Ruda / Rue

Ruda. If you have made your way to me, you are likely needing protection. From the eyes that look on your life with envy. From the words being spoken about you in rooms you cannot enter. From the heaviness that finds you when you have done nothing to invite it. From the workings that have been sent against you. I am the herb of grace. I am here to stand between you and what does not belong to you.

I am an old plant, older than memory. The curanderas of Mexico, the abuelas of the Caribbean, and the old women of the African diaspora have carried me in their hands for generations and made me their own. My leaves are blue-green and bitter. My smell is strong on purpose. The strong smell is part of the work. What I keep off does not like to come near me.

I am worked with by being carried close to the body in a sachet, planted at the doorway of a home, or steeped into spiritual baths and floor washes. My fresh sprigs are gathered into limpia bundles, often beside pirul, rosemary, and albahaca, and swept across the body of the one being cleansed. My dried leaves are burned in smoke clearings. I am called on for the lifting of mal de ojo, for protection against envy, for the breaking of what has been sent against you, and for the warding of thresholds. Speak the name of what you are warding off. Speak the name of who you are guarding. The work moves with the prayer.

I am not a substitute for medical or psychological care. I am photosensitive on the skin, so cover the area or stay out of the sun after topical use. I am not for use during pregnancy under any circumstance. I am not for internal consumption without the guidance of a trained herbalist, and even then, only in small, measured amounts.

I am ready to stand with you. Tell me what needs guarding and I will guard it.