The Grammar of a Spell
It was a late-afternoon lull that caused her mother to fall asleep. She didn't want to wake her to move her to the bed. She saw this as a sign from the Universe to slip away to work on her personal projects.
As she walks up the stairs, her mind already switching into project mode, she is reminded of how the focus had been shifting, drifting away from writing about her days or nights to something more whimsical. Her focus had shifted to thinking about magic. Not the Harry Potter kind. Not the Practical Magic kind either. Maybe a little of the Waverly sisters kind.
A few months ago, during those rare late-afternoon lulls, she researched the kind of magic that Sarah Addison Allen wrote about. In her eyes, the writer used words the way an artist used a brush with colorful textures which made a piece feel so real. Magical realism is how Sarah Addison Allen's writing on magic was labeled.
She had believed in magic her entire life. She spoke to the house as if it had ears and feelings. She had conversations with books in a way that made them seem like friends more than things. She spoke to ants and spiders, actually she pleaded with them to make their home outdoors. She yelled at the birds when they became too loud. Obviously, she had conversations with her illustrations; she actually listened to their instructions on how they wanted to come to life on the canvas. She even spoke to her food, asking it not to trigger another allergy. It had been proved that intention could be transferred through food. Regardless, her reality was that she was sensitive to touch, taste, and sound.
The words "magical realism" triggered further research, which brought her to "the hearth witch." It was a theme she kept seeing on Pinterest. The hearth witch was described as someone who found magic in the home, the kitchen, and daily routines. Oh, how she needed magic in all those places and especially during "the In-Between Hours." Initially, she was unable to make the connection of magic to tasks that were not just mundane, but performed in ways from the past, before washers, dryers, and vacuums. While she felt the daily caring for a home and family was already hard work, even though she had all the technology of the 21st century, she wondered what made the "Hearth Witch" a popular theme on Pinterest.
In her office, she turns on the air conditioning, sits absently on her chair and immediately opens her laptop to begin writing out her thoughts.
Maybe the question should be, why is she so attracted to it as well, enough to do a full search on witchy ways? Not spells or rituals, again, the Sarah Addison kind of witchy. She has never been someone looking to escape reality. Yes, she loves reading. She loves imagining. And yes, she loves research. But she must remember that she is grounded in reality.
Since that initial search months ago, her brain had been churning with the question, which always attracted answers from the Universe. She feels this is magic as well. "This must happen to others!" she calls out to her quiet office. The simple answer for the attraction she found is that a hearth witch treated the home as a sacred space and viewed ordinary household tasks as intentional, magical acts.
Intentionality. What a beautiful word. She sighs. Catches herself before drifting into the romanticism of the idea, which in reality is harder to put into action. She adjusts her body once again, straightens her back.
Lately, another Pinterest theme—an even more insistent theme she noted—had been the term "grimoire." Had she mentioned that the Universe was an active conversation partner? And unlike the house, the books, the food, even the ants, the Universe responded by bringing her subjects to learn about, like invitations.
Each time she would yell out: "I'm not interested in witchcraft, thank you!" Each time she cleaned her screen... more pins related to "grimoires" came in. The back and forth yelling and deleting, reminded her of the Harry Potter scene where the uncle hides Harry's acceptance letters, blocks the mail box, does anything and everything to stop him from receiving his invitation, yet, more envelopes manage to appear.
Was she being asked to become a witch? No. The Universe, she knows, was never that obvious. It was always about the discovery. The unearthing of hidden stories.
So she did what she does best. Nothing.
Soon after, she let the Universe know that she wasn't refusing the invitation any longer. Then she allowed for the space to clear, which was really code for her brain and own resistance to settle before attempting more research.
It wasn't until the Third Quarter Moon that she felt the urge to research the word "grimoire." Why must she always work this way around the Waning Crescent Moon? She has noticed a pattern at work, but that would have to wait to be further researched at a later time. She recalled how fiercely she wrote all that she found on the subject, by hand in her learning journal (a black-leather-bound sketchbook which she preferred for learning notes in case she ever wanted to add sketches or mind maps). She used script to slow down her brain. She always wondered if it was healthy to think so fast.
Today, three days into the Waning Crescent Moon, she opens up the hardbound journal and re-reads, but there is really no need. Her brain had already processed and internalized what she wrote. And what she wrote was what she suspected all along. While she believes that magic exists, it is not the kind that has been made known or popularized. She closes her journal and types her understanding of her research.
The word "grimoire" was simply an old French variation of the word "grammaire" for grammar. To regular people in medieval France, a "grammar" book was a confusing text because it was written in Latin. These books specifically contained instructions on how to read, write, and speak Latin. The average person in medieval France could not read or write. And virtually all academic texts and "grammar" books were written in Latin. The books were filled with lists and charts of word conjugations, declensions, and structural rules. To someone who couldn't read or write, a page covered in repetitive, structured Latin charts, and mysterious symbols looked cryptic. The average person assumed the scholars were reading secret codes, astrology or witchcraft. And this is how the view of these books became distorted, and "grimoire" became the slang word for magic spells. Historically, this distorted view of a "grammar" book started in the 1300s (the 14th century).
Additionally, the word "spell," originally had nothing to do with magic. Its meaning was "to speak", "a story", "a tale" from the Proto-Germanic word "spellam." In old English, the meaning of the word was "narrative" or "news." Over time, it shifted from any spoken story to specifically mean a spoken formula of words with magical power during the 1500s (the 16th Century). And that is because the word narrowed to mean "recital" or saying words in a very specific and rigid order. One would understand the narrowing in definition by comparing it to school children being asked to memorize or repeat a lesson rather than understand it.
However, let's expand, because it can then be said that writing is a form of magic: by putting words in a specific and intentional order, a writer alters reality, creates textures, and moves people. No wonder she had been spellbound by Sarah Addison Allen's books. Spelled in a way that made her want to bring that kind of magic into her everyday life. A spell she recalls so powerful it also made her purchase more of Sarah Addison Allen's books. The stories were amazing, but it was the stylistic writing that was so delicious. Her body shivers at the thought of capturing that spell for herself.
She looks at the clock on the corner of her screen. Once again, it's almost time for dinner. She must stop here.
But not without adding that "magic" as defined by society of the time was a combination of misunderstood advanced technology, linguistic barriers, and natural sciences. It became the ultimate label for the "unknown" or as a placeholder word for natural laws such as alchemy (which today is known as chemistry and pharmacology), or astrology (known today as astronomy), which couldn't be explained at the time. Has society since continued to eternalize that misconception? It doesn't seem to matter. The many pins arriving on her browser indicate people are just as attracted to it.
There is more to uncover. She has yet to touch her initial research on "cunning folk." A group of people trusted by the same society that condemned magic. So was magic rejected or was it the people behind the magic that were rejected?
As she is about to close the laptop, her eyes suddenly spot the bowl of coarse sea salt. Salt that she had placed this morning on top of her white IKEA ALEX drawer unit. She then makes a quick mental note to list all her personal beliefs on magic, which are nothing more than properties and uses of salt, vinegar, lavender ....
Until next time!