Mis-apprenticed to Magick:  A Cautionary Tale

 

   To write this account of my first experiences involving Magick, I cast my circle, removed all vestiges of mundane influence, anointed myself (and my candles) generously with Merlin oil and burnt psychic protection incense, besides imbibing a healthy dose of herbally-laced memory—to remind me that using Magick just to raise up energy for the thrill of it was not always a good idea.

  

   In 1972, when I started college, I began to open up to interests other than sports, women and rock n roll.  One new experience began with a card reading by an old witch of traditional Southern background who told me I had an interesting path ahead—a magickal one; that I would experience powers and energies that would change my direction in life, that I would discover inborn talents not everyone around me would share or even understand.  I was fascinated and returned to see her several times.                                                                                                                                                                                  When the witch who had told me my fortune died, I began to study with her apprentice, who seemed to know a lot about magick.  He lived in an old house that had been converted into apartments; other witches lived there as well.  The house was owned by a woman who had lived in Haiti for several years while married to an anthropologist.  She seemed steeped in Voodoo traditions.  We became great friends; she “adopted” me and presented me with several magickal items she had collected.  I moved into her house and became caretaker of her property.                                                                                                                                                                                                                         One night, when I came home from classes, I saw my new teacher kneeling in the dirt parking lot behind the house, holding a wooden mallet and a silver nail.  I asked him what he was doing.  He pointed to some dog tracks and muttered that a dog had been harassing his cat.  He was going to “take care of that dog”.  He placed the nail in the middle of a paw print and struck it with the mallet.  Immediately, somewhere on the block, a dog began to howl, followed by the howls of other dogs in the area.  My body hair stood on end and goosebumps rose all over me.                                                                                                                                                                                                                            Another incident involved a couple who had moved in with a squirrel monkey.  My teacher exclaimed that monkeys were bad luck (re: the saying “monkey on your back”) and that yhis couple had to go.  Shortly thereafter the couple’s apartment was flooded with sewer; every room was coated with it.  When a plumber was called, he could find nothing wrong with the pipes or valves, even though the sinks, bathtub, and toilet were overflowing with sewage.  The couple had to move out.  Boy, was I impressed!                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       This man I had apprenticed myself to was not tapping into powers for ethical, positive purposes.  On several occasions we would summon entities just to see if we could, without any regard for who or what we were dealing with.                                                                                                                                                                                        My college major was History and at the time I was doing some research on the Civil War period.  I had once lived in a community called Clinton that was “miraculously” spared by Sherman on his march from Atlanta to the sea, even though it was right in his path.  I used to explore old plantation sites and battlefields—and I avoided the battlefields when I realized I was empathic and that these places wreaked havoc on my psyche.  I found one abandoned mansion which particularly intrigued me—for the old documents I found in the attic and also the strong energy I sensed about the place.  I told my teacher about this and he wanted to go there.  He was delving into necromancy at the time, and felt we might could conjure up an entity to help us find buried money or artifacts.  We set out, four of us, on the night of a full moon, Confederate Memorial Day, 1973, to work some Magick.                                                                                                                                                                                                            It was thirty or so miles to the old plantation house, which was on a small, winding dirt road several miles from the nearest paved road.  Trees overhead formed a canopy that often blocked the sky.  The house was on the edge of a clearing that had once been fields.  We pulled up in front, took our ceremonial gear to the porch and set up our altar.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  We cast a circle, raised our cone of power, and began chanting incantations under the direction of our leader.  As we focused our energies and directed them towards the altar, a shape took form; a density thicker than the surrounding air.  It began to rise over the altar.  There was a large tree on the right side of the house that draped over the front porch.  There was no wind that night.  The shape levitated until it went into the tree.  The tree began to shake violently, as if a giant hand had grasped it                                                                                                                                                                                                    Suddenly our leader began to curse.  Apparently he had left behind at home something magickally essential—some tool to defend us from whatever we had summoned.  This scared the hell out of the rest of us.  Then, whatever we had invoked left the tree and became airborne.  As it went up into the sky it elongated and seemed to form air pockets from which came a sound I could not describe.  It flew over our heads back over the road behind us, over the fields on the other side and into a thick stand of woods.  We ran for the car and sped off, leaving our altar and tools behind.  We drove down the dirt road, thinking only to get as far away as we could, as quickly as possible.  Unfortunately, we were going the wrong way—the dirt road came to a dead end.  We had to back the car into the woods to create a space to turn around, then headed back the way we came.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   As we approached the plantation, we looked first at the house.  Our altar was still there, candles blazing, incense burning profusely.  Then we looked to the other side of the road, towards the fields and woods beyond.  Suddenly, as if the scene had been purposely staged for us, the full moon shone down; at the edge of the woods a full-grown buck deer, a stag of awesome proportions, entered the clearing—standing fully erect on its hind legs.  It walked into the field and turned directly towards us.  We went into shock and flew down the dirt road in search of civilization, severely damaging my friend’s car in the process.                                                                                                                                                                                                   After that, I avoided the man I had been studying with.  The others went their separate ways, too.  We occasionally saw each other, but noone talked about the incident and, as far as I know, they dropped the study of Magick altogether.                                                                                                                                             I now realize that what we had probably done was to exorcise an entity from the house or property, and having no place to go, it possessed the nearest living creature, the poor dear.  What HAD we done and what would be the repercussions of such an act?                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     I gave up magickal pursuits for many years; I wanted nothing to do with such things. I questioned the ethics of Magick and the people involved in it.  But, eventually I hooked up with a Wiccan coven who initiated me into “natural Magick.  I grew to understand the Wiccan Rede and integrated what I learned with what I felt inside-my spirituality.  I realized that Magick was not a toy but a tool, and was not to be used irresponsibly or recklessly; that Magick has two natures: the art and science of creating changes in my perception of external reality, and an internal process used to initiate an altered state of consciousness.  I discovered that when I used my internal process as a means of mirroring my external world,(and vice versa), the two became the same.                                                                                                                                                                              I became involved in the local metaphysical community; I managed and owned a couple of ‘new age’ stores.  I offered books, tools and networking to people seeking their own paths, whatever that may be.  And, I champion the first amendment and scorn censorship of any kind.                                                                                                                                                                                        However, when young people (or others) who feel powerless and are searching for a way to make sense of their lives speak to me of a quick fix—spells, magickal rituals, formulas—I remember what I experiences, especially on that night of nights. I could speak to them about recipe books or a talisman; I could design a spell for them (and charge them for it!).  Instead, I encourage them to study spiritual philosophies, traditions, and ethical approaches to empowerment.  I try to help them understand that there are “mundane” solutions to most problems in life—hard work and conscientious application can create Magickal effects, in that we find satisfaction from doing what is right rather than what is glamorous or easy.                                                                                                                                                                                                                              True Magick has an ecology all its own!                                                                                                                                                                                            

c.CKEVN 1994.