By Lady Passion
“Summer is a comin’ in,
Loudly sing ‘Cuckoo’!
Seeds grow, and meadows blow —
The forest springs anew…”
— English translation, earliest printed European folksong
Many know the bare-bones basics of planting by the lunar cycle (plant during the moon’s waxing or full phase, and weed and harvest during the waning or new moon times), etc. However, there are many ancient wise words whose efficacy we can rely on to remember what to do when and that convey profound religious meanings, as well. For example, consider the deep spiritual implications contained in the following Old English seed-sowing rhyme:
Four seeds in a hole.
One for the rook, and one for the crow.
One to rot, and one to grow.
Four seeds in a hole.
To many gardeners and farmers, putting quadruple seeds into a single hole is an
arbitrary waste of time and effort to be roundly rejected. What a frustrating
slowing down of frenetic activity! I mean, the gall of it all to be charged to
carefully count out four minute seeds per poke — why not three or five, instead?
They consider it a waste of space as well — some hackneyed, old wives’ folly
that will inevitably result in the shoots competing against each other when
struggling to sprout, as they’ve obviously been planted in too confined a place.
Yet, this country charm packs perceptive wisdom in its seemingly simplistic,
sing song verse. The first two lines teach, respectively, that each seed stands for
one of the four Elements — the very Earth, Air, Fire, and Water that plants
require in order to germinate, blossom, and thrive, and that precise patience from
planting to fruition is required in order to coax any life form from seed to its fullest
expression.
The inclusion of rook and crow acknowledges the inherent give-and-take
reciprocity that comprises Life. Birds may, in fact, eat one or two of the seeds
post-planting — and this is just, as things of the wing deserve their portion from
human labor, for we depend on their eating bugs that pester us when we’re
weeding a field. More subtly, though, it warns of the likelihood that the Air itself
at once the bringer of rains that water our rows may as swiftly waft aloft a seed or
two, despite our attempts to prevent it.
The reference to rot reminds that, as with corrupt people, not all seeds are viable.
As some folks wallow in sorrow, drown in drink, or mold with madness, some
seeds resist nurturing: They shrink from the brink of greatness, decompose in
fertile soil, and never know their full potential.
Thus, by Fate or whim of Chance, but one in four seeds sown is likely to beat the
odds and burst though the earthen ceiling; to bloom as it should and we desire.
This tenacious tendril equates with the 1% of humans that are truly spiritual
they who accept and even embrace the unique quirkiness of their genetic
predispositions and the whisperings of their conscience derived from their ethical
directives.
These suffer no less than others the buffeting by modern perils; they simply
choose to do so with grace. And, duly tempered by the Elements and their
ongoing experiences, transcend the slings and arrows of their environment to
become strong, free — lush of self.
The charm concludes reiterating how it began, in a cycle, a round that proves
perpetual impermanence. It ends stressing the importance of not eschewing the
nature of Nature.
In the Craft, as in Life, two types of folks exist: Those who see simplicity in the
complex, and those who see complexity in the painfully simple.
It’s easy for many these days to see the forest but not the trees — to insist that
folk magic is essentially simple, and hence, fail to consider, see, and even
disdain the ancients’ ability to impart insight in a few strokes, minimal lines.
Equally easy it is for their opposite kind to flog a metaphor past all semblance of
reasonableness — to create meaning out of whole-cloth for the sake of sounding
clever.
But transparent as a petal it should be that, during this time of food and herbal
medicine-wont, eroded land and floral extinctions, any who would plant or nurture
the uncontaminated remainder heed the wisdom of ages past — both to nurture
the plants and trees that can save them, and for the spiritual ‘juice’ rhyme charms
can provide their soul.
About the Author:
Lady Passion is co-author of The Goodly Spellbook: Olde Spells For Modern Problems. She’s been an R.N. for 24 years, and High Priestess of the 501(c)(3) religious nonprofit Coven Oldenwilde in Asheville, NC for 16 years. She may be reached at: oldenwilde.org.