The Magick of Mugwort

I’ve loved Mugwort for as long as I can remember. It was part of my initiation into witchcraft. It's a plant I’ve always felt drawn to—bitter, silvery, protective, and wise. But over time, it became more than a favorite herb. It became sacred. Mugwort wove itself into some of the most powerful moments of my life, including the death of my beloved friend Alex. This piece reflects the voice and approach of Colonial Magick: personal, historical, practical—and deeply reverent of how the old ways still hold power today.

There are some herbs that just feel like family. Mugwort is that for me.

I’ve always loved it - its scent, its texture, its presence. There’s something about the way it grows, wild and willful, along stone walls and roadside edges all across New England. To the early colonists, it was called “dream weed” or “cronewort.” Artemisia vulgaris was used for everything from fevers and digestive troubles to repelling moths, easing menstruation, and stirring prophetic dreams. But more than that, it was magickal. In a cunning woman’s toolkit, Mugwort was sacred. Burned for cleansing. Bundled for protection. Brewed to awaken the second sight.

When I was initiated into witchcraft, Mugwort was present in every form- burned, steeped, tasted, anointed. Its bitter tea and heady smoke are etched into my body as memory. That sense memory has never left me.

Years later, Mugwort showed up again when my friend Alex - a sea witch, fierce and luminous - was dying. I used Mugwort to soothe her. I tucked it into her hair. I placed it on the healing cloth I had brought from Ireland, blessed by Brigid for healing, the Morrigan for courage, and Maeve for sovereignty. And when she passed, her loved ones bathed her in Mugwort water. Long strands were laid over her limbs like a garland. It was the last thing we offered her in this world. A final blessing. A sacred thread.

Mugwort is threshold magick. It belongs to the liminal—the dreamer, the healer, the one who walks between worlds. In colonial America, it was used to mark doorways, to keep evil at bay, to protect women in childbirth, and to summon visions. Today, I burn it before divination. I carry it when I walk with the dead.

It connects me to the past. To the spirit world. To Alex. To myself.

That’s the heart of folk magick. That’s the power of Mugwort.