Making Magick Work

 A new entry from "The Gods Are Bored!" will wonders never cease?

Well, forgive me, friends. The last month of school is always a special circle of Hell. About the only good thing I can say is that I'm putting an enemy to work for me: Turns out Chat GPT cranks out wicked lesson plans in an eyeblink. And since my district wants my lesson plans to be basically novellas, I'm glad for the help.

Today's sermon is an update on my latest magick spell. I'm adding the "k" merely for algorithm, figuring there may be two or three American teens who are still Googling such things rather than going directly to Tik Tok.

Two months ago I learned that a very toxic person would be remaining in my workplace even though her high position had been eliminated. The elimination in effect made things worse for myself and my colleagues, as the toxic person took a demotion and is now once again in closer proximity to teachers and students. The drag on morale is palpable.

I mean this woman no harm, even though my limited interaction with her over the last several years has proven to me that she bitterly despises me. I guess I would feel bad if she didn't bitterly despise so many other people, but hey. It's how she rolls.

But it's possible to mean someone no harm and still work a spell on them. My goal is not to inflict any kind of pain on the person, but rather just have her heave a sigh of relief and move on to another phase of her life -- a phase that takes her out of my workplace.

Hence the "move on" spell.

It's an Appalachian hoo doo spell that requires one ingredient: dirt from an active railroad track. In a previous post I described my adventure in obtaining the dirt (no mean feat, as Amtrak guards its tracks zealously). Now, dirt in hand, I have begun the working.

Twice already I have had to turn in paper communications to this person. Each one looks just a tad smudged, especially at the places where her fingers would land. Adding a little extra to the effort, my notes to her have subtle wording having to do with moving:

*Moving this on down the line to you.

*I think we're making good forward progress.

These are the ones I've used so far. There will be more opportunities for this in the future.

Here is something I learned from my last successful spell: This magic comes at a cost. Through the efforts of my toxic boss (perhaps unwittingly) I am already out several hundred dollars in missed overtime opportunities. I am resigned to this outcome. It's the price of doing what I have to do.

I feel like I'm performing a public service. Over the past decade I have watched this woman make decisions that hurt students and teachers. I'm not alone in my low opinion of her. Some of my colleagues think that the demotion will humble her, but that remains to be seen. I'm skeptical.

Yours truly from the witch trenches I remain,

Anne Johnson

If It's Baneful, Can I Still Laugh?

 Hello, Witches! It's Anne at "The Gods Are Bored," chiming in with another installment of the Blog That Just Won't Quit. Today's sermon: performing hillbilly hoodoo in suburban New Jersey! Talk about a challenge.

I don't like bane work, but it's part of my culture, so I'm not afraid to do it. Bane work originated among oppressed people who had no other recourse when The Man shoved them around. Needless to say, that is still happening in the here and now.

Take my situation, for example. There is a person in my workplace who is universally despised. I don't wish that person ill, I just want them out the door, on to other horizons.

This post isn't about that person and the grievances. It's about gathering the necessary ingredients for this particular bane work. Namely, dirt from an active railroad track.

If I was out in Appalachia where I come from, this would be so easy to do: just saunter out to the track with a shovel and dig. But I'm not in Appalachia. I'm in New Jersey.

 It's not like there aren't any trains - there's an El that runs every ten minutes just six blocks from my house. But the first thing you notice about an El train is that it doesn't run across dirt. About the best dirt you could get from the El is if you either swept up the platform (a job I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy) or swept up one of the cars (even more disgusting). Nope! Can't use the El.

This leaves an Amtrak line that sort of shares the El right-of-way in places. And the first thing you should know about Amtrak is that they don't like people on their tracks. Any area worth its salt will have its Amtrak tracks well guarded by chain link fencing.

I am a lady of a certain age, unable and unwilling to scale chain link. It never stopped me when I was younger, but now I would be hard pressed, you know? To save my life, sure. But not just to dig up some dirt for a spell.

Fortune was in my favor, though. I know where the Amtrak line is, and one time when I was out walking during the quarantine, I blundered upon it unannounced at an obscure trail that's surprisingly close to my house. At the point where this mostly unmarked trail crosses the tracks, the chain link has been helpfully peeled back. I remembered this, and after trying three or four other spots, I set off for the peeled-back fence.

I suppose the last time I approached this railroad track it was high summer, dry and hot. But now it's springtime, and we just had a week of hard rain.

