elphame, who raged and took action, however small, to instigate change that was not for the benefit of all but of that which is sacred. If Elphame receives you, then a responsibility will fall upon you that will be difficult to accept, but in so doing the stones will become sacred be they boulders or bricks, the waters will shine with glorious effulgence in both river and pipes. The sacred will tell you what it is.

When we start to awaken to what is truly sacred around us then not only does the land recognise our footsteps, it sees how we walk. Our understanding is reflected in our actions, not our thoughts, much like many other things in life. To step through those doors leaves us with one final important note.

You are in Her kingdom now.

[1] The ‘Sisters’ are explored in my forthcoming work Mysteria