Shaking the Devil

I broke a wine glass the other day. It shattered into a million pieces on the kitchen floor. The shards nicked my feet in three different places, leaving tiny bloody dots. I was really annoyed. I only had two wine glasses.

I decided to take it as a good omen.

Breaking clear glass will ward off The Evil Eye.

I know, it’s superstitious.

Hexes. Curses. The Evil Eye. All intentionally, or unintentionally, cause misfortune, illness, or harm.

Ever feel someone staring at you before you notice them? Feel the thick air of tension from someone agitated nearby? Is it that far fetched that someone can focus their agitation, envy, or hatred, and it cause harm?

After the Hok incident, my mother didn’t think so.

How do you protect yourself, you ask? Preemptive measures! When I was a child, that meant a ritual blessing and spiritual cleansing.

Flower petals, leaves, spices, and blessed water, these are the ingredients for a cleansing ritual. The specific ingredients change for the person, and the desired results. I remember the scent of cinnamon, and the shock of having freezing water poured over me, while my mother and aunt recited prayers.

I was SAVED!

There was a log break from the family witchery after that. Besides the bi-monthly tarot readings, all was calm. At least, until high school, when it was decided that I was hexed. I don’t remember how, or even why it was decided, but it was.

“Put a glass of water under your bed tonight,” instructed my aunt, the bruja. She said she was going to come back the next morning. So, before I went to bed, I picked out sturdy glass, filled it with cold water, and found a spot directly below my pillow.

The next morning, I met her in the backyard with my glass. She told me to pour out the water, while reciting a prayer, and leave the glass. I did. As I turned to face her, I was assaulted with florida water. She dowsed her hands then splashed it at me.

The florida water I expected. I did not expect her to grab me by my shoulders, turn me towards the trees, and shake the Devil outta me. She shook me very hard, yelling, “Pray, pray!” while reciting a prayer herself.

I was taken incredibly off guard! In my head, I was like, What the fuck?? I tried my best not to laugh. It’s not that I didn’t take it all seriously, I just have a nervous laughter (which has gotten me into trouble).

Afterwards, she gestured with her hands, done. Then she walked into the house, and had a cup of coffee with my mother. You know, like any normal person would do after a sorta exorcism. I just went back to my room and gossiped about it with my sister.

Hexed or not, better safe then sorry.

NOTE: Florida water is a floral and citrus scented cologne used for ritual purification. It is available at your local botánica, voodoo shop, or witchcraft store.

Very Bad Dreams

I can’t wake up.

The doll with the burnt out eye is playing the piano and turns towards me, “You are going to die here.”  

I panic. I scream. My eyelids are heavy.  

I can’t wake up.

I know I am asleep. I know this is a dream. But this does not change the terror I feel when the doll looks at me.  

I open my eyes.

I feel the dead weight of my body. I am lying in bed. I can not move. I can still hear the piano. There is a dark figure standing over me, watching me. 

I can’t wake up.

I am in a waking dream; terrified, unable to move, unable to scream. I use every ounce of strength I have to move but I can only wiggle my pinky. It was enough. The spell is broken. I sit up. There is no dark figure. There is no music. It is 3 a.m. And once again, I can’t sleep.

Sleep paralysis. In the transition state from asleep to awake, my mind, in it’s terror, is partially woken. My body is paralyzed, playing catch-up with my mind. It’s fairly common. The effects are paralysis of the body and simultaneously being awake and dreaming causing hallucinations. Trippy and terrifying.

This all started because I have fucking insomnia. Between cramming all night, and work. I had too much on my mind. countless nights I'd lay in bed and stare at the crack in the ceiling.  I tried to exhaust myself at the gym, count backwards from a thousand, nothing worked. It wasn’t healthy. I needed sleep. 

On a random visit to the pharmacy I picked up some over-the-counter sleeping pills. Main active ingredient: diphenhydramine. They knocked me out. I was a rock. They also made me very groggy in the mornings. 

Everything seemed manageable until I had a very bad dream. I’ve always had bad dreams, ever since I was a child. In fact, the first dream I remember was a reoccurring nightmare. It involved furniture moving on it’s own, a barking rottweiler and the devil. I was seven and it terrified me. 

Over the years, my nightmares became worse. I dreamt of demons, dreamt of serial killers, dreamt of death. I became desensitized. No matter how bad the dream, I’d wake up and just go back to sleep. That was, until the sleeping pills. 

Sleep paralysis. I had two or three episodes a week; terrified, frozen, helpless (although, I enjoyed the one with the cartoons dancing around my room). At first, I didn't know that the sleeping pills contributed to my condition, when I did, I stopped taking them. I don't know why but the episodes continued. 

Knowing what was happening to me did not make me any less terrified. Every time it happened I focused on my pinky. My greatest fear was waiting for the day that moving a pinky no longer worked. I was afraid to sleep. So once again, I had insomnia. 

