Spells and Charms
This comment from spinksy yesterday:
Your book looks interesting.
Is it?
referred to The Element Encyclopedia of 5000 Spells:
The Ultimate Reference Book for the Magical Arts
By Judika Illes
The book is one of two by the same author (the other is The Element Encyclopedia of Witchcraft: The Complete A-Z for the Entire Magical World),
that Doug checked out from the public library on our trip to Willow
last Thursday. It was on the new arrivals shelf, and he held the
open book out in front of me as I was passing on my way to the fiction
shelves to pick up a couple more of Lee Child’s Jack Reacher
novels. (Reacher is the latest addition to my list of fuckable
fictional characters.) I paused long enough to take in the
considerable bulk of the tome, and the title, and told Doug, “Just be
careful with that stuff. Remember this is the real world, not
game reality.”
He gave me his patented crooked grin and a facetious, “Awww,
Mom.” Then he reassured me that he wasn’t going to be
metaphorically playing with metaphysical fire.
The book was lying on the coffee table yesterday when Doug’s friend
Matt came in. Later in the evening, I heard Matt ask Doug if the
book was any good. Doug replied, “I guess so, but I haven’t found
any spells for fireballs in it.”
Matt and Seph laughed, and one of them said, “No fireballs?! Then
it’s not much of a spellbook, is it?” They’re all conditioned to
the Square-Enix gaming reality where spells come in varieties such as
Ice, Wind, Water, Fire, etc., and do animated damage consistent with
their elemental type and commensurate with the casting character’s
experience level. I’m familiar with and skilled at that sort of
magic, too.
Thirty-six years ago, I knew nothing about the fancy, flashy fantasy
magic in video games because not even Pong had been invented yet.
At that time, I thought I knew nothing of “real” magic, either, but I
was mistaken. As I began then to study metaphysics and “occult”
lore, I discovered that there were numerous little charms and spells
I’d picked up here and there, from books, parents, friends, movies,
etc.
There’s the classic, “abracadabra” spell, of course, and the crossed
fingers behind the back charm that makes it okay to tell a lie.
There’s the “Jinx! You owe me a Coke,” that kids would try to be the
first to shout when two of them spoke the same words at the same
time. One of my favorites is, “shotgun!” the spell that wins one
the privilege of riding up front beside the driver. “Dibsies,” is
another useful spell. 
What constitutes a magical spell or charm, and what one can and should
expect from them, depends on where you’re coming from, I guess.
The topic is fraught with superstitious angst for many people.
When Doug and I were checking out at the library, the assistant
librarian serving us said, “I’m glad to see that someone is checking
those books out.” This tells me several things. Coupled
with their pristine condition, I’d say it suggests that they’ve been
there a while (I’d noticed them at least a month ago.) and Doug is the
first person to check them out.
The woman’s tone of relief that
they’re getting some circulation suggests that she might have
recommended their acquisition and possibly the head librarian had some
reservations. It could also mean that she’s a solitary Wiccan and
has been hoping that she wasn’t the only one in the valley. If
that’s the case, her pleasure is misplaced. In this household,
we’re no more Wiccan than we are Christian, Muslim, or Jew.
Doug’s a non-observant Secular Humanist, and I’m a gnostic. No,
not agnostic, GNOSTIC.
Librarians as a class tend to be some of the most vocal proponents of
First Amendment freedoms, but they do have to exercise some caution,
especially in certain communities. Book-burnings still occur…
and sometimes whole libraries are burned because fearful and ignorant
people fail to understand that they can’t destroy a meme by wiping out
its written expression. That’s like attempting a conquest by
attacking the map. But I digress….
To understand how our remote ancestors viewed the power of written
words, we need to imagine (or remember) when none but the elite few
could write or read. In the Elder Eddas of Norse myth, the
Havamal tells in Odin’s words how he sacrificed an eye and hung on Yggdrasil, the World Tree, to gain the power of runes.
Wounded I hung on a wind-swept gallows
For nine long nights,
Pierced by a spear, pledged to Odin,
Offered, myself to myself
The wisest know not from whence spring
The roots of that ancient rood.
They gave me no bread,
They gave me no mead,
I looked down;
With a loud cry
I took up runes;
From that tree I fell.
Nine lays of power
I learned from the famous Bolthor, Bestla’ s father:
He poured me a draught of precious mead,
Mixed with magic Odrerir.
Waxed and throve well;
Word from word gave words to me,
Deed from deed gave deeds to me.
Runes you will find, and readable staves,
Very strong staves,
Very stout staves,
Staves that Bolthor stained,
Made by mighty powers,
Graven by the prophetic God.
For the Gods by Odin, for the Elves by Dain,
By Dvalin, too, for the Dwarves,
By Asvid for the hateful Giants,
And some I carved myself:
Thund, before man was made, scratched them,
Who rose first, fell thereafter.
