The Power We Wield

I shapeshifted last night. At least in my head, I did. The red iron taste of blood is even now present in my mouth. I still remember the wind tousling my hair (fur?) back as I moved skillfully down the hill, my elongated body slipping under branches and roots. Everything else is…a blur.

I found you in the same spot as we started, alcohol on your breath and a pile of vomit next to you, the only thing keeping you company as you snored, naked, on the ground. Quite a sight, really.

I had to backtrack, butt naked, my own unshod footsteps.

Dim memories here and there . All I know is that I awakened a mile from where we began, as naked as I found you. Scratches all over my legs and arms, as if I had run through blackberry bushes. 

Despite these inconvenient developments, my senses seemed…weirdly clear. I looked over my shoulder, watching out for passersby as I backtracked to the circle we made the night before; carefully cast with dollar store Epson salt and our now extinct candles. 

Covering my body as well as I could with my arms and hands, as if the thrushes and rabbits would give two shits about my fragility, my breasts bared, your seed descending down my legs as I walked. No need for shame…yet there it was, as clear as the bright autumn sun shining on my head. 

The funny thing about rituals like the one we witnessed last night is, you never quite know what’ll happen if or when the gods descend. It can be like Waiting for Godot: boring and anti-climatic. I’ve been in those kinds of rituals more times than I’d care to admit.

That’s when you start questioning if Magick is really real. You pack up disappointed that you spent all this time and energy on writing and casting a spell, and you go home to your ordinary life and half forget that it ever happened.

Or it can be a wild, maddening ride, where you wake up miles from where you left off, with memories that may or may not have been your own. I am starting to be convinced it may take a certain kind of Person to actually be a conduit to the Higher Ones. Who would have known you of all people would be a Person like that? 

According to what Anton says, you are unpredictable, after all. But I guess you wanted this badly enough to follow through. I’m glad you did.

* * * * * * * * * * 

If I remember it correctly, the initial idea was all mine. I proposed it as you and I looked out over the city from your balcony.  Come to think of it, it seems now to me that it was more of a dare than anything else; and you took it without hesitation.

We were, at that moment, already drunk on Rum and Coke while Anton showered off the boredom from his now-finished workday. It was a Thursday.

You hunched over the rail, your longish dark hair half obscuring your eyes, which are darker still. Impossibly thin lips pressed together as if you were in pain while listening to me. I was telling you about the history of Paganism; how the Roman Catholics assimilated the image of Sylvanus, the horned god of the wilderness to their Satan, lord of all darkness. Basically ancient history 101, nerdy girl version. Trust me, I’d never even open my mouth to say a thing to you had alcohol not been involved, much less if I happened to not be second-hand smoking pot.  

When I finally finished, you let the silence stand between us like a wall of ice. You slowly took a drag of your joint, exhaling smoke into the night air with gusto. “Religion of any sort is a bitch. I mean, Pagan. Christian. Muslim. Buddhist. Why even put yourself in a box?”

You looked at the heptagram hanging from my neck. Through Anton, I’m sure you know of my association with witchcraft. I also know you both agree it’s bullshit.

“It helps you to… belong?”

You shook your head. “You don’t need religion in order to belong. Look at it from different angles and you’ll see all the boxes are just one box- no, a cage. A cage disguised as dogma.”

I started to feel my cheeks warming up despite the early autumn chill. Either you didn’t notice, or you didn’t care, because you kept going, “ and dogma exists to control people; to keep them from causing societal harm.” 

“Paganism is a little different. It’s a relatively new religion, and the only rule is that if you harm no one, you do what you will.”

“So, you’re saying that you can do whatever you feel like doing, so long as no one gets hurt.”

“Yes.”

“So, if you enforce your Paganism and build a Pagan temple right next to a church…that won’t cause any trouble?”

“I mean, people might complain, but…”

“ Won’t they see this as ‘harmful’?”

“You’re missing the point…”

“...and, say, that a lot more Pagans decide to build Pagan temples all over the continent. How will this jibe with Evangelicals and other people in the radical right? If you can look me in the eye and say there’s no chance of this causing a war…”

   I thought of all the wars between Pagans and Christians, Muslims and Buddhists…and knew you were right.

   “Ok. Sure,” I conceded. “But Paganism is not about being kept under control. It’s about manipulating the natural energies around you. We are all a part of the universe; we all have the ability to do it.” 

   You scoffed, shaking your head, and it took me every inch of impulse control not to land a fist on that ugly face of yours.“Yeah, I know. You and Anton think all kinds of things that can’t be proven by science yet are bullshit.”

   You shrugged, lips tightly shut. “Never really saw anything with my own eyes that would prove anything for or against it.”

