Most Christians would consider this a kind of prayer, but to those familiar with the Occult it’s a form of sympathetic magick, a form of memory magick used to bathe oneself in spiritual light. I wrote it as a comment to a Christian Pagan woman who I noticed on Substack, in response to her kindly quoting my own words in her essay.
‘It's lovely to have an impact on other writers- thank you for quoting me. Most Christians wouldn't consider this a spell, but I consider it a particularly powerful one. It involves calling up a specific memory or feeling from childhood, and bathing in the memory- almost like a form of purification, of innocence restored.
In one version of the spell, I remember a perfect, more innocent love for God, wonder for world and his creation. The irony is many are called to God, but few remember the call into adulthood. In the secular world, growing up has a habit of stripping us of our wise wonder at the numinous qualities of the world and its colours, replacing it with a grey oppressive cynicism. Perception is projection, after all- if we feel powerless and angry at the world, we project our inner darkness and shadow onto everything we see and everyone we touch, spiritually and emotionally. It is better to nourish our inner light by using memory to evoke a bright vision of this world- a warming glow summoned from memory which guards against the manifold, myriad sufferings of the world.
The other version is about people. I cast myself back in memory to when I was eight years old, to the one year I lived in the States. I was living in Mississippi, and my dad was captaining a ship (just, by tonnage) in the Gulf of Mexico. I was attending Sunday School at a Baptist Church. It was sort of compulsory back then, if your family wanted to avoid becoming social pariahs. The UK was different. We still had the occasional visit in school from the local vicar. There were the seasons of Christianity- Christmas in particular, but also Easter. Coming from a rural community, the Harvest Festival was always big. It was probably the most pagan of our Christian celebrations. It left me with an enduring love of the hymn 'Lord of the Dance'. Sung right, and with the right pacing it can have a very Irish or British folk feel to it, as if drawn directly out of the Medieval period.
Anyway. I was attending Sunday School. My memory is a bit foggy here. Because apparently John Lennon was shot on a Monday. Perhaps we noticed one particular kid was missing and realised why. The outpouring of love and compassion towards that kid was awe inspiring. We played one his favourite Beatles songs on the old record player. We felt for his loss. We promised ourselves we would him we would be kind to him in school, when we saw him next week. Whenever I find myself getting angry about the stupidity and casual cruelty of people, in the way they are prone to thinking the worst of each other- I think back to that moment. We really can be wonderfully kind, compassionate and loving to each other, but it involves looking beyond the surface of the cardboard cut-out monsters we project onto each other- the stereotypes of each others the mainstream media sells us (and we often gullibly believe) to drive engagement and make money. It often requires fighting down that initial surge of irritation, anger and occasional rage when somebody says or writes something which doesn't align with beliefs and values. In short, we have to take the time to get to know each other and recognise our common humanity. Whenever I find myself losing faith in humanity, that memory finds me and reminds what we can be, if we simply chose it.
Have a good election day, America! Remember to be your better selves and find the humanity in others. Apart from the pandemic, by almost every metric each year since the year 2000 has been the best in human history. It just doesn't seem that way for the simple reason that we are living in the West. The loss of existential struggle has us summoning our worst fears from our imagination and making mountains out of molehills. We also have so much to lose, and many of us feel it slipping away by the moment. Paradise Lost- Past or Future.’
Thank you for your kind comment, and it’s nice to know I’m not the only one with fond memories of the Harvest Festival. These days it’s buying plastic pumpkins and purple ghost lights from Amazon or Sainsbury’s, because you can’t remember where you put the plastic trash you bought last year to tell the kids you had chocolates and sweets for Halloween.
Yesteryear was altogether more classy, even if it lacked the sugary treats.
Hi Geary! Good to see you writing.
Cheers mate. I post comments a fair amount, but have been a bit slow on the writing of late.
Hi Geary
What a nice post! I can remember Harvest Festival and the bazaar that used to be held in the vicarage garden in the village I used to live in.
Your thoughts and methods are certainly something to aspire to.
Christopher
Thank you for your kind comment, and it’s nice to know I’m not the only one with fond memories of the Harvest Festival. These days it’s buying plastic pumpkins and purple ghost lights from Amazon or Sainsbury’s, because you can’t remember where you put the plastic trash you bought last year to tell the kids you had chocolates and sweets for Halloween.
Yesteryear was altogether more classy, even if it lacked the sugary treats.