Rootwork Makes Good Neighbors

A little rootwork makes good neighbors, y’all — for realz!

There’s only one way to to become a rootworker, and that’s to do work that works. People can say anything but the proof of the pudding is eating that shit. A notorious mystic’s got to prove theyself in the ring. It ain’t just hangin’ a few bottles from a tree. I need willing ass subjects, brave enough to try some bizarre shit to get they wish. Most people don’t even believe rootwork is a thing. The word Hoodoo’s come to mean bullshit in a lot of people books.

I needed me a target and a little work that would be obvious enough to observe without binding me to some shit. I chose an old favorite: the sweetening jar. That’s some benign ass magic—turning somebody’s foul mood to sweetness. Victimless. In fact, bringing a little sweetness into somebody’s heart is doing them a favor, far as I see it. It had to be somebody close enough to track their behavior, but nobody too significant.

A certain person in the neighborhood comes around a lot, giving me shade about my damn yard. My yard is kind of nasty, but give a byrl a break, my shit is under construction. The yard ain’t a priority. This person don’t appreciate the plants and animals that Source be sending our way. All my neighbor sees is an overgrown lawn and pests, while I see cancer fighting red clover, delicious dandelion smoothies and spirit messengers. My neighbor is at war with nature. I work with it.

I wrote my neighbor’s name on a piece of paper, put the paper in a jar with herbs, added some sweetener and poured in a little water from my ancestor altar. I was gonna need mom’s help on this. I read a little out my spell book (the Bible). There was a few other steps, but I ain’t giving the shit away. I shook the mixture for a few days, a couple hours a day (there’s a reason they call it work). I went full Eve’s Bayou on a mo’fo!

I went by the neighbors house and was floored when they greeted my ass with a smile and a wave. It was some straight up Invasion of the Body Snatchers, pod ass people shit. It definitely was a change but, I was like “No!” I needed a better sign than that. A week passed and I went by again. This time the sign was frigging undeniable. They had taken down their front gate. Ain’t no better symbol of a neighborly change of attitude and “opening” up.

I’m still testing shit out. I got a few clients seeing results. It ain’t buying a car, but spirits let you know when you’re on the right track.

Be next. You know how to reach me.