Dancing with Elements: A Journey of Spiritual Awakening

Brooke Poll

A few years ago, during a difficult period in my life, my friend shared some advice during a conversation about self-care and healing. She said, “If you’re ever at a crystal shop, just walk around and buy a few that you feel drawn to, then go home and look up what they are good for, like anxiety, grief, cleansing, protection.” Her encouragement to explore holistic practices was a bit unconventional and intimidating at the time, but it ignited my curiosity. One afternoon while wandering through Gardner Village in South Jordan, Utah I stumbled upon a quaint little shop called The Crystal Fairy. The store was small and filled with all sorts of pretty things—wire-wrapped stone pendants, handmade feathered trinkets, wooden wands with crystals shimmering at their tips, and brown bags filled with various blends of homemade herbal tea. I was enveloped in a warm embrace of earthy scents, with the aroma of wood and herbs lingering in the air. Browsing the store, my gaze was naturally drawn to the crystals on display. As I looked over the array of crystals and stones, I felt drawn to a polished purple crescent-shaped crystal and an opaque pink and black stone. When I picked them up, they felt cool and smooth in my hands, grounding me in a way that was strangely comforting, as if they were imbued with a quiet, steady energy. The sensation felt almost trance-like, but as I snapped back to the present, I realized I was still holding the two stones. Without much more thought, I purchased them and went on my way.

When I looked up the items I had bought, I was touched by their meaning and their application to my life. The amethyst crescent symbolized calm and protection, qualities that seemed to shield me from the stress I’d been feeling, while rhodonite represented compassion and emotional healing, gently encouraging me to release old pain and traumas. Having recently been in a car accident, holding these two little pieces of earth made me feel both protected and empowered, like tangible reminders to trust myself and nurture my spirit. This moment opened my perspective to honoring the divinity and sacredness within ourselves and in nature.

I began researching crystals and stones and visited multiple metaphysical shops around the Salt Lake and Utah valleys. After a few weeks of immersing myself in the world of crystals, I found myself naturally gravitating towards the broader realm of witchcraft and Wicca, drawn in by their deep connection to nature. One day, I decided to ask a co-worker who was openly into witchcraft about her beliefs. I wasn’t offered much information, so I decided to experiment and find out for myself. Determined to learn more, I turned to the Apple Podcasts app and searched for ‘witchcraft.’ I stumbled upon a podcast called Seeking Witchcraft and began listening from the very first episode. The podcast unveiled a new world for me, and I eagerly started purchasing its recommended books—The Truth About Witchcraft, ‘Earth, Air, Fire, and Water’, and Wicca: For the Solitary Practitioner, all by Scott Cunningham—each guiding me deeper into the practices and philosophies of witchcraft and Wicca, and helping me to further connect with the natural world around me.

As I first started looking into witchcraft and Wicca, I felt a nagging fear come over me, as though something awful was going to happen if I stepped too far. Every page I turned, every crystal I wire-wrapped, every leaf I held sacredly felt like a quiet defiance against everything I had been taught. A lifetime of warnings—that witchcraft was inherently evil—echoed in my head. I felt a tightening in my chest, as part of me was waiting for God to descend from the heavens to smite me, that my life would take a turn for the worse, somehow. Yet, nothing happened—no smiting, no angry spirits. Over time, I realized this fear was a product of ingrained teachings rather than a spiritual warning; this fear wasn't coming from anything real, but from ideas I'd accepted without question. Realizing that the fear surrounding witchcraft was a product of my upbringing rather than a spiritual intervention was incredibly liberating. I felt an overwhelming sense of relief as if I’d been hauling a backpack filled with bricks—weight I didn’t even know I was carrying—that suddenly slipped off my shoulders and left me feeling lighter than ever. The world of spirituality was my oyster, and I had just begun my journey. It brought a sense of happiness and fulfillment I had never experienced before. Although I harbored concerns about the validity of witchcraft, I arrived at a point where I decided I no longer cared. I began to see that joy and fulfillment could be reasons enough to believe, even if I didn’t have all the answers. I had spent my whole life invested in a bunch of other far-fetched ideals; if embracing new-age spirituality brought me joy and a sense of fulfillment, then why should I let doubts hold me back? It was a deeply freeing realization: I didn’t need anyone’s permission to find meaning in something I loved. This highlighted the importance of questioning and examining our beliefs, especially when they limit our exploration of new possibilities. It showed me the wisdom of ‘never say never’—a lesson I never imagined would resonate with me, especially after promising my father I would never leave Christianity. Embracing this new path enveloped me in a warm, nurturing curiosity for the natural world, awakening a thirst I hadn’t even known was there. Each moment spent in nature quenched a longing deep within me, it made me feel authentically alive. I knew then that there was no turning back.

