Seattle, Washington
Written in the first week of May, 2008

Note: This story picks up where the April 03, 2008 journal entry left off. (Click here to link to the story and read it.) This is fiction. Another part of a small, new, novel-in-process.

SPELLS

About the man who returned the serape to its rightful owner:
He did own the antique shop - among other enterprises.
But Marisol Machado was right - she might not see him again.
She was focused on Fate. And he was relying on magic.

He did not believe in magic.
Not in the sense that he believed in the grocery store and that if he wanted milk he could go to the store and get milk.
But he did believe in retroactive magic.
In the sense that when he reviewed his life he could truly say there were events that only magic could explain.

He did not believe in wishes.
Not in the sense that he believed in coincidence as a rational explanation for surprising outcomes of desire.
But he did believe in retroactive wishes.
In the sense that, when he looked back, there were times when his wishes had come true.

He did not believe in spells.
Not in the sense that deliberately stacking the odds in his favor over another person often produced the desired results.
But he was beginning to believe in retroactive spells.
In the sense, that when he looked back, there were times when some small or peculiar conscious action seem to have directly affected success.

He had noticed that there seemed to be some truth in what was called the Second Law of Magic:
That which once directly affected someone or something continues to have an affect at a distance. This may not always be controlled, but often encouraged.

The consideration of casting spells seemed ludicrous to his rational mind. But he knew that his rational mind could be pleasantly distracted by the pursuit of some irrational enterprise.

And just now he badly needed to over-ride his intellectual obsession with a vexing conundrum: The tension between thinking of two distinct people: “She Who Went Away” and “She Who Is On The Way.”

And that is how he came to consult several books about casting spells - ranging from the ancient practices of the occult to the contemporary poetic manipulation of physical metaphors. Why not? It would occupy his mind and give him something interesting to do while the pool of his confusion settled and cleared.

He made a list of the components and ingredients he would need for constructing and casting spells:

A packet of needles of various sizes for various uses.

The heads of dandelions after they had seeded into puffy globes of white.

Several lengths of colored yarn - scarlet, sky blue, and black.

A small magnet.

Three wishbones - from free-range chickens.

Several kinds of special salt - from the sea, from deep in the earth, from far
away - in several colors - white, black, and saffron.

Thorns removed from a rose in bloom and still on the rose bush.

Five small spider webs.

Honey still in the comb - from summer flowers.

Smudges - small bundles of dried sweet grass and sage.

Sand - collected from ant hills, brought up from out of the earth.

Five small candles - one each black, white, red, blue, and yellow.

Several squares of small, handmade paper - ivory colored.

3 small bottle of ink - black, scarlet, and invisible.

5 small stones from a place where the tide meets the shore.

Some ashes from a fire made from dried weeds.

Incense - not sticks, but in bulk form - dragon’s blood, frankincense, pinyon

3 small bottles of water - from rain, snow, and morning dew

Several small plain muslin bags

Several lengths of colored ribbons - black, white, scarlet, and blue

Strands of hair from those one wishes to affect.

For some time he had been collecting these materials to use in casting spells.
Not that he intended to cast spells. Collecting was an amusing distraction.
But then, again, what harm if he did cast a few spells? What harm, indeed?

Some items proved easier to acquire than others. For example,“She Who Went Away” had left behind a hairbrush laced with strands of her long black hair still in it. And he had a hairbrush with strands of his own hair. But what about a strand of the hair of “She Who Is On The Way?” By virtue of the unknown being unobtainable, he had no way to get one.

He would have to rely on Magic and Wishes and Spells.

And so, one spring Sunday afternoon he allowed his temptation to flourish.

He was tired of waiting.