Flipping through your new witchy book you just picked up from that obscure “occult-but-not-occult” corner bookstore, you find a spell that is perfect for what you need. You have almost everything for it.

Except one ingredient.

One weird herb has some name you can't pronounce from some place you couldn't pinpoint on a map, with no reason as to why you need that exact thing. Even if you can find it, money's tight and you can't afford to buy three ounces of galangal root from an overpriced Etsy apothecary. You just spent your extra on your new book, after all.

Maybe you don't want to buy an entire bag of something you're going to use once. Maybe it's ten o'clock at night and you aren't going anywhere because the spice cabinet is fifteen feet away and the occult shop is decidedly not.

Whatever the reason, you're missing something. That doesn't necessarily mean you need to stick the spell on the back burner or start asking old witches for a list of approved substitutions on Reddit.

Start by asking a better question: What was that ingredient supposed to do?

Spellwork Isn't a Recipe You Have to Follow Exactly

I don't believe there's one universally correct way to practice magic. There are traditions, correspondences, methods, and generations of knowledge worth learning from, but your spell isn't automatically ruined because you're missing something like vervain in winter.

When I'm deciding what belongs in a working, I look at what each ingredient is contributing to it. If I'm adding sugar, I might say, “To sweeten the outcome in my favor.” If I'm adding pepper: “To let its trail burn hot and quickly.” My energy is giving that ingredient a job.

So if I don't have the ingredient a spell calls for, I don't necessarily ask, “What replaces this herb?” I ask: “What job was this herb doing, and what do I have that can do that job?”

That's a much more useful way to think about substitution in spellwork.

Look at the Ingredient's Properties First

Let's say you're making a cleansing tincture to prepare your altar for a sabbat. The recipe calls for the aforementioned vervain. It's the dead of winter and there's two feet of snow on the ground.

You don't have vervain, and y'ain't getting none anytime soon. But there's witch hazel sitting in your bathroom because you use it as facial toner or makeup remover.

I'd start by looking at the metaphysical properties of both ingredients and considering the purpose of the working. Witch hazel has associations with protection, renewal, and cleansing. More importantly, we already have a massive everyday association between witch hazel and cleaning things. It's used as a skin cleanser, toner, and makeup remover. You're trying to remove old energy and renew your altar. It makes sense.

As an added bit of cosmic humor, witch hazel can also be associated with adaptability. Sometimes the substitution practically introduces itself.

Correspondence Matters, but It Isn't the Only Thing That Matters

You'll find plenty of substitution rules in witchcraft spaces:

• Rosemary can replace any herb.
• A white candle can replace any candle color.
• Clear quartz can replace any crystal.
• Frankincense can replace any resin.

Do I think those rules are absolute? No. Do I think you're doing something wrong if you use them? Also no.

If using rosemary in place of an herb you don't have allows you to stop worrying about whether your spell is “complete” or good enough and actually focus your energy on the working, then use the damn rosemary.

Overthinking the missing ingredient can become more disruptive than the substitution itself. We already have enough shit to overthink in our daily lives. The metaphysical solution to an actual problem shouldn't be one.

If you're exhausted, frustrated, anxious, or spending the entire working thinking, “This isn't going to work because I don't have the right thing,” you're investing a whole lot of negative energy into what your spell supposedly lacks. Sometimes the familiar substitution is useful simply because it lets you get on with the work and direct your energy elsewhere.

But “Use What You Have” Doesn't Mean Anything Means Anything

This is where I part ways with the idea that intention is the only thing that matters. Your intention matters enormously, but so does your relationship with the material.

Plants, objects, colors, symbols, and other materials can carry associations that existed long before you picked them up. Some are magical or folkloric. Some are cultural. Some come from ordinary everyday life. And some are deeply personal.

I tend to think of those accumulated associations as a kind of egregore, which is one of my favorite concepts. Essentially, meaning and energy are reinforced because people have repeatedly associated a thing with a particular idea.

That doesn't mean you can never work against an established correspondence. Personal symbolism can be incredibly powerful, too. But I wouldn't ignore everything a material already represents just because you've decided today that it means something else.

For an intentionally ridiculous example, let's say you need moon water for an abundance working. It's rare for a witch, but... you don't have any. So you go outside during the full moon, piss in your favorite “I couldn't possibly throw this away because I can use it later” jar, and decide: “Moon piss. Basically moon water. This is for my prosperity now.”

Could you pour every ounce of your intention into your little jar of moon piss and decide it represents abundance? Sure.

Do you know how many witches have pissed in jars to hex people they hate? Way more than one eager witch beneath a full moon. That's a lot of established energy whose grain you're going against.

Would I put piss in a money spell? Absolutely fucking not.

If I'm trying to bring money toward myself, I'm not introducing something that makes me immediately think of pissing my money away. That's not the energetic argument I want to have in the middle of my working.

You don't have to be afraid of ingredients or obsess over doing everything “correctly.” But there is a difference between being adaptable and choosing something that actively fights the symbolism you're trying to create.

Personal Correspondences Count Too

Traditional correspondences aren't the only associations I use. Frankincense appears in my spellwork constantly because I've developed a strong association between frankincense and my own energy.

If I'm doing something intended to draw an outcome toward myself, frankincense may be there because it represents me, regardless of whether “The Witch of the Crooked Briar” appears in any encyclopedia's list of frankincense correspondences. Spoiler alert: it doesn't.

The same applies when I'm working for someone else. If someone strongly associates an enemy with lavender, for example, I may incorporate lavender as their representation even when its traditional metaphysical properties aren't particularly relevant to the rest of the working.

