The Practice of a Hoodoo Baptist: An Introduction

I was born into this. Not through books, but through blood.

One of my great-grandmothers was an Alabama Creole woman. A descendant of enslaved Black Americans and Native Americans, who practiced what the world tried to demonize: Hoodoo.

She lived it with discernment. Quiet power. Protection. Spirit and blood guided her hands. And now, it guides mine.

I am an Afro Indigenous woman, because I am both of African descent and Creek descent. I am a Hoodoo Baptist — simply because I am both.

The church didn’t cancel the root. The root never erased the cross.

I was raised where Bible verses sit beside glass jars, where prayers sound like both hymns and chants, where the Holy Spirit and ancestral spirit hold hands. I never separated them. I never needed to. For years, hoodoo has been silenced, misnamed, feared, or flattened into something it’s not. It’s not evil. It’s not entertainment. It’s not a costume. It’s survival. It’s sacred. It’s my inheritance.

The Practice of a Hoodoo Baptist is where I will share my story, my rituals, my reflections, and my remembrance.

Some of it you’ll read. Some of it you’ll hear — because this practice was always oral first. It’s how I learned. I’m still learning.

With this series, I’m introducing an audio element — intimate, spoken, personal — so you can experience this tradition not only through my words, but through my voice. As my great-grandmothers passed it down, so I will pass it on.

This isn’t a grimoire. This isn’t a class. This is my practice.

Covered by spirit. Guided by blood.