Then the idea came to me, fully formed. “Ok. I’ll prove you wrong.” 

This elicited deep throaty laughter from you. I could punch you at that moment. Breathing deeply to calm myself, I instead said, “No, seriously. I’ll prove you wrong, but you do have to follow my lead if you want to see results.” I took the silence that followed as acceptance to my terms. “What is something you want more than anything in this whole world?”

You looked at me then, with that intense gaze of yours. The silence this time was long and heavy, so much so I thought you would not answer. “I want to be famous,” you said then, in barely a whisper. “I want the world to know and love my poems. My music.” You chuckled at yourself, shaking your head as if asking why the hell we were even talking about this in the first place.

“OK,” I said in response. “And I wanna have an out-of-body experience.” I said it with a straight face so that I could convey the idea I wasn’t mocking you.

You sniffed, held your lips tight. Then you threw back your head and laughed out loud.. A burst of rich and melodic laughter. I laughed, too. It is a little ridiculous to bare yourself like this with a complete stranger. But we were drunk and high, and the idea seized hold of me without a chance of letting go.

* * * * * * * *

   Convincing Anton to go camping was as easy as speaking my own name. We’ve always loved the mountains, ever since we were little, so all it took was a simple suggestion, really.

   You offered to drive. Anton sat shotgun, refreshing the map on his phone every five minutes or so. You two argued from the moment you got in the car to the moment we finished setting up camp; about the weather, the route, the best place to fuel up, the most efficient way to set up the tent. Whenever this happened, I happily donned my earbuds and cranked up the volume to my music as I watched the city become country, and the country become forest. 

By the time the tent was up, the sleeping bags rolled, dinner eaten and our campfire set, you declared you were having our last beer (the three six packs we bought were meant to be consumed in three days’ time). Anton swayed in his camping chair, announcing loudly that he was going to bed.

You and I stayed up for I don’t know how long, watching the campfire progress from full living blaze to dying glowing embers.

“So,” you slurred, “you gonna turn the fire into glass, or something? Or maybe you can magically refill our beers for us.”

“Ha.” Stupid. “I’m not the cheap one who thought six beers a person was good enough for three whole nights.” 

“Yeah. Sorry. We could drive down to the nearest gas station tomorrow and get us some more.”

I got up slowly, stabilizing myself on the armrests to prevent much swaying, and reached for the backpack I had hastily packed. 

“Lucky Anton decided to skip the trip to the dollar store,” I thought out loud.

“I mean,” you stumbled to a standing position, “I don’t know why you need epson salt of all things. Candles, sure, I get that..."

“It’s for protection,” I snapped. Then, softening my tone, “it neutralizes the energies between worlds.”

“Oh, ok,” you said, mockingly. “Because regular salt wouldn’t have the same effect or anything.”

“Iodized salt would cause the grass to never grow again. So I use Epson salt instead,” I explained, shrugging. 

You seemed to consider this for a while. “At least you’re making an effort to not destroy the environment.” I guess that was your way of giving praise.

“I do what I can to keep everything in balance,” I said over my shoulder to you as we walked away from the camping grounds and the nearby stream; off into the forest proper. 

 We dodged branches and tripped over roots, stopped and waited in silence several times as we heard noises from nearby animals. We walked and we walked, what seemed like miles, past copses of trees and onto the hilltop, until finally reaching a clearing where the full moon shone directly above us.

You watched silently as I reverently took the contents out of my backpack and laid them out in a neat row: Epson salt. Six candles; One green, one yellow, one red and one blue; a silver candle and a golden one. Dragon’s blood incense. Dried lavender, agar agar, allspice, bayleaf. Sandalwood oil. My ritual Athame.

“Ok,” I sighed as I stood up, overlooking the neat pile with satisfaction. “Let’s begin.”

* * * * * * * *

Resigned to the fact this would be another anticlimactic ritual, especially because of our current tipsy state and because of your lack of belief, I started to half-assedly light the incense and the herbs, anointing the air around us with them. I talked a lot that night, mainly for your benefit.

“First, we spread the salt in a wide circle, like this,” I explained. “ It must make a thick line so that it casts a barrier between us summoners and any other spirit out there that has bad intentions.” You sat in the middle of the circle, cross-legged, watching silently, intently, lips pressed together.

   “Now, I’m going to light the candles and call the Elements”. At this, you looked like you were about to say something, but thought better of it. I’m glad you desisted; I hate periodic table jokes, and get them quite frequently from my brother already, thank you very much.

   I went toward the green candle first, lighting it carefully as I invoked the Guardians of the North; the Earth Spirits. I moved down the circle to the East and did the same with the yellow candle, calling out to the Spirits of the Air. 

Moving south, I whispered a prayer of incantation over the red candle to the Spirits of Fire, and, lastly, turned to the west, lighting the blue candle and reciting my incantation to the Spirits of Water.

   Having finished this, I walked to the center of our circle, where you were now standing, the silver and golden candle before you. You looked puzzled; maybe a little scared, even.

   “Was that a made up language?” you asked, eyebrows knit together. 

“What? Are you pulling my leg?” I gave you a I- know-you’re-fucking-with-me smile, and reached for the Sandalwod oil, without waiting for a response. You continued to look spooked, and that in turn made me a little nauseous. 

“Ok. The Elements were summoned. Now we need to summon the Goddess and her consort, the God. We need to be anointed before doing this.” You nodded as I dabbed oil on your forehead, chin, chest, both feet and each hand, and directed you to do the same to me. You cleared your throat and then sighed, anointing my forehead, chin, clavicle, my feet and hands as you saw me do to you; each of your touches causing me to feel a minuscule electric jolt. 

   “I’ll go first,” I whispered, my whole body tingling with- what? Excitement? Fear? Anticipation?

   I lit the silver candle, held it in front of my forehead (the inner eye), and began: “Mother Goddess, you who have many forms; you who are Fruitful Mother, Crone Healer, you who have many faces, I invoke you tonight. Grant me that which I seek, if you will, for I am yours and you are mine- I am made in your image, oh, Mother- we are Stardust together.” I closed my eyes and imagined myself changing form, leaving my body and flying through the cosmos; becoming someone or something else entirely, and this I wished to do with all my heart, so much that I felt tears running down my cheek as I finally opened my eyes and placed the lit candle back on the ground. “So be it,” I finished my prayer and turned to you, still teary-eyed., “It’s your turn.” 

   What happened next was definitely not what I expected. I thought, at best, I’d have to guide you in what to say; at worst, you’d walk away calling the whole thing ‘bullshit’. But you stepped forward, grabbed the golden candle, and, lighting it, started to sing, 

“O Lord, both Dark and Light/ Grant me your presence here tonight/ For it is Fame I seek/ Fame and Glory and Fortune deep/ God of Forests and God of Flight/ God of Fire and of the Seas Bright/Fame and Glory in this lifetime is enough/ Grant me this and I am yours/ for we are the same, made of the same stuff.”

   Not bad at all. This was the first time (one of many) you intrigued me. I couldn’t help staring as you gently placed the golden candle down next to mine, and looked up at me whispering, “So be it.” 

“Are you sure you’re not a Pagan? Are you, like, messing with me this whole time?”

You smiled broadly, then, in a way that made you look almost attractive. “Fast learner, I guess?”

   I shook myself free of amazement as I reached for my Athame to end the spell. I had told you earlier about this, and you had looked at me skeptically. But now, you held out your arm calmy towards me. I readily unsheathed my Athame, placed my wrist next to yours, and with a downward swift motion, cut a slat across our flesh. 

   You immediately placed your wrist upon mine, mixing our two bloods into one (this I had not told you was a common custom, and yet you knew on an instinctive level), and then…there was an explosion (implosion?) in which I swear I experienced a supernova in full spectacle.

 It was as if lightning had hit us both, and I no longer had a body. 

I was not me, but a cacophony of sounds that came from myself, and not from me at all; I was and was not all the colors of the visible spectrum, and ultraviolet, and infrared- all individual and all at once together; I was the very particles of the earth, the molecules of air, the fire, the water- I was free and flying over everything, feeling everything and nothing all at once- Flying over our bodies…

   There was a woman and a man, and they were standing in a circle in the middle of a forest. They were fully dressed, their wrists together- his atop hers, two closed fists synchronized, belonging.

The minute their arms dropped to their sides, detaching, the man reached for the woman. They undressed, hurriedly, hungrily, and made love over and over, and all through the night, conjoined as Goddess and God, content, and whole.

I did not stick around to witness the scene. I wasn’t really that woman. Not for now anyway. I was free, free to go wherever I wanted, and the feeling was intoxicating. I finally landed near the copse of trees, and decided I should have legs- fast ones!- so I could run down the hill and see what the smell of smoke mixed with food by the water was all about. I frolicked and ran, went inside tents and out, smelled humans and their garbage, and ran back up the hill, winding through the trees, chasing rabbits and taking care of my animal needs- Howling, howling! By the time the sun came up, I had curled my head to my furry tail and gone to sleep. 

The spell was cast. The spell was done. The elements had slowly returned to the ether, and all was back the way it had been before. I still smile to myself with this memory.. And so, lifelong friend, I thank you for the experience.