Read the WSJ Review of “Love, Nature, Magic: Shamanic Journeys Into the Heart of My Garden” by Maria Rodale

“Love, Nature, Magic: Shamanic Journeys Into the Heart of My Garden” is a fascinating book, part memoir, part exploration of Ms. Rodale’s encounters with the spirits of trees, bugs and bunnies. These are drug-free trips, accompanied by her spirit animal. (She won’t share which animal, that’s private.) Vexed by the environmentally degraded condition of the planet, by war and toxins and toxic politics, Ms. Rodale set out to learn “to love those things that frighten and annoy us.”

It started in a fierce battle with mugwort, an invasive, widely rooting plant. Pulling it up only encourages more bountiful flushes of growth. Most of us surrender. Ms. Rodale cleared a psychic space, opened a portal, and went off to ask the plant what it was trying to tell her. I have to confess that I squirmed my way into this memoir, embarrassed by the prospect of conversations with thistles. I have no problem reading about Zen masters; getting your head around the sound of one hand clapping is surely as weird as communing with the sound of one mosquito whining. Ms. Rodale bares her soul. Part of the charm of her writing is its unfiltered and enthusiastic forthrightness; no reportorial distancing or irony here. This is a journey into her heart.

Dismemberments, meltdowns (literally), black dragons and white vultures, these trips are— yes—mind-blowing. And informative; animal and insect lore abounds. A deer offers her a juicy, fresh deer heart to eat, thus addressing the deer problem: Restore population balances. The rabbits tell her: “We love eating plastic fences. It’s like dental floss to us. . . . Also, we love sex.” Well, we knew that. Yew urges her to embrace her wildness, then says, “Humans are so exhausting.” Many of the creatures Ms. Rodale encounters make the same complaint. The sensible remarks of a bat helped me suspend disbelief: “We eat your blood because we eat mosquitoes that suck your blood, and your blood is garbage. It’s filled with toxins and opioids. It’s made us sick so now we are making you sick. . . . I’m tired now, so leave me alone.”

And about that mugwort: Infusions in a hot bath gave Ms. Rodale “intense dreams,” and mugwort smudge-sticks cleanse a room’s energy. As the mugwort said: “All your anger at

weeds is not good for your heart. Stop worrying so much about them.” That’s probably the best garden advice any creature could give us.