I couldn't remember if the rushing stream was on the east side of the tracks or the west side. I sorta kinda remembered east. But even so, when last I forded it (summer, hot, dry), it was a little dainty leap, and all done. 

Turns out the stream is on the west side. It was a torrent not to be trifled with.

Admittedly, I tried to ford the murky waterway by jumping from rock to rock. Alas, just as with the chain link, I'm no longer so spry. Inevitably I found myself up to my calves in a gushing brook. At least I had on my good Altra trail runners with decent tread. When I fell, I was nearly to the bank. Nearly.

At last, having crossed the brook like a badass mountain hillbilly, I scaled a rise (steep, used my hands and fell anyway), found the path, and proceeded to the train tracks. 

I was just in time to be shooed off by the 4:00 Express bound for Atlantic City. But the engineer didn't see me (even in my neon tie-dye, it was 60's day at school).

The AC express is the only train that uses this particular track, so I knew I was in the clear after the 4:00 sailed past. But ah, here's the next rub. Your modern train track is chock-a-block with big stones, not gravel and dirt. I had to chuck a good-sized layer of stone aside before I got even a few smaller rocks and - finally - a little bit of dirt. When I say that train track was cleaner than the platform of the El, I am absolutely not exaggerating. I felt positively elated to extract about three tablespoons of dirt from that train bed.

Back I went with my goods, down the steep rise (on my kiester) and through the rushing stream (not even trying to stay dry). I sloshed back to my car and melted into the thick rush-hour traffic, the daring hillbilly witch with her bane work ingredients.

The final piece of this spell was to actually write a script for the work. Now, your seasoned witch has a grimoire for such things, no doubt written in cursive with a feather pen and inkwell. Me, I felt like I had already achieved the primeval just by daring Amtrak to part with a tablespoon of dirt. So I used the school computer and the school printer to write the spell. It seemed fitting, somehow.

Now comes casting that puppy on Sunday night during the Dark Moon. But before I do that, there's a May Day Fairie Festival! What a good place to gather up some energy for getting big things done!

The moral of this story is, never judge New Jersey by its turnpikes. It's possible to take a real hike in a tick-and-poison-ivy-infested woods, having to ford a stream without step-stones, and still get caught in traffic afterwards. You just have to know the lay of the land.

And bane work is serious. Unless you're Anne Johnson. Then, it's serious but also humorous. Humor is energy, after all, and it's a good weapon.

I haven't talked about the solar eclipse on here yet, have I? Boy am I glad summer's coming! There's so much to say!

The Magic Boost

My friends, I sit here every day doing more or less the same thing, which is next-to-nothing. My state is open, but I don't go anywhere except the grocery store and the pharmacy.

That will change when September rolls around. I will be expected to report to my classroom. There have been no plans revealed about what that classroom capacity will be and how my students and I will be protected from the novel coronavirus.

Having worked in a school for 15 years, I'm here to tell you it's a swirling miasma of contagion. In January, just before Covid, I had a virus that had me coughing for weeks. My English department colleagues all caught it too.

I listen to the news obsessively, so I know what I can do to protect myself: masks, hand-washing, face shield, hand sanitizer, don't touch face, social distancing. I'm prepared to do all of that.

But one never wants to leave any tool on the table, so I have turned to magic for a boost in my protection. Magic doesn't replace the mundane safety measures, but it can enhance them.

If you're looking for a good place to start learning about a magical practice, I highly recommend John Beckett's new online course Operative Magic. John is a Druid and a very reasonable, approachable person. His course is six sessions, homework optional (mostly to get his very helpful feedback). John gives a nicely-done history of magic, the philosophy of magic, and then concrete information on how to create a spell. The course is $50, which I call money well spent. I only have one session left to complete, so I've gotten a good view of it.

There are also two books I will recommend if you feel any affinity for organic magic stemming from Appalachian traditions. The first is Staubs and Ditchwater by Byron Ballard. Byron is a hedge witch working as a Pagan. The other book is Backwoods Witchcraft by Jake Richards. Jake works through the Christian tradition, which is to be expected -- generations and generations and generations of Appalachians have been Christians. But what's interesting about Backwoods Witchcraft is how ancient and British Isles it feels. Both of these books show you how to do spells using items you have all around you in your house and yard.

Skeptics might say, "Why turn to magic? Isn't that just a bunch of superstition?"

My answer is, "Why not? And what you might call 'superstition' I call 'covering the mystical bases.'"

