House Magic

Posted: Monday, September 14, 2009 by N. F. Robinson in Labels: , , ,

I can only describe it as a family tragedy: something that splits my immediate family down the middle, alienates us from one another, ruins us financially.. something horrifying in the most mundane of ways. As if to say, "This is life, buddy. Grow up. Get used to it. Shit like this happens to people every day - and most have it worse."

Which is true, yes, but doesn't go very far towards making me feel better. Actually, when I see my friends go through worse situations within the very same week, it makes me feel worse. I was very close to having an emotional breakdown. I was even closer to becoming a schizophrenic-paranoid and believing the universe conspired against everyone and everything - including my dear mother. It was very tempting to stop writing and magicking and interacting for a long time, until my life sorted stuff out..

But it doesn't do that, does it? So I found myself, only three days after, sitting on my rug, praying to Papa Legba, Loa of Doorways, Dogs, and Filthy Old Men. I'm not particularly religious, and Vodoun (voodoo to those of you with middle-class Caucasian tendencies) is a reasonably new addition to my magical repertoire. Still, practical experience - and three intensive years of experimentation and attempts to rid myself of that Ceremonialist-bias - has proven that while some things are better done with practical sorcery, a lot can be said for simple faith and reverence towards a deity.

That night, I was mixing both. Legba-worship and real estate witchcraft.. the family needed a new house. We'd found the perfect one - six bedrooms, amenities nearby, loads of public transport, a beach, enough room, safe area. We'd applied, of course, but with Mum's credit rating (negative is an apt euphemism) and other complications chances were we weren't going to get the house.

But we needed it.

Hence the magic. Couldn't hurt.

I considered asking my magical friends to help out - Sr. Twist, Nikki, Anthony, Logobouros, Ian, Fr. Koslov - but it was urgent and personal. I didn't want to bother the others with my own problems, so I decided to go it solo. Desperation and blind need and the mysterious famed Nathaniel Robinson luck would have to suffice.

I spent twenty-five minutes doing zazen. To clear the mind a little, focus my determination. Zazen hurts like hell. I have close to zero flexibility in my legs and the wind is too damn cold, but the pain makes it worthwhile. It helps a little. Oh, how I'd kill for a little ancient Buddhist monk to stand nearby and beat my with a bamboo stick every time I shifted position.

After that was the banishing. Standard fare. Then I sat on my mat and prayed to Legba. I thought my typical crude thoughts: "If we get the house, I'll buy a dog. If we get the house, I'll buy you a bottle of rum. If we get the house, I'll buy you some new cigars. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

The response was ambivalence. After a small while, I shrugged and begun the sorcery.

I had six pins - each colour-coded and ritually named a member of my family - and I declared them once more the relations they were meant to represent. I had earlier printed out a copy of the house we wanted, and stuck the pins in the rough area of where we'd planned for each of us to sleep. I declared the house ours. I called mostly on Legba, but also on Lonansi, Venus, and Jupiter. A few power words. Some sigilry.

I'd also printed out a copy of our current house, and I burnt it, taking the ashes and placing them within a glass vial (bought at a wedding shop - they're used in bombardiers, apparently). I thanked the spirits of the house for keeping us, but I declared their work and our connections to the house ceased. Then I once again begged the spirits of the new house to have us.

I snuck outside, smashing the vial at the nearest crossroads, declaring the ritual to Legba thrice. I banished again.. and the ritual was over. No lengthy qabalistic incantations, no naked dancing, nothing of the sort. Simple, to the point. And that was that. I went to bed.

Two days later, Mum got the call: we'd gotten the house. It seemed a miracle. Sure, there were still dozens of shit things going on in our life, but we'd got the house. Signing the lease, the real estate agent told me how lucky we were. We'd beaten a large handful of applicants, apparently.

"I might have to start believing in that witchcraft crap," said Mum.

So now I'm moving. Everything's packed, in boxes - my magical artifacts and supplies have their own consecrated box, of course. I've bound my protective servitors within two similar glass vials, and I'll be taking them by hand - don't want to break those. The servitors weren't so happy when I informed them that they were to go into storage for a little bit, but I don't want to just leave them lying about the place.

Soon, we'll have a new place, with fresh warding that needs to be doing and all the preliminary cleansing.. but we'll get to that next week, when we make the physical move.