I continue to have insomnia. I've tried everything. I rarely take sleeping pills any more. If I do they are defiantly not diphenhydramine. I haven’t had an episode in a while (knock on wood).  But I still have very bad dreams. 

Evil Bitch

I was writing a blog entry just a moment ago. It is about the boyfriends I have disposed of. I don’t mean dissolved with lye in the bathtub disposed of, obviously (although, I have been tempted a few times). I started going off on a tangent about getting hate mail, hate messages, and notes of general unhappiness.

You see, I keep my hate mail. I like to read them from time to time. You know, to gain perspective on how I’ve grown as a person. I noticed they have a reoccurring theme.

Here are some highlights:

“You are an evil bitch.” (Maybe True)

“You are so selfish.” (Sometimes True)

“You don’t care about anyone but yourself.” (Not True. I Love Animals!)

“If I died, you wouldn’t care.” (Probably True)

Could it be, that I am so awesome, that the absence of me makes them go crazy? Maybe, or maybe I’m just a crazy magnet. Probably a little bit of both.

Bruja

“Don’t tell anyone, or they will call her a Bruja,” said my mother.  The Bruja, to which my mother referred, was my Aunt. She has The Gift. If you didn’t know, bruja is the Spanish word for witch.

I can only describe my family’s practice as a combination of Native American/folk religion and Catholicism with a dash of Santeria. More of a spiritualism. But if anyone asks, we’re Catholic, definitely NOT witches. 

It was common, where I grew up in Brooklyn, to have mixed practices. You go to Mass every Sunday, but then there is that other thing. That thing you just don’t talk about.

For example; the house across the street had the front yard blocked off for their… chickens. The delusion of them being pet chickens quickly dissolved after finding my first headless chicken in a trash can. Apparently, they were brujas too. 

Unlike our neighbors, we did not sacrifice chickens, nor did we have elaborately decorated alters. While they had statues of the “saints” with offerings of alcohol, flowers, chicken bones, and coins, we only hung a few crosses in our home. But that didn’t matter. It was our Faith that mattered.

I was taught that you have guardian angels, guides, and spirits around you, your “people”. Faith gives them strength to help guide you through your life. The only way I can describe it is like having really sharp instincts. They are the inclination that makes you turn left instead of right. They are the warning you feel in your guts when something really bad is about to happen. They are the omens.

You build a relationship with your guides through prayer. Prayer is energy. Blood rituals were forbidden. Blood binds you in life as well as in spirit. Blood is a powerful source of energy. It is life, but it is more difficult to use. Anyway, blood magic was for witches, and we’re Catholic, definitely NOT witches. 

As I got older, and learned more of the family craft, the line began between bruja and being spiritual began to waiver. I learned about faith as energy. That energy can be a propeller for protection and luck. I learned that everything requires sacrifice, and that sacrifice means a lot of things. Nothing is free.

I learned that spells and prayers are the same thing. I learned to be careful what I ask for and to balance myself. I also learned to never wish harm upon others because everything comes back to you, eventually.

I learned that every family craft was different. I learned that a bruja can be both good and terrible. I learned about a type of faith that you can only grow up with, and never really understand as an outsider. But, just in case anyone asks, we’re Catholic, definitely NOT witches.

Hok

I am told that, when I was a child, I could see spirits. Yes, I know how that sounds. Just to make things clear, I do not claim to see any spirits. In fact, I can say with 100% certainty, that to my memory I have never seen any spirits, ghosts, poltergeist, or anything of the sort.  But, this is what I was told.

For those who are spiritual, it is a common belief that children are more open to experiencing something of a supernatural nature. Hell, I actually do believe it.  Both children and animals. But to hear it about you is just very different than actually believing in it.

My mother tells this story from my childhood with hesitation. The kind of hesitation that tell me she remembers the fear she felt when it happened. She said it started when she noticed me reaching my arms up in the air, the way children do when they want to be picked up. I reached at nothing. She also noticed that sometimes I’d hide behind a chair, or even behind her legs, peeking my head out. I was afraid of something.

I am told that I stared at it, whatever “it” was, and followed it with my finger as it passed through the room. Most people would assume I was following a bug or some dust in the air but my mother, somewhat versed in the spiritual, asked me what I was looking at.

I said, “Hok.”

On night, my mother came to check on me in my bedroom. She says it was one of the most terrifying moments in her life. She said, “It was like someone grabbed you, and was slamming you around the room.” She said she ran to my side but was pushed against the wall, and had to use all her strength to get to me. She says that when she finally had me in her arms, she prayed over me all night. For all I know, I might have had a seizure. It was dark. Maybe I pushed her with seizure strength reflex. 

The next day she called a priest. I don’t know if it was a real priest or a witch doctor type. She had the house cleaned and blessed. To explain, when I say cleaned, I don’t mean with maid service, I mean like horror movie, “This house is clean,” kinda cleaned. A spiritual cleaning to remove negativity.

After the house blessing, I don't know how long after, my mother said I pointed to the window, and whisper in her ear…

“Hok is outside.”