Guided by Seeds of Anise
They do not knock. They do not speak. But when something leaves this world, they are always there. The Psychopomps walk where memory ends, and scent begins.
| Height: | Varies by form, 4–7 feet when visible |
| Temperament: | Silent, unshakable, tender |
| Delights: | Still water, unspoken farewells, threshold breezes, the scent of anise |
| Detests: | Wailing without purpose, mirrors placed opposite beds, stagnant grief |
| Botanical Link: | Seeds of Anise |
Psychopomps are not born, and they do not die. They emerge at the edge of things—birth, death, liminal crossings. Most tales portray them as shapeshifters: dark-winged birds, veiled travelers, wolves whose eyes glimmer like glass. But in older herbal grimoires, they are said to smell of licorice and loam, and to carry seeds of anise in tiny bone pouches, scattered behind them like breadcrumbs across the veil.
In ancient Thracian rites and early Celtic funeral gardens, anise was planted at the foot of every burial tree. The psychopomp, it was said, would recognize the scent and know the soul had been prepared. A well-scented spirit would never get lost on its way.
Psychopomps do not dwell in one place. They appear where they are needed—at the deathbed, during the first heartbeat of a child born prematurely, beside animals whose time has come. They linger at airports, train stations, old barns, ferry landings—anywhere that people leave or never arrive.
| Behavior | Likelihood | Notes |
| Appearing as a shadow on reflective surfaces | ★★★★☆ | Often seen in windows just after a loved one passes. |
| Leaving behind the scent of anise | ★★★★★ | Their calling card and signal of passage. |
| Arriving during heavy silence | ★★★☆☆ | Usually at twilight or within the final breath. |
Hint: They do not want your fear. They only ask that you do not look away.
Most never see them directly. But if a bird perches unnaturally still after someone has gone, or a figure moves through fog and disappears without sound, you may have caught a glimpse. Psychopomps do not reveal themselves unless necessary. But when they do, they are unmistakable—quiet, clean, and immense with presence.
Not a voice, but a rhythm: the flutter of a curtain with no breeze, the creak of floorboards in an empty room, the sudden hush of cicadas. Their footsteps sound like nothing, and that is the loudest thing you’ll ever hear.
The scent of anise signals a passing. Sharp, sweet, and strangely grounding, it often lingers in rooms where no spice has been used. Some describe it as licorice, others as fennel or warm metal—but it always means the same thing: someone has been carried gently onward.
Ingredients: 5 seeds of anise, one white candle, a bowl of cool water
Method:
Outcome: Aids in letting go. Calms transitional grief. Invites safe passage, both in waking and in dreams.
| Metric | Score |
| Global Population | ★☆☆☆☆ |
| Human Encounters | ★★☆☆☆ |
| Conservation Status | Ever-present, but rarely seen—called only when truly needed |
Seeds of Anise have long marked the path between this world and the next. Ours are harvested with respect and intention, ideal for sacred rituals, dream work, and quiet moments when memory and spirit brush hands.