If you've got an asshole in your life who wears a lot of light lavender purple and smells like the flower all the time, a beautiful herb that usually means peace and prosperity now only incites your fiery rage for a flower-scented asshole. Use that rage. And maybe, ironically, throwing that sweet flower into a pot of hot peppers and burying it near your septic tank will put them in their rightful place.

Personal symbolism has weight. The important distinction, for me, is that the association actually means something.

You aren't spiritually required to justify every ingredient to a WitchTok-approved correspondence chart, but randomly declaring something symbolic isn't necessarily the same as having a relationship with that symbolism. Sometimes those associations develop naturally. Sometimes you build them deliberately. Either way, they become part of your personal magical language.

Sometimes the Best Substitute Is Already in Your Kitchen

My spice cabinet is one of my most useful magical resources. Salt. Pepper. Cinnamon. Oregano. Coffee. Tea. Sugar. I've used all of them. Kitchen witchery exists for a reason.

Sometimes I get the urge to do protection work or manifestation magic in the middle of the night. I don't want to wander around outside looking for plants. My neighbors already think I'm weird enough. I also don't need or want to place an online order and wait three days for something with a witchy label slapped on the package.

I go to the kitchen. Ordinary materials don't become less useful because you also cook dinner with them.

Magic can exist in mundane things, and mundane actions can be ritualized. The distinction between “magical supplies” and “regular household supplies” is often far less important than we're taught to think it is.

Practical Properties Matter Too

Two ingredients can have perfectly appropriate metaphysical correspondences and still not be equally good substitutions.

Say basil and cinnamon both make sense for your intention. If you're burning the ingredient, I may choose basil because cinnamon has thrown sparks off my candles more times than I can count. If I'm sprinkling a tiny amount into something liquid, cinnamon might make more sense. If I'm deciding which one to buy, I might buy cinnamon because I know I'll use it in my kitchen too.

Budget matters. Availability matters. The physical behavior of the ingredient matters. And safety matters more than any correspondence.

If the metaphysically “perfect” herb is toxic, dangerous to burn, irritating to your skin, unsafe around your pets, or something you're allergic to, find something else. There is almost always a less dangerous way to communicate your intention.

Sometimes You Shouldn't Substitute It at All

There are also times when the missing ingredient is integral to the type of working you're trying to perform. If you're doing blood magic and you don't have blood, replacing it with rosemary because somebody told you rosemary substitutes for everything isn't exactly solving the problem.

Sometimes your intuition simply says, “No. Not this one.”

When I get that feeling, I don't force a substitution just because I want to finish the spell. I'll sit with it or meditate on it. I may journal about why it feels “wrong” or ask my guides. I may even pull tarot cards to see if there's a reason for the inhibition.

And if I still don't believe the ingredient should be replaced but physically obtaining it isn't possible, I can change the method instead. I might draw it or write it onto a petition. I may visualize it within an inner temple. And if all else fails, I may respectfully ask a deity, ancestor, or another energy I work with to help carry that part of the intention in exchange for an appropriate offering.

Or I might simply wait because that's what “feels righter” than substituting it. Not every missing ingredient needs another physical ingredient shoved into its place.

Your Existing Things Already Have Meaning

One of my favorite examples comes from my own money bowl. I didn't have a bunch of dollar bills I wanted to leave sitting in it. Hell, I needed money, after all. So instead of deciding I needed to run to the ATM, I looked around my crafting closet and jewelry box for things that felt like money to me.

One was a ruby ring. It reminds me of a ring my Momma used to pawn over and over again when she needed money during hard times. It was one of the few pieces of jewelry she never let the pawn shop keep, and it bailed her out many times during my childhood.

I've held onto mine through periods of my own hardship. The ring itself is worth money, and to me, it carries the memory of a woman who always made do. Means more to me than a dirty bill out of an ATM.

There's also a rhinestone-covered letter M in the bowl. My Money. It looks expensive. It wasn't.

Both objects carry ideas about money, value, survival, prosperity, and my relationship with those things. Nobody could have given me those relationships from a book or chart.

They came from my life, where my experiences have empowered me equally as much as a bag of herbs or cards have.

That's one of the reasons I think learning spellcraft is more valuable than memorizing enormous lists of ingredients and substitutions. Once you understand what you're trying to accomplish, you can start recognizing the magical vocabulary that already exists around you.

So, What Can You Substitute in a Spell?

When you're missing an ingredient, consider:

• What was the original ingredient supposed to accomplish?
• What are its traditional metaphysical correspondences?
• What else carries a similar correspondence or function?
• What associations does the substitute already carry culturally or magically?
• Do you have a strong personal association that matters to this working?
• How will the ingredient actually be used?
• Is the substitute physically safe for that use?
• What do you already have available?
• Does the substitution actually feel right once you've considered all of that?

And remember that substitution isn't your only option. You can omit something, represent it symbolically, or change the method. You can wait until you have what you need or rework the spell entirely.

Spellcraft is supposed to involve craft.

Use What You Have. Deliberately.

I don't believe effective magic requires an endless shopping list. I also don't believe Use What You Have means grabbing the first object within arm's reach and insisting your intention automatically makes it appropriate.

Learn the traditional correspondences and respect the knowledge and practices of the witches who existed before you. Pay attention to the associations your culture and your community have built around things. Then pay attention to your own relationships with them.

Come to your altar armed with knowledge. Know what the ingredient is doing. Know why you're putting it there. Know whether it's safe to light that bitch on fire. And if something else can safely accomplish the same purpose with the resources you already have, use it.

Much can be made of little.

And sometimes the thing you need has been sitting in your spice cabinet the entire time.