Know how to cut them,
know how to read them,
Know how to stain them,
know how to prove them,
Know how to evoke them,
know how to score them,
Know how to send them,
know how to send them.
Better not to ask than to over-pledge
As a gift that demands a gift.
Better not to send
Than to slay too many.
The first charm I know is unknown to rulers
Or any of human kind;
Help it is named,
for help it can give
In hours of sorrow and anguish.
I know a second that the sons of men
Must learn who wish to be leeches.
I know a third: in the thick of battle,
If my need be great enough,
It will blunt the edges of enemy swords,
Their weapons will make no wounds.
I know a fourth:
it will free me quickly
If foes should bind me fast
With strong chains, a chant that makes
Fetters spring from the feet,
Bonds burst from the hands.
I know a fifth: no flying arrow,
Aimed to bring harm to men,
Flies too fast for my fingers to catch it
And hold it in mid-air.
I know a sixth:
It will save me if a man
Cut runes on a sapling’ s roots
With intent to harm; it turns the spell;
The hater is harmed, not me.
If I see the hall
Ablaze around my bench mates,
Though hot the flames,
They shall feel nothing,
If I choose to chant the spell. [seventh]
I know an eighth:
That all are glad of,
Most useful to men:
If hate fester in the heart of a warrior,
It will soon calm and cure him.
I know a ninth:
When need I have
To shelter my ship on the flood,
The wind it calms, the waves it smoothes
And puts the sea to sleep
I know a tenth:
If troublesome ghosts
Ride the rafters aloft,
I can work it so they wander astray,
Unable to find their forms,
Unable to find their homes.
I know an eleventh:
When I lead to battle old comrades in-arms,
I have only to chant it behind my shield,
And unwounded they go to war,
Unwounded they come from war,
Unscathed wherever they are
I know a twelfth:
If a tree bear
A man hanged in a halter,
I can carve and stain strong runes
That will cause the corpse to speak,
Reply to whatever I ask.
I know a thirteenth
If I throw a cup of water over a warrior,
He shall not fall in the fiercest battle,
Nor sink beneath the sword,
I know a fourteenth, that few know:
If I tell a troop of warriors
About the high ones, Elves and Gods,
I can name them one by one.
(Few can the nitwit name.)
I know a fifteenth,
That first Thjodrerir
Sang before Delling’s doors,
Giving power to Gods, prowess to Elves,
Fore-sight to Hroptatyr Odhinn,
I know a sixteenth:
If I see a girl
With whom it would please me to play,
I can turn her thoughts, can touch the heart
Of any white armed woman.
I know a seventeenth:
If I sing it,
The young girl will be slow to forsake me.
I know an eighteenth that I never tell
To maiden or wife of man,
A secret I hide from all
Except the love who lies in my arms,
Or else my own sister.
To learn to sing them, Loddfafnir,
Will take you a long time,
Though helpful they are if you understand them,
Useful if you use them,
Needful if you need them.
The Wise One has spoken words in the hall,
Needful for men to know,
Unneedful for trolls to know:
Hail to the speaker,
Hail to the knower,
Joy to him who has understood,
Delight to those who have listened.
Incantations, invocations, evocative speech, hypnotic chant… all
existed before we ever had the power to write them down.
Suddenly, once a spell could be spelled out in visible form, power
passed outward beyond the inner circle of the mages and bards to be
shared by anyone who possessed the secret of the runes. And it
was for a long time kept quite secret. At one time in more than
one culture it was a capital crime for a man to teach a woman to read,
or for a woman to know how to read.
Words have power. Sounds have power, in their rhythm and tone, to
affect the function of our brains. Words, possessing meaning,
have the power of their sound as well as their meaning. They
affect our emotions, but it seems plain to me that such effects
transcend the meanings of the words. My emotions can be stirred
by words sung or spoken in languages I don’t understand.
When I sat down here to write of spells and charms, I put on the CD of
Solaris Universalis. Three of its tracks are sung in the Enochian
Language and others are in Sanscrit and Latin. I chose this music
because it casts a spell on me. It elevates my soul, and I wanted
to be in not just an altered state but an elevated state before I
attempted to write about spells and charms. In my experience, it
adds to the power of such sound to sing or chant along with it.
My voice resonates with Patrick Bernhardts and the effect of the words
and music on me is increased.
Any spellbook you may find will probably be filled with spells and
charms for base and venal purposes, or for trivial purposes.
There are exceptions of course, and some of them go by different
names. Hymnals and prayer books are spellbooks of a sort. I
first experimented with and then seriously practiced some of the common
sort of magickal spells, thirty-some years ago. I sought to use
magic to conform my environment to my will. I had some success,
but it was disappointing and disillusioning when my manifestations
turned out to be not quite what I ultimately desired.
Then I chose a different path. I turned instead to
self-transformation, seeking to conform my will to the Divine
Will. I have been unreservedly pleased with the results to the
extent that I have been successful at that.
One of the first things to attract me to 12-step programs was the
powerful spells they use. Walls are plastered with posters that
say, “Easy does it,” “Live and let live,” “One day at a time.”
One thing that keeps me going back to NA is the Third Step Prayer with
which we end each meeting. This is one of the most powerful
spells I’ve ever heard:
Take my will and my life.
Guide me in my recovery;
and show me how to live, clean.”
But spinksy asked about the book. Yes, it’s a good one for anyone
interested in folklore, mythology or magic of the lesser, mundane
sort. The author begins in an introduction by explaining the
“occult” nature of her material, how it was often necessary to hide the
truth to escape torture and death at the hands of superstitious
folk. She laments the absence in English of an equivalent word
for Egyptian heka, Yoruba ashe, Polynesian mana, or Moroccan baraka. George Lucas called it The Force, and this author calls it magic power. She devotes a lot of space and words to her contention that it is as natural as, for example, radioactivity.
She reprises the old truism that there is no White Magic or Black
Magic, nothing inherently good or evil in magic. The practitioner
gives The Force whatever spin his intentions put on it, she says, and
he reaps what he sows. She cites earlier authors, and she
contradicts herself and them from time to time.
The magic she practices is a very material, hands-on sort. It
requires many props and ingredients and all the rituals inherent in all
ceremonial magick. I’m not a fan of ceremonial magick.
Every ceremonial magician I’ve ever known has been pompous and boring,
while trying his best to be impressive and intimidating. Not my
cup of tea. Aleister Crowley, speaking critically of ceremonial
magick, said that he could achieve any of his magical aims with nothing
more than a candle, incense, a cup and a knife.
As a shaman, all I really need is my “horse” (as Siberian shamans call
their drums), but sometimes incense is nice, too, for evoking a certain
atmosphere. But a shaman’s aims are generally different from
those of a ceremonial magician. I guess I’m digressing
again. I’d like to share a couple of samples of spells from this
book.
First is Saint Dymphna’s Mental Relief Spell. Saint Dymphna is my
matron saint. The reason for that is that since I’m not catholic
I’ve sorta stuck with Dymphna because she was given to me the first
time I was locked up in a psychicatric ward. It was at a catholic
hospital, and the sisters handed out Dymphna medals to all us
loonies. As Ms. Illes explains in the book, Dymphna is believed
to have been a seventh century Celtic princess from Ireland or
Britain. Her father, obsessed with her, raped her and then
tirelessly pursued her after she escaped from him. He caught up
with her in Belgium, where she died either at his hands or through
execution as a Christian martyr after he turned her in.
Dymphna’s spell is for healing debilitating obsessions. Carve a
downward pointing sword into the wax of a blue candle along with your
name (or that of your victim client), birthday and whatever other
identifying marks you choose (I’d use my butterfly moniker,
fershure). Hold the candle in your hands to charge it with your
desires, then burn it on a Monday.
Lastly, I give you a true classic, the Hand of Glory. Judika Illes writes:
This notorious and legendary amulet was
reputedly the master item of thieves’ magic spells in Western Europe
and the British Isles. Allegedly the
Hand of Glory ensured the sound sleep of anyone inside a house where it was carried, most frequently for purposes of theft. The word,
“sleep” may be used, but
“comatose”
is what is meant. People within the house were rendered
insensible and immobile, unable to awaken, sleeping like the
dead. That’s appropriate because the Hand of Glory is the hand of
a dead man crafted into a candle.
Either the left or right hand was
acceptable, however the Hand of Glory can only be crafted from the hand
of a convicted felon, executed by hanging, preferably at a crossroads
and preferably convicted for murder.
The most famous instructions are those suggested by Le Petit Albert, the influential grimoire published in Cologne in 1722:
1. Take the hand of a dead hanged man. Wrap it in fabric and press to remove remaining fluids.
2. Place it in an earthen vase.
3. Grind cinnamon, saltpeter, salt and peppercorns with a mortar and pestle.
4. Cover the severed hand with the resulting powder. Leave it alone for fifteen days.
5. Then expose the hand to the sun during the Dog Days of Summer until completely dry.
6. If the hand is still not completely dehydrated, you may place it in
a low, slow oven with ferns and vervain, until this is accomplished.
7. Use the hand as a candleholder. Form candles from the hanged man’s fat, virgin beeswax and “sesame of Lapland.”
She goes on, with several variant recipes, tips for repeat usage, a
couple of quicker, easier methods, a variation using a shinbone instead
of a hand, and instructions for how to douse the candle. Then
she spoils all the fun with a bunch of facts including an assertion
that the whole thing may have been the product of witch-hunters’
imaginations.
Doug has read more of the book than I have. When he has found
especially interesting passages, he has read them to me. One of
his more humorous comments about hex-breaking and banishing spells was
that many of the things required in them would seem to be more
unpleasant than the things they’re supposed to cure.
clear is given, just as I predicted.
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