Fennel was the herb the old ones bruised between their teeth on the eve of a hard knowing, that the eye behind the eye might open.
This cordial reaches toward the far sight — the seeing of a thing’s coming shape before it fully arrives. It is not mastery over what will be, only a readiness to meet it, a lantern carried a little way down the road that has not yet been walked.
The Working
- On the night the moon is full, set a clear bowl of fresh water where the light can reach it.
- Bruise a handful of fennel seed and a sprig of its feathery green, and let them fall into the water.
- Rest a clear quartz at the bottom of the bowl, that the moon’s light might gather and hold.
- Cover it, and let it stand from moonrise to the first paling of the sky, drawing down the full light.
- At dawn strain the water into a cup, warm it gently, and stir in a spoon of honey until it clouds.
- Drink slowly, holding in mind the matter whose far edge you would see, and speak the incantation.
- Sit in stillness afterward and let the images come as they will.
The Incantation
Fennel on my tongue, unlock the door,
open the eye that waking keeps shut.
Show me the far shore of this thing,
its coming shape, its hidden turn.
Not to master, only to meet —
let me see, and be ready.
What comes may arrive as picture, word, or a knowing without name; trust the first of it, and pour the dregs back to the earth in thanks.