Heal my body, heal my soul,
Goddess, Goddess, keep me whole!

Shekhinah Mountainwater's little chant simply and beautifully illustrates the unbreakable connection between the physical and the spiritual self. If you're feeling ill, chances are your spiritual practice goes out the window. And conversely, if you are feeling in need of soul healing, you may neglect your body, as we all sometimes do when we're stressed or depressed. To be whole, we need to look at both parts of the self, and attend to those first chakra survival needs as we tend to our seventh chakra metaphysical needs.

Which brings me to chicken soup.

What is it about chicken soup that makes it a metaphor for healing? The soup itself is good, and good for you, of course, but what else? I think it must be the ideal of being tucked up warm in your bed and having your mommy come in with a steaming bowl on a tray, the image of being taken care of. When we make soup for our loved ones – or for ourselves – we embody that nurturing parent. Whether or not you are actually sick, there will come a day when you need to be snug in your bed and have some soup on a tray. Sooner or later, the body and the soul demand time out. So, let's make chicken soup.

First, the pot. A good soup pot is a lovely thing to have. Deep and round and devoted to bringing forth delicious comfort on a spoon, the soup pot is your cauldron of love. Run your hands over its smooth contours, and charge it as a vessel for delivering healing to all who eat from it, like the ancient Celtic cauldron from which endless streams of divine food issued forth to all who hungered.

Next, get a chicken. If you can find a free-range chicken which presumably lived a happy chicken life before being transformed into soup material, all the better. In any case, get a whole chicken, not just the parts. When eating meat in an aware fashion, it's a good idea to take a look at what (some would say, who) you are eating, thank it, bless it, honor its being and release it. It's much easier to recognize a chicken as a once-living being when you see it all in one piece, rather than as little semi-identifiable parts. It's hard sometimes to face the bloodier side of eating meat, but that's part of being an ethical member of the Earth community. If you are going to be upstream in the food chain from your chicken-sister, at least look her in the beak and say thank you.

Wash your chicken thoroughly, and with a little pat, gently settle it into your cauldron. You now have a chicken in every pot. What abundance! This symbol of prosperity is universal. Offer another prayer of thanksgiving. Today you will eat! And you will feed those who are hungry. Cover the chicken with water, preferably spring water. Optional humor at this point is to hang its little wingtip elbows over the sides as if it's sitting in a hot tub. When you've stopped giggling, duck the hot tub devotee all the way under. Bring the water to a boil, then reduce the heat and let it simmer uncovered for an hour or two.

When the meat is dropping off the bones and the chicken comes apart when you try to lift it from the pot, you can remove it and strain out any little suspicious items. Let the chicken cool in a bowl while you tend to the broth. At this point you will need two more magical tools: the spoon and the knife.

The knife as an altar tool has sometimes been rejected by progressive and feminist pagans/witches as a symbol of violence and strife. For me, the blade is a symbol of integration and refinement. By cutting things into manageable pieces, you allow them to mingle together into a cohesive whole. If you drop a whole carrot into your soup, who gets it? One lucky carrot-eater. But cut it up, disperse its healing energy, and voila! Carrots for the masses! (Be sure to use a really sharp blade. The skilled swordmaster uses the minimum amount of force needed for his aims, and thus avoids cutting off his little finger in the process. And remember, everything is a metaphor.)

The spoon, ah, the spoon! My favorite personal power tool, and the spoonish metaphors are endless. The spoon is what keeps things moving and mixing. It brings up hidden treasure from the depths, skims off what is no longer needed. Round and concave, a tiny cauldron in your hand, the spoon also serves as a magic mirror if you turn it over and gaze into its convex backside. Take a good look at yourself in the magic spoon. Are you doing all you can to hasten your own healing and the healing of those around you? Speak your intentions into the bowl of the spoon and stir your magic into your soup.

Healing involves paying attention to your body's needs, and one of its most important needs is sensual pleasure. So we want our soup to not only be good, but also taste good. This begins with onions and garlic. Onions are a most magical food – well, show me a food that isn't. But onions really are. Sometimes healing the soul is a matter of letting go of our old habits and ideas, a peeling away of sorrows, fears and griefs. The onion, with its layers and its tears, is a symbol of the pure white strength of inner searching.

Hold the whole onion in your hand, blessing and giving thanks. Then cut it horizontally through the equator. Rings descend into its heart like Inanna moving through the gates on her descent to the underworld. Slice the onion into thin crescents and offer them to the cauldron. I usually use two or three medium-sized onions.