This pandemic is the most dangerous existential threat to my existence since I was a blithe teenager doing stupid, reckless stuff. I'm not leaving tools on the table. That would be foolish.

In Which I Hex Mark Ryan, Homebuilder, and His Partner P.J. Ward

Dear Readers, all six of you (bless your sweet, smart hearts), I am finally able to post "before and after" photos of the view from my front door. Of course, photos don't entirely capture the dramatic alteration in the vista -- nor do they account for the economic circumstances of the new neighbors -- but snapshots will have to do.

EXHIBIT A: 311 Windsor Avenue, Haterville, New Jersey, 2014

Missing is the 100-year-old tree that was cut down. It would have been to the left, just out of the frame.

EXHIBIT B: 311 and 313 Windsor Avenue, Haterville, New Jersey 2018

First World Problems, right? I know, I know. It's not like a hurricane roared through. But honestly. Cheap, shoddy construction. And that two-car garage perfectly aligns with my front yard. And the developer has charmed my husband by assuring him this improves the price of our home. Except that we don't plan to sell while I'm working, so why would that matter?

Well, as luck would have it ... if you can call it lucky to be home sick ... the builder is showing the property on the left today.

I am under strict orders from Mr. J: "Don't embarrass me!" Excuse me? You embarrassed yourself by swallowing the snake oil and calling it a cure.

So I have positioned my Truth in Advertising messages at the end of the driveway:

EXHIBIT C: RESIST, PERSIST, AND RISE

The fact that the car is old and ratty only adds a poignant touch.

I know that three of my six readers are Hillary supporters, and I hope you'll forgive me for being a far-left Democratic Socialist. But even you must admit that this pairing is more effective than a Hillary bumper sticker would be. (and yes, I most certainly voted for Hillary.)

Readers, my dudgeon is high not only because this project uprooted beautiful trees and decimated green space. It's also high because the buyers of these homes, in search of everything new and shiny, are basically purchasing high-end housing that was built with low-end products and labor. It's all show and no substance, which apparently is good enough for some millionaire who wants to purchase something in "move-in condition." With a mud room.

Ah, and now for the 662nd day in a row (not excepting weekends), workers are running something loud and motorized over there.

The greed is naked. The disdain is obvious. There's only one way I can respond that will give me any sort of quiet satisfaction ... and that's the way my ancient ancestors responded when the lord of the manor did them wrong.

Hexes all around. Mark Ryan, snake-oil salesman and greedy capitalist -- HEX! P.J. Ward, original hatcher of this travesty -- HEX!

And to my neighbors who happily sold their land to these greed-hounds from Hell -- HEX.

FROM ANNE JOHNSON
Across the Street

PS to Kimber: I heard about that earthquake, and I hope you and yours are all right. My own problems pale in comparison. Sedna says she's upholding you.

Free Advice on spell work

I just totally and completely forgot to tell my three readers that next year, 2013, I will have some entries in the Llewellyn Spell Calendar! I wrote them last summer, and Llewellyn took a few of them. This is very humbling, given the many folks out there who know so much more about spell work than I do. Much of the spell work in my tool kit concerns predicting the future, and it comes from my grandmother, who learned it from her mother, who learned it who-knows-where. All those foremothers of mine were deeply into omens.


The tricky part about spell work is that you don't want to harm anyone, either directly or indirectly.

I did a spell out in Western Maryland to save a tract of land from being bulldozed and developed into an uber suburb. When the project was scuttled, amidst widespread disdain in the Maryland press and among the state's environmentalists, I thought my spell had turned out just dandy. Then I read that the developer who planned to execute the super-burb had gone bankrupt. He was unable to construct required street lights in developments he had already built -- and the good citizens who had the bad luck to buy from him were being attacked and burgled in the darkness of their neighborhoods.

See how you have to think out spell work like a spider-web, considering all the contingencies and possibilities before doing the spell?

It's pretty paralyzing, I must admit.

The easiest spell work for intentions is done for self-improvement, but think through that as well. Someone who likes you the way you are now might not like the spell-enhanced you.

It never ends. Exercise caution. Think deeply before working an intention.

Update on that developer. He has found new investors and is making noises about the super-burb again. He still owns that tract of land out in Western Maryland. Do you see my dilemma? I want to do more work, but:

1. I will not be going out to my farm anymore (it's in the vicinity), and

2. I don't want some little kid hurt in a dark house because of this developer moron.

Any suggestions you have about this and any other intentional spell work will be warmly welcomed.