I was initiated into a traditional Wiccan coven years ago and eventually worked my way to High Priest, leading my own circles. Through all that time, there was one current I never fully honored.
The fairy folk.
I respected them. I was curious about them. But I didn’t include them in my work. And they noticed. In my circles, things would happen.
People would trip. Objects would fall or break. Things would disappear and reappear.
Energy would shift quickly—irritation, distraction, a kind of wild, playful interference that never quite crossed into harm, but was impossible to ignore.
It only happened in my circles. And it only happened because I didn’t acknowledge them.
In traditional practice, especially during Sabbats like Samhain, offerings are made to the outer dwellers—milk, honey, bread, fruit—so they are fed, honored, and kept in good relation with the work being done.
I didn’t do that. I was focused elsewhere. Serious. Intent. Directed toward darker, deeper currents. And I left them out.
Recently, I’ve returned to circle work with new students. And they’ve returned too. The same energy. The same presence.
Playful. Mischievous. Very much aware. So I made this incense as an offering to the fairy folk.
Burn it before ritual. Burn it alongside offerings. Burn it when you want to bring them into your space in a way that feels welcomed and respected. It calls them. It feeds them. It softens their interference and turns it into cooperation.
This blend is inspired by their nature— joy, mischief, sweetness, unpredictability, and movement.
It brings lightness back into heavy work. It brings laughter into chaos. It reminds you not to take everything so seriously.
Burn before ritual to acknowledge the unseen. Burn with offerings to establish good standing. Burn when energy feels scattered, strange, or restless.
I was initiated into a traditional Wiccan coven years ago and eventually worked my way to High Priest, leading my own circles. Through all that time, there was one current I never fully honored.
The fairy folk.
I respected them. I was curious about them. But I didn’t include them in my work. And they noticed. In my circles, things would happen.
People would trip. Objects would fall or break. Things would disappear and reappear.
Energy would shift quickly—irritation, distraction, a kind of wild, playful interference that never quite crossed into harm, but was impossible to ignore.
It only happened in my circles. And it only happened because I didn’t acknowledge them.
In traditional practice, especially during Sabbats like Samhain, offerings are made to the outer dwellers—milk, honey, bread, fruit—so they are fed, honored, and kept in good relation with the work being done.
I didn’t do that. I was focused elsewhere. Serious. Intent. Directed toward darker, deeper currents. And I left them out.
Recently, I’ve returned to circle work with new students. And they’ve returned too. The same energy. The same presence.
Playful. Mischievous. Very much aware. So I made this incense as an offering to the fairy folk.
Burn it before ritual. Burn it alongside offerings. Burn it when you want to bring them into your space in a way that feels welcomed and respected. It calls them. It feeds them. It softens their interference and turns it into cooperation.
This blend is inspired by their nature— joy, mischief, sweetness, unpredictability, and movement.
It brings lightness back into heavy work. It brings laughter into chaos. It reminds you not to take everything so seriously.
Burn before ritual to acknowledge the unseen. Burn with offerings to establish good standing. Burn when energy feels scattered, strange, or restless.
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