Now comes the garlic, sacred to Hecate. Peel and crush four or five cloves of garlic and add them to your brothy brew. This may sound like a lot, but trust me, it's not. If you're really sick or really crazy about garlic, you can double the amount. Long known for its healing properties, garlic lowers blood pressure, stimulates healing in every part of the body, and assimilates very quickly, remaining in you a long time to continue your healing. And all this while keeping away vampires!

You don't know any vampires? Sure you do. Anyone who sucks off energy you vitally need without giving back to the life-force. Let's send those people some love and drop an extra clove of garlic into the pot to release ourselves – and them – from that unhealthy place.

Now grab a carrot. In fact, grab two, and do the little happy carrot dance. Carrots are so delighted to be above ground, they radiate their joy in their brilliant color. Like all root foods, carrots teach us about ripening in solitude and darkness, letting growth take its time. It never works to pull things out of the underworld before they are ready, and that applies to humans as well as carrots. Take your space and rest when you need to. Carrots last a long time in the pantry, and symbolize the "staples" in your life that see you through the bleak winter of the spirit. Slice three or four peeled carrots into sunny orange rounds. As you cut, give thanks for the mysteries that grow in the darkness, to be revealed as bright and healthy in their own ripe time.

Celery is cleansing and cooling, and to a large degree made up of water. Watery energy is soothing when you need healing, and brings peace and dreaminess, a sense of childlike trust in wellness of spirit and body. Cut up about four stalks and let celery's purification begin to work in your soup, and ultimately, in you.

Add more water, if necessary, and a cup or so of rice. I use wild rice for its earthy flavor. The energy of any grain is sacred, symbolizing the male forces of rebirth and potency. "Now the green blade riseth from the buried grain," goes the old song, and "love is come again like wheat that springeth green." Add rice to your soup as a symbol of hope.

Let all this simmer for awhile, in your pot and in your mind. The longer, the better, really. Good soup takes time, and patience seasons the broth. Let it simmer over the flame for an hour or so, then cool at room temperature, then heat it again, as the flavors marry. In the meantime, take the cooled chicken gently in your hands and slowly pick off all the meat, adding it to the soup. Don't be squeamish about this; it's important to interact with food. It's your energy that brings the goodness to life, and you are a primary ingredient. Give the skin and questionable bits to your favorite familiar, and come back to stir and dream over your pot for awhile.

Now comes the most magical part of your potion: the herbs. Adding herbs in the last half hour or so of cooking allows them to release their essences without becoming bitter. I've found they don't lose any of their goodness on the second, third or even fourth reheating if you treat them gently from the start.

Our first herb for this brew is laurel, also known as bay leaves. Drop two or three leaves into the pot and ask Athena to send you victory over all that keeps you from achieving health of body, mind and spirit. Next, make an offering of thyme, sacred to both Venus and Mars, for balance. Thyme is not only beloved of faeries, it was also used in cleansing Greek temples, so it should certainly be auspicious for cleansing your physical temple.

Marjoram has been used for centuries as a spring tonic, to enliven and cheer. "Good for those who are given to overmuch sighing," says a 1597 herbal. Parsley, sacred to Persephone, is an ancient offering to the dead, as well as to their Queen. Honor your ancestors and ask for their healing blessings by adding some finely chopped fresh parsley to your soup. Continue celery's watery magic with a dash of celery seed, which was reportedly eaten by witches to keep them from falling off their brooms. Invoke with celery seed the qualities of balance and wisdom.

Black pepper comes next. Use whole peppercorns, for their element of surprise. When you bite into a peppercorn, it brings you instantly back to full awareness. Pepper says, Wake up! Life holds surprises for you, you can still feel, even if you feel bad! You're alive!

Finally, add salt, sacred symbol of life itself, of birth waters and the blood that binds us and unites us. Salt is the energy of ocean, mother of all life. As you pour it into your hand or pinch it up from a container, feel your connection to all life. Salt is perhaps the ultimate magical purifier. As you offer the salt to your cauldron, envision it cleansing you as you would clear a crystal by placing it in salt water.

It is time to sing, pray or incant over your brew. Stir it in spirals, circles, symbols of magic and power. In some magical traditions, stirring clockwise is gathering energy, while counterclockwise is dispersing. Your intentions are what matter most; stir in the way that feels right for you. Breathe over the waters, and move them to life. Envision your healing and the healing of all who will share in this soup. Imagine a world in which all who hunger are fed. Give thanks for your own blessed abundance, that you may give healing to yourself and receive it gratefully.

At this point, I recommend putting a lid on your cauldron, both literally and metaphorically, and snuggling down for a nice nap, followed by a hot bath. When you emerge, shuffle out to the kitchen, redolent of the scent of homemade mother-love. Don't you feel better already?