I don’t write about spells or magic very often. Rarely, truth be told. I do practice these things though.
Every day it’s likely I have candles, incense or both burning. I light, I murmur incantations, I salute and I invoke.
I think that my words, my intent and energy will be carried by the smoke on the wind.
That wind will go places I never can, from the upper reaches of the atmosphere to the thin drafts under doorways.
It will whisper my wishes as it encircles the earth in breezes and tornadoes. In hurricanes and the rustling of new spring grass.
The things I work for will be gossiped about by trees and discussed by sagely nodding daffodils activated by the ever-moving air.
And the flame I kindle, the ember I blow to life, ignites a similar glow within me.
Call it superstition, call it a mental prop, or call it magic, it’s an integral daily part of my practice. Every day, in some way, I bring light, heat and smoke into being. When the Big Bang happened light, heat and particulate dust was created.
When I light incense, or even a candle, I recreate the moment of possibility. In that action something is begun that has vast potential. Something bursts forth that might sustain life.