After getting past my initial hesitations, I delved into witchcraft and spirituality, and I found myself awakening to the profound connection between humans and the natural world. I became invested in collecting natural ingredients for rituals, drying flowers from bouquets, collecting pretty rocks, picking up interesting leaves, and appreciating nature more. Each flower I collected, each stone I held, felt like a bridge between me and the earth. The textures and the scents—rich and grounding—confirmed that I was becoming part of something greater. Before picking the flowers or leaves from trees, I would ‘ask’ the flowers and trees if I could do so—seeking permission from the spirits that dwell within, acknowledging their inherent sanctity. I remember picking my first leaf from an aspen tree on a hike in early autumn; I felt an unfamiliar reverence as if the leaves were speaking to me in the breeze, inviting me to truly see it—and myself—in a new way. I felt a tangible bond form between myself and the tree—a silent acknowledgment of mutual respect and interconnection.

After that, nature became a sanctuary where the divine was perceived in the gentle sway of branches in the breeze, in the rustle of leaves, and shimmered in the radiant sun, moon, and stars. Without realizing it, I had embraced a Pantheistic perspective in which I began to acknowledge a vague definition of divinity within the world around me. In collecting flowers, leaves, and rocks, I felt more connected with that vague divine presence. It was through this lens that I came to understand the true essence of divinity. In embracing the elemental wisdom of the Earth, Air, Fire, and Water, I was finding a powerful source of self-acceptance—transforming fears and doubts into a belief that was mine alone. In ritual, I found I didn’t need external validation. The act of connecting with the natural world was a language I was learning to speak on my own terms, giving me the confidence to claim it as my truth. I embraced witchcraft and nature as sources of empowerment and self-discovery, rather than threats or taboos.

A year after starting this journey, I find myself standing before the wooden tray I've repurposed as an altar, positioned on the floor facing northeast, in my dining room. The room is dark save for a candle burning on the altar. Each corner of the altar points toward a cardinal direction: the top left points north, the top right points east, the bottom right points south, and the bottom left points west. On its surface rests a woven black and white placemat with varying items resting on it, including a smooth piece of tumbled rose quartz and a selenite palm stone which lay in the northernmost corner. In the eastern corner rests a large feather, while a white chime candle flickers in the southern point. Positioned in the west point is a small silver-colored bowl with water. In the center of the altar sits dried rose petals and sage-colored leaves resting in a small copper bowl, ready to be burned. The smell of ‘King of Frankincense’ hangs in the air, the smoke hugging me in its protective scent. Through a window several feet in front of me, I can see the faint stars in the dark sky which seem to almost shimmer, as though they question if they should be shining at all. The Moon is full and glowing triumphantly—lighting up most of the night sky. I look back down at the altar, I breathe in slowly, counting to four, hold the breath, counting to four, then breathe out, counting to four; I repeat this several times. I am ready. As I face cardinal north, I point my athame toward the ground, pushing as much energy as I can muster from inside me, from the Earth and from the full moon. I visualize the energy flowing out the tip of my athame, like a ribbon, flowing to wherever I point. As quietly as I can, I say, “I call upon the guardians of the North and the Spirits of Earth—To Keep Silent.” Still mustering as much energy as I can, I continue pointing my athame toward the ground and slowly turn in a circle, clockwise, until I face cardinal East. Once again, I say, “I call upon the guardians of the East and the Spirits of Air—To Know.” I slowly turn clockwise to face cardinal south. While still pointing my athame at the ground, I say “I call upon the guardians of the South and the Spirits of Fire—To Will.” I slowly turn clockwise, to face cardinal west; still pointing with my athame, I say “I call upon the guardians of the West and the Spirits of Water—To Dare.” One more time, I turn clockwise to face cardinal north again, my athame pointing back to where I started, closing the hypothetical circular ribbon of energy that now surrounds the altar and myself. “I call upon the Spirits of the Elements and request their presence, to protect me and help me with my workings,” I state quietly, then sit down. I visualize the circular ribbon I ‘drew’ on the floor, stretching up, creating a wall of energy that rounds out into a dome above me, a hemisphere of energy that both protects me above ground, but also another hemisphere that goes underground as well, encasing me in a whole, protective, sphere of energy. As I sit within the protective sphere of energy, it settles in me that real spirituality is a journey of exploration, growth, and understanding. In honoring the divinity within ourselves and the world around us, we find the courage to embrace our authenticity and live our truth, whatever that may be.