Twist and Shake: Rain and Magic

(This is the start of what will, I hope, become a long and inspiring dialogue involving myself and the always lovely Miss Twist. She has posted the first reply to the topic, Rain and Magic, and it now falls to me to post the second. You may see the first one here.)

(Again: tonight has been a night of, uh, Erisian intent. A lot of Golden Apple magic happened earlier this evening, so this post may seem either a little more laid back than normal or it might just not make any sense.)

Rain.

A few years back, when I was young and knew nothing about magic, I had a great time telling everyone I was an occultist and that I knew everything about magic and strangeness and the esoteric and so on. Fake it until you make it was my motto, as prescribed by Grant Morrison, and I sure did make it in the end.

I didn't know much, but there was one thing I've always known, a core elemental truth within my magical work: the power of rain. I would bumble my way through some magic, usually for a very impressed (read: gullible) friend, and sometimes something would happen, sometimes it wouldn't.

But there was one thing I was always very sure of: the power of rain. I am a firm believer in the idea that magic, once created, does not just go off and do its thing. Rather, the spell lies dormant for a small while, until the universe is too busy doing other things to notice that you've broken a handful of its so-called rules. I guess it's the sneaky chaos mage within me coming out at last.

So we trick the universe into exempting us from the rules. Of course, once it's been tricked it is expected that the universe sit up and say, "Good game, sir. I have been bested once again," to which the magician replies, "Ah, and a good game to you; you will get me next time, of that I am sure," and the two laugh and drink cherry brandy and discuss the finer things, the previous sleight forever forgotten.

I am reminded quite frequently that life is not a steampunk rendition of The Great Gatsby, and to them I say, "I do not care." The magic works for me. But what is my point?

My point is, there are times that are good for doing magic. These are usually times of change, of a fresh start. For example, a lot of magic - pagan, ceremonial, chaos, the lot - is done at dawn and dusk. The rising of the sun at dawn is a powerful symbol that runs right through the gamut of occult systems, especially Thelema and Qabala. It is a good time for oaths of self-reflections. Dusk is just as good, for a much different purpose - at twilight, it is said that the barrier between the worlds of spirit and flesh weaken significantly, and magic is easier to cast upon the world. Thee Temple ov Psychick Youth believe eleven at night, being the twenty-third hour - and twenty-three is a number sacred to all practitioners of Chaos Magic and Erisian Sorcery - is the prime time for sigil-work and magic.

These are the times where the universe is too busy with other things to notice what you're doing. Or, as the wise Frater L.B.S. is often caught saying, "eleven o'clock is when I stab reality in the back, piss on its grave, and go on to fuck it's girlfriend." But L.B.S. is an Erisian jester-magician and I'm not entirely sure he can read, let alone work magic, but his opinion is still valid.

Rain, then, rain: rain doesn't happen often enough. Not here, in Melbourne, or in many places around Australia these days. Rain doesn't happen once a day, every day, like dusk or dawn or the twenty-third hour. It happens when it happens. And, as the illustrious Ms. Twist (sorceress) mentioned, it makes things new. It washes away. It is a fresh chance, a time of change.

The more powerful the storm, the better the magic. That's what I think. Rain, thunder, lightning, but especially rain - when it comes, the magic happens. I told my school-friends that the magic would only truly start happening after it rained, and when it did rain, and the magic did happen, it caught us all within it's wonder.

So rain has always been a good time for my magic. Rain has always made me feel better about life, too. It is a nice thing.

There are other magical points to be made, though, and I'll make one of them: rain brings water. Australia doesn't have much water. Not enough, anyway, to sustain us forever. And with all our crazy science, we can't make it rain and we're having a hard time getting the rain back. Rain happens when it happens. It is an independent beast, a deity in it's own right, with it's own personality and sense of will. It is a magical thing, this Rain, and we should treat it with a little more respect.

In conclusion:

G.P.: -Is Eris true?
M2:+Everything is true.
G.P.: -Even false things?
M2:+Even false things are true.
G.P.: -How can that be?
M2:+I don't know, man, I didn't do it.

Nathaniel F. Robinson / Frater Victatio