Tag Archives: Magic

Magic Works in Mysterious Ways

So this is meant to be funny, but you’d be hard-pressed, I think, to find a Witch who hasn’t seen magic work in this round-about way.

~ hat tip: Veles

Michael Brown Cannot Be Defined by the Politics of Respectability or the Politics of Backlash

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I am continuing to do magic for the people of Ferguson.

Magic comes in many forms. I find magic in the words of Michael Twitty, a historian who studies, enacts, and writes about the foods of the African American South. If you haven’t yet read Mr. Twitty’s amazing post on Ferguson, you owe it to yourself to do so. I read it not only as a human being who loves social justice, but also as an American who has African American family members and friends and as the mother of a son and the Nonna of a grandson.

May America find healing for its deeply racists wounds.

Mr. Twitty writes, inter alia, that:

I received a nasty tweet last night; a tweet with a food theme in fact.  Michael Brown’s bleeding corpse with pictures of food transposed around it—fried chicken, bananas, watermelon, with Kool-Aid to wash it down.  My chest hurt and then I stared into space and before I knew it, I vomited.  It was not nausea—it was anger mixed with revulsion and memories from lives only my cells know.
 
I want you to understand something—I’ve been on multiple plantations and urban sites dealing with slavery. I’ve felt the Ancestors in the fields. I’ve seen the auction block and the whipping post and the hanging tree.  I embrace it, I own it, and I live it through food so I can say “Never Again,” with confidence.  I do the work that I do to educate people about the genesis of America’s original sin—I consider myself steeled. This however, was different—this was personal; that body could have been me.
Swirling around us are accusations, whispers and rumors about a “gentle giant,” named Michael Brown.  Michael Brown cannot be defined by the politics of respectability or the politics of backlash.

Later, he explains:

I am trying to be hopeful. I see Americans of all colors putting their hands up saying “Don’t shoot.”  Solidarity is spreading from rally to rally; there are new kids on the block—and they don’t want the bitter fruit of the past. The old canards that this is a race war a la Mo Brooks have no truth here—we are embracing anyone who will embrace us, loving anyone who will love us, respecting anyone who will respect us, and we want desperately to believe that we—in our protest, in our pursuit of justice through the courts of law, in our demands for information—are the epitome of what it means to be American.
To my foodie friends: throw your hands up!  Listen, we do ourselves no favors when we pretend that food is a respite from the matters of the day.  Where do we go when we want to feel better and hash out our grievances and vent?  We go to the table.  Given that I am often the only Black guy, or one of five Black people period at many food events, I want you to know what this harassment means when you see me/us encounter it.  I want you to step out of the fantasy that food is freedom from socio-cultural politics and just remember to be aware of the cues and clues that injustice and inequality are ever close and we must all be vigilant.
But I ask, as James Baldwin once asked, “How much time do you want, for your progress?”
Please don’t shoot!

Please go read the entire post. I’d love to read your reactions.

May Columbia guard us and enlighten us. May we learn to live together in justice and in peace. This is my will. So mote it be.

Picture found here.

My World and Welcome to It

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This evening, G/Son was working on a project and I was sitting next to him, knitting and drinking tea. We’d been contentedly quiet for quite some time.

G/Son: Nonna, so what I want to know is: how does magic actually work?

Nonna: Well, I think the way that magic works is that everything is connected. We’re all connected to everything. Like I’m connected to you, and to the oak tree out in the yard, and to the rocks, and to the Moon, and to our blue jay, and everything. It’s like a web that connects everything. And so, if I pluck this strand of the web here, I can make the web vibrate over there. And that’s how I think magic works.

Another period of quiet ensued, G/Son working carefully on his project and Nonna knitting.

G/Son: Wait. Nonna. So that means “everything”? Like you’re connected to that other lawyer who makes you really mad and we’re even connected to Mitt Romney who we wouldn’t vote for?

Nonna: [Here, you must imagine Nonna sighing, and shaking her old head, and sorrowing to have to say this to an eight-year-old] Yes. I know it’s hard. But that’s how magic works. I am even connected to that obnoxious lawyer and we are even connected to Mitt Romney. If you want to work magic, you have to accept that. It won’t work any other way. If it were easy, everyone would do it.

For a few more minutes, there is silence. Nonna sips tea and knits. G/Son works on his project. He silently eats Madelines.

G/Son: That sucks, Nonna. Magic is cool, but being connected to some parts of everything sucks. Can I have another of those biscuits?

Picture found here.

Gardening with Mystery

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Garden Rant is one of the best (if most erratically-scheduled) garden blogs. Today’s post is especially thought-provoking. Here’s a sample:

Here’s one of my beefs with lawns: where is the mystery? We live within this awe-inspiring natural world, teeming with diverse creatures and plants. We have a built-in fascination for other living things. Why would we construct our daily environments in such a way that we avoid being fascinated by them?

Instead, why not kindle this fascination in our everyday, ordinary experience? Research shows how important the experience of natural landscapes is for children’s healthy brain, body, and emotional development. Wouldn’t our adult lives be richer from these experiences as well?

As I gaze across a vast, unbroken sea of lawn, it practically shouts out a need to rein in wild nature’s unpredictability and mystery. Why would we want to do this?

Perhaps we are acting instinctively to create open spaces that give us an uninterrupted view, because that feels safer. But does it really? The groundbreaking work of architect Christopher Alexander, among others, shows we are more likely to feel safest with foliage at our backs, standing at the edge of a clearing (or, indoors, in a doorway or alcove surveying the room). That would mean we need, somewhere on our property, foliage substantial enough to provide us with shelter.

For many of us, especially those not used to spending time in wild places, too much “nature” in a place can prompt fears of getting lost, of encountering snakes or mountain lions, of being unsafe or uncomfortable. During the course of giving my talks about lawn alternatives, I’ve spoken with many a person who is reluctant to walk in ankle-deep turfgrass, much less ducking inside a thicket of head-high shrubs.

Avoiding any wildness does restrict our chances of contact with these perceived dangers. But in accepting denuded landscapes, shorn carpets stripped of life and diversity, what are we giving up? What potential experiences are we trading for our certain safety?

We are not only trading the satisfactions of exploring and observing other forms of life, but also the truly awe-inspiring experiences that nature can offer: of feeling tiny and inconsequential in the face of its grandeur and of feeling a splendid sense of belonging as part of its expansiveness.

I say this is an extremely poor trade.

When we explore a natural landscape, we get the satisfaction of solving small-m mysteries, such as “hmmm, I wonder what’s behind that hedge?” But that is just the beginning of our fascination. Spending time in such a landscape, opening ourselves to its surprises and unpredictability, we start to form connections with that place and its flora and fauna. We begin to learn their quirks and characters, and in knowing them, to see ourselves in relation to them. This fosters a sense of belonging, a certain possessiveness. [There's a quote in Le Petit Prince about this.]

Now we are talking about big-m Mysteries, as in arcane knowledge of how the world works—including some knowledge about how we ourselves (being part of nature) work. This knowledge cannot necessarily come from scientific study, but from personal experiences that prompt a more emotional/spiritual understanding of the world’s patterns and lessons and our place in it.

One of the lessons that I’ve learned from Landscape Guy is to garden with an eye towards making the person experiencing the garden move forward, getting them to explore behind a corner, or along a curve, or behind a veil of fig branches. There has to be a place where you want to go and sit or stand and see the garden from that vantage point, which will be different from all the other vantage points.

And, in the end, the study of magic’s like that, too, isn’t it? What’s best is what draws us in, gets us to experience things that we wouldn’t have known were there if we hadn’t gone barefoot in the long grass, introduces us to the big-M Mystery of ourselves.

May it be so for you.

Picture found here.

Hestia and the Homeless

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Just last week, I had friends over for dinner and, with light jackets, we were able to eat dinner out on the porch. Today, an Arctic front has moved into my landbase and it’s painfully cold to be outside in the wind for more than a few minutes, even with a coat and gloves.

Tonight, many of D.C.’s homeless will be outside, sleeping on the cold ground or pavement, sheltered by nothing more than a bridge, or a storefront doorway, or a trash bag. Those who are old, ill, or hungry may even succumb to hypothermia, although that problem gets worse as even colder temperatures settle into the city in December and January.

The problem can seem overwhelming. What can just one Witch do? One thing you can do is find out the emergency number for your city and program it into your cell phone. Here’s the info for DC. That way, if you see someone out in the cold, you can alert the hotline and they’ll provide blankets, transportation to a shelter, gloves, etc.

And here’s a short magic working:

On your altar, place your cell phone with the hotline number already programmed; a pair of socks, gloves, or a hat that you can give away; some incense, and, if you have one: an image of Hestia.

Cast a circle and call the elements.

Invoke Hestia, Goddess of Hearth, Home, and Right Order in the State. Light the incense as an offering to Hestia and, while it burns, give thanks for the comforts of home that you enjoy. For me, these include privacy, warmth, a garden, security, hot water, a place to entertain friends, heavy blankets and clean sheets, a place for my books, hot tea, and stability. I enjoy these things due to a combination of white, middle-class privilege, my own hard work, and Hestia’s blessings.

Now, hold your hands over your cell phone and call upon Hestia to help you to see the people who need you to call the hotline for them. Commit to her that you will call when you see people who need the benefits of warmth and security. Hold your hands over your offering of socks, gloves, a hat, etc. Call upon Hestia to help you to find the person who needs and will accept that gift. Commit to her that you will give your gift as a way to share her blessings.

Thank Hestia for her presence in your home and in your circle. Open the circle and put your phone and your gift in your purse, book bag, coat pocket, etc. so that you’ll have them right to hand when they’re needed.

Picture found here.

Practical Magic

Some people don’t believe in magic. But how could I not believe in magic? As Mary Oliver says:

How could I look at anything in this world
and tremble, and grip my hands over my heart?
What should I fear?

One morning
in the leafy green ocean
the honeycomb of the corn’s beautiful body
is sure to be there.

May it be so for you.

Why Not Ask the Land?

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I attended an interesting presentation today that wound up being, in part, about how one establishes conditions that allow The Sacred to become more perceptible, especially in places where it might seem unlikely — the example given was of a dangerous neighborhood in urban Detroit. There was an informed discussion about how one begins such a process: should you do a cleansing, should you ground, what do you do first?

The answers were all worthwhile, but no one said what I think has to be the first step: ask the landbase. It has an opinion, it desires relationship, and it’s willing to help — if only it’s asked.

Too often we assume, even when we want to be magically involved with a place, that we’re acting upon a passive object rather than approaching a living landbase.

Picture found here