blood magic at 3am on a Sunday
Two handfuls of garlic gloves bathed in olive oil, wrapped in foil and thrown into the oven for an hour to create a confit. Spread over toasted bread, crush a ripe roma tomato on top, dash of salt.
Cooking is alchemy, is magic, is ritual. I head down to the basement floor to offer the mid day snack to my mother, beaming with pride and excited to offer her yet another culinary delight she’s never experienced.
She rejects it. She’s fasting and praying.
It has been especially fervent and constant in the last few days. I don’t know what has happened to inspire this behavior within her but I strongly suspect I am the cause. I spend the afternoon fuming, cursing the church, cursing god, they took everything from me, they took my childhood, they took my family, everything.
Eventually the anger diffuses and I find myself in a depression so rich it renders me comatose. Unable to move, open my eyes, barely breathing. I fall asleep for some hours or days to come.
I spent the last of my conscious hours ruminating on how foolish and idiotic her faith is, and now I find myself bandaging up my wrist.
I cast a spell in my journal, my “spell book” it seemed very reasonable and logical to me of course that if I wrote down my desires and then offered some of my blood as payment, the spell will work. Naturally! of course! makes complete logical sense! and of course, it makes even more sense to fold another spell into the original one, a spell of nullification, of undoing, to release me from the effect of the brand of sacrifice I tattooed onto my forearm some years back. I’m convinced you see that it’s the cause of all my suffering over the last 2-3 years so, naturally i cut an X into the tattoo and source the blood that way. 2 in 1! What efficient spell casting! I sign the page of my wishes, press my thumb into the wound, and stamp in blood my finger print on the page. Impossible for the magic to miss me now right?
Sometimes people in the field will tell you that if you’re questioning whether or not you’re crazy, then you’re not crazy. I think this is foolish, and of course, they wouldn’t understand.
To be aware enough that you’re crazy, and to be crazy enough not to be able to do something about it….
Suddenly I don’t feel as strongly in my convictions against my mother’s beliefs.
Despite “coming to my senses” and being aware of all this, I still know in my heart of hearts that my blood magic will work. My spell and the wishes within it will be fulfilled…
I know it.
maybe….
either way, we let it ride.
