Fall. Rot. Seed. Rise.
Hey bestie,
I have been thinking about decomposition, which is a perfectly normal thing to put in an email in December thank you VERY much.
I promise, I am in the holiday spirit! It's just that the year is ending. And endings mean something different to me, as a witch in the North during the dark part of the year. We love transformation when it is visually impressive. Butterflies. Phoenixes. Blossoms. Weight loss. Glow ups. The triumphant before-and-after photograph where somebody has learned several important lessons and also gotten better lighting.
Rot has terrrrrrrrible branding. Mushrooms, however, know better.
I've been listening to ecology podcasts when I can't sleep and I have become increasingly suspicious that mushrooms know everything. Their information networks?! Even Beyonce's internet could never.
They take what has fallen, died, broken and become unusable in its previous form and begin the astonishing work of making it available to life again. Scavengers know this too. Crows. Vultures. Beetles. All the creatures we find creepy because they are willing to approach what the rest of us would rather not look at. I love them and think they are little angels.
My crackpot theory is that if you really want to get justice, you should go into the woods and tell the mushrooms about the person who caused harm. Don't curse them. Don't hex them. Just provide the mushrooms with the relevant information. The vultures may also be consulted.
I cannot prove that this works.
But I find the idea enormously comforting, and I have been telling the mushrooms and scavengers about all the corruption, pain, and abuse that needs to go.
Because decomposition is not annihilation. It is the process by which something that cannot continue in its present form becomes available to life again.
There is a line I have used in Temple ritual:
Fall. Rot. Seed. Rise.
I think we tend to rush through the middle.
Fall? Great. Release.
Rot? Uncomfortable. Can we skip this?
Seed? New intention!
Rise? There she is! Empowered! Moisturized! Thriving!
But there is no honest cycle without decomposition. The leaf does not fail because it falls. The fruit does not become useless because it breaks open. What dies becomes available to something else. Fungi arrive. Microbes get to work. What looked finished becomes soil.
Despite my upbringing, I am not really here for any spirituality that demands immediate rebirth. Sometimes the old thing has ended and the new thing is not ready.
I want to give you permission to not always be maxxing and manifesting. I don't want to “The Secret” and “law of attraction” my way through… this gestures wildly at everything around us.
I am composting.
That is still sacred work.
A Spell for Composting What Has Ended
You will need a small piece of biodegradable paper (it really needs to be biodegradable) or large dried bay leaves,
a small amount of soil in a bowl or plant pot,
and a seed if you have one. A small stone or piece of wood works instead of a seed too.
The ground outside may be frozen, that's fine. Winter is not an obstacle to this ritual, winter is the point. Use snow.
Using a marker, write down something you do not want to carry into the next season. It doesn't necessarily have to be something terrible, just something finished. Write it short and sweet.
Tear the paper into pieces OR crush the bay leaf and put it beneath the soil/snow/your plant pot. If you have a seed/pebble/tiny piece of wood, place it there too. If you don't, the soil/snow/plant pot is enough.
Pro tip: bay leaves are good for houseplants. They repel pests.
Temple Soundtrack: Listen to the Temple Soundtrack on Spotify
For this ritual, go to the temple Soundtrack and play Earth, Air, Fire, Water, Return.
Say:
What has ended may end.
What has fallen may soften.
What has broken may become material for another life.
I release myself from the demand to bloom before I have become soil.
Fall.
Rot.
Seed.
Rise.
And no sooner than I am ready.
Keep the soil somewhere appropriate until spring. If you put it in the snow, let nature take it's course.
The spell is what you do. The blessing is what you receive. Read this aloud to close the ritual, or save it for the seasons when nothing visible seems to be happening.
A Blessing for What Must Decompose
Beloved,
May you be allowed an ending without immediately announcing a beginning. May you have seasons in which nobody asks what you are building next.
May what has died become soil instead of shame. May the old structures soften, and may the parts worth keeping become nourishment.
May the mushrooms know what to do with what you cannot use anymore. May the scavengers carry away what no longer belongs to you.
May the seed remain hidden for as long as hiddenness serves it. May winter not convince you that nothing is happening.
May you trust the intelligence of decomposition. May you remember that the forest has never required the fallen leaf to apologize for becoming earth.
And when you rise, may it be because something in you is ready for the light, not because the world became impatient with your darkness.
With love,
Sierra
From The Book of Blessings by Sierra Jamerson · Temple of Sound
Free spells, blessings, rituals and letters: templeofsound.co/the-temple-letters
P.S. I'm continuing to write The Book of Blessings, and I want to hear from you: what happened in your life that deserved a ritual, but didn't have one? It can be enormous or completely ordinary. Leave a comment and tell me. Some of the best rituals begin with somebody finally asking, Why the hell don't we have a ceremony for this?
P.P.S. And if the answer to that question is something you don't want to ritualize alone, that is part of what my private work is for. You can always reply to me, or learn more about working together here: