Mindfulness for the Magically Inclined

CW: Gore, Language

I fumbled in the dark until the match found a spark. Light danced softly on the walls of the room, revealing the warding sigils scrawled on every surface. The shelves had been stripped of books - which now lay sprawled across the floor and bed. I touched the flame to candle wicks, illuminating the room with a dim glow. A searing heat brushed my fingers as the flame grew to the edge of the match, and I dropped it with a gasp. I stamped it out with my shoe, dusting the floor with ash.

Magic is a tricky thing- my kind of magic, at least. It’s nothing like the movies, no chanting, no sacrifices, no summoning demons or soul-selling. Magic, real magic, is a pain in the ass, mostly.

My stomach made its displeasure known in the form of rumbles and gurgles, the day of fasting having done a number on my weak digestive system. I tried to kneel, but pain stabbed my gut, and it complained louder. I pushed myself down despite my body’s reservations, and picked up a black leather tome. I opened the grimoire, and flicked through the worn pages.

The preparations were complete. I stood in the centre of a circle, roughly scraped into the wooden floor and outlined in black paint. I didn’t want my security deposit back, anyway. I heard a bubbling, frothing sound outside, and a jolt of fear coursed through me. The sigils would keep me safe, I reassured myself.

Shaping a spell is not something easily explained. Mages can access a whole other dimension of reality, one that doesn’t follow the ordinary logic of our world. A spell is a construct in that dimension, one that relies on the mage’s body and mind in order to be created. As the spell began to form around me, I felt it take some of my hunger, some of my thoughts. Energy drained from my body into that fifth dimension, but as the construct came together, it began to warp and bend, the geometry twisted and contorted into something wrong.

The construct shattered, its fragments exploding outwards with a flash of transdimensional light. They slammed against the walls of the circle, then fell to the ground. The circle around my feet burned with a soft glow, I thanked the moon that I had taken the precaution of carving it. The smell of a ruined spell hung in the air, damp and disappointing.

Damn it! I grabbed the grimoire and flicked through it to the spell’s pages. The gurgling outside returned, much louder now. I hurried through the list of preparations. A day of fasting, check, a full night’s sleep, check, mindfulness… 

I had thought myself mindful… I was certainly mindful of the thing outside, its groans still growing, now joined by the scuttling of a dozen legs. I caught a glimpse of movement in the window, and yanked the curtain closed. I opened my laptop, and searched “How to be mindful”. The first result didn’t give me much hope, “Mindfulness is the ability to be completely present, without feeling overwhelmed by things around us.” I sighed, scraping a lightly greased lock of hair away from my eyes, “Mindfulness can be achieved through careful meditation, or journaling. For beginners, it is often best to start with guided meditation, through online videos or classes.”

Do they do meditation videos for wizards?

A quick search revealed that they do. The video began with a woman whispering “Welcome to a guided meditation for witches, wizards, and warlocks… today we’ll be unlocking your magical potential, with some help from our fairy friends-” I closed the video. Magic is one thing, but fairies… I’m not sure they exist.

I stood up, and began to pace around the room. That video had been a bust, perhaps something less specific would work? I removed “for wizards” from the search, and played the first result.

“Close your eyes…” As the video instructed, I shut my eyes. I paid attention to the rising and falling of my chest as I took a deep breath. As I let the air out, I felt the light gust pass out of my nose and stroke my hands. The sounds of running water, birdsong, and the gentle brush of wind against leaves emanated from the speakers.

The guide continued, the narrator spoke with a droning pace, lulling me into an uneasy peace. I focused my attention on the tips of my toes, the way my sock gripped them. I worked my attention up my body slowly, noting the slight chill of the night against my bare arms, despite the walls around me. I took in the softness of my shirt, tight against my skin in some areas, loose in others. I took in the weight of my glasses on the bridge of my nose, I took in the feeling of my hair resting over my face and scalp. 

I opened my eyes, and looked upon my apartment in the warm candlelight. I absorbed the walls, lined with posters. A tracksuited man leered through his sunglasses, flanked by five equally upset looking band members. Above them, their band name, Cocaine Wankers. The poster advertised their Climax tour. I had seen them on tour, and they performed with as much hostility as their poster suggested.

I looked into that other dimension and saw the sigils, linked by thick lines of protection, forming a shield around the room. The shards of my failed spell lay scattered inside the circle. A foul, fishy smell rode the air. I heard the scratches of razor-sharp talons, the scuttling of legs, and bubbling groans, louder than ever. I forced my nostrils and ears shut and pressed on, spurred on by the sigils holding my pursuer at bay.

I strode over to the circle, skimming through my grimoire. My reading was interrupted by a glass-sharp smash. The bathroom- I hadn’t warded the bathroom! 

Now or never. I threw my grimoire down, stepping inside the circle. I drew ragged breaths, an icy bead of sweat dripping down my brow. Mindfulness. I focused on my breaths, letting them fill my mind, feeling them slow. Next, I took in all the sensations around me. My stomach let out a faint gurgle as I took in its emptiness. The smoky, calming scent of the candles drifted into my nose, and I accepted it with gratitude. I let the spell begin to take shape.

The beast screeched. The bathroom door broke free from its hinges and slammed to the ground. The newly opened door revealed eyes. Thousands of eyes, all narrowed in fury. The Thing was vaguely arachnoid in shape- a mess of legs and eyes and grins that widened as it inched closer.

The spell took my hunger, my energy, and my thoughts. I gave the creature a slight smirk as the beautiful geometry took form. Its long legs reared up, and it leapt to crush me. I let the spell go. 

It was the most incredible thing I had ever seen. The construct expanded until it filled the room, forcing the creature back into the bathroom. The eyes of the beast widened in shock as the spell’s edges began to rend its flesh apart. Black blood oozed from the overlapping cuts, its smell - a putrid mix of human shit and rotting onions- made me retch. The lines of the spell carved the monster apart, its scream fading into silence.

One single eyeball remained, at the doorway of the bathroom. It made a satisfying Pop as I crushed it with my foot. The walls, floor, and ceiling of the bathroom were coated in thick layers of blood.

A small globule of blood dripped into my hair as I leaned into the bathroom. I sighed, left the bathroom, and reached for my phone.

“Big Papa’s Cleaning Service, I’m Big Papa, how can I help?”