There was no post last night because my kids are getting sick again, and so am I. I laid down to read my 0º papers from my local OTO body and… fell asleep. At some point I must have gotten pissed off I left my own reading light on and pulled the covers over my head. I woke up when my wife brought our three year old son upstairs… at midnight. She was building a stool or something from IKEA, who knows. The papers count as magical acts, right? Work has been killing me, and this is largely the curse of skilled labor. When you have very specific technical skills which are in high demand in your organization, you end up working a very bursty schedule. When things are running fine, I can blog, read old books, play with the Nook, write perl scripts to massively downvote people on reddit, all the usual stuff. When stuff blows up, I find myself not sleeping all week. Yesterday was the catch up day, I laid down to read and got comfy and just drifted off accidentally.
That being said, I’m a bit unhappy I’m trying to do one magical act per day and I screwed up yesterday. I’ve done it before when the family stuff came first, but with me being the worst of the lot, I think I should make an effort today to do something this morning. But what? But where?
Well, it turns out the mens room in my office has a handicapped stall. None of us are handicapped. Unlike some trendy companies downtown, we’re not cool enough to have a dedicated quiet space. I plan on having at least 15 minutes of gastro intestinal issues.
Now a story. Everyone talks about synchronicity. While I was busy chasing the kids who are hacking up boogers, we got a registered note in the mail. I didn’t think anything of it and tossed it on the table. It happened to be the day of Jupiter. I wish I wrote down the time, because I am pretty sure the delivery person dropped it off in the hour of Jupiter too, but I don’t recall. The guy we bought the house from several years ago was selling it dirt cheap because his business had failed and it was either sell the house and try to get any money out of it or let the banks hash it out, forever. Weirdly enough my grandfather had been the sergeant for the state police for the guy across the street who put in a good word for us also. The letter turned out to be a notice of settlement of class action which he as a business owner was involved in between his business and VISA. It represents a significant sum, so at 9pm I’m banging on my neighbors doors asking if anyone actually keeps in touch with him. Turns out the other guy across the street does actually have his cell phone, so I left the letter with him to reach out.
Now, why is this important, and why am I throwing pentagrams around in the men’s room? As magicians (or magic users, or witches…) in a western society, I think we have a better relationship with the manifestations of divinity than most of our neighbors. Part of that manifests in ourselves – my wife got a job yadda yadda yadda, but part of that also serves as a priest role. The magician simultaneously, especially in private practice, has to be the magician, the hierophant, and the priest. This allows divinity to manifest through us. I would like to think this happy little incident, small as it might be, means that those around me also enjoy the accumulated attention from the Gods. Maybe it’s a test, but I certainly think it’s a message given the timing.
This also bring up another important point – I don’t expect to receive any messages or converse with any God during this operation, but I also have to work astrally because vibrating the names might weird a few people out. At least it gives me enough space to work. One finger is knife, two fingers is wand…