Whenever I discover that someone has stolen from my witchy shop, I pity the fool. Everyone knows I am a witch. Some locals think I’m a scary witch. You might think that reputation would be a deterrent for shoplifting. Alas, not enough. In a spirit of fair play, I’m here to warn you about the perils of cosmic larceny. TL;DR Karma’s a bitch, but only if you’re one first.
It’s rarely the legit pagans boosting the magickal merchandise. Usually its the church-going muggles who would be so self-sabotaging. Then again, there was that one Pagan Pride Festival where two ritual athame knives were lifted without payment… Good luck with that magick! <stands back to avoid the lightning strike> Anyone serving the old gods knows way better than to try to pilfer from witches without a fair energetic exchange.
What Goes Around, Comes Around
So, Karma is a thing…
“Karma is the Hindu view of causality in which good deeds, words, thoughts, and commands lead to beneficial effects for a person, and bad deeds, words, thoughts, and commands lead to harmful effects.” source
Witches describe a similar “Threefold Law” where we see that our actions in the world, for good or ill, will return to us amplified on all levels: mental, emotional, spiritual, physical. More like Instant Karma. We see that what goes around, comes around, like a giant boomerang: petty theft going out, shit storm of epic proportions coming backatcha. Basically, you smite your own sorry ass.
Lemme illustrate how this cosmic bitch-slap goes down…
The crime here is how little you think of me.
For reasons you might think are justified, you choose to pocket that shiny bauble and walk out of my shop without paying for it. You so desperately seek a cure from the misfortunes of life, and you hope that this chunk of mystical tchotchke will be the magic pill to save you. Maybe it could help, if used properly. Maybe you think the ends justify the dastardly means to your salvation.
Hey, its all my fault if I’m vulnerable to this exploitation, right? I go and leave 20,000 pocket-sized stones just out in the open, welcoming you to touch them, and make friends with their little sparks of crystal personality. If I didn’t want them stolen, why haven’t I locked them all behind glass?
Too bad I didn’t stoop to profiling you. Nor did I think to employ a team of goons to stand in every corner and stare at you suspiciously. Those salaries would drive up the cost of these goods beyond the reach of mortal men, by the way. I want you to have access to these lovely things…so I take that risk, and choose to open my doors and my heart to all of you, without bias. It’s a witchy concept called perfect trust.
But what is that worth to you? I’m just the chump behind the counter, all trusting of your decency and shit. If you can make it through those glass doors onto the sidewalk, you think you’ll get away with it scott free. Besides, a small local business owner like me, just trying the make it in the world by working hard, couldn’t possibly need the tiny profit on that $1 green aventurine stone as much as you need to win that next hand of cards. <snark>
Witching Surveillance is no joke.
Fear not, good shoppers of the world, we have our ways, both magickal and mundane. I’ve got the local beat-cop on speed dial and I’m not afraid to use it. Still, sometimes things slip through the net. <shrug> Yesterday, for about 15 minutes I was swamped at the register with an unexpected flood of customers. Toward the end of the line, a new fellow tells me “that guy over there just put a bunch of rocks in his pocket and walked out the door.” Another customer gasps, “that was stupid, there are cameras everywhere.” Those are the least important part of my surveillance system. It’s the magickal wards I erected over the shop that guy should be most worried about.
In moments like these, I get red-hot angry like anyone would. Good news is that I am decently inner-managed, so I respond, rather than react. Still, ever see a geyser erupt? That is what a Piscean witch like myself looks like when there is a power surge. I focus that power on my purpose like a water-knife. I don’t need to know your name. I don’t need to know where you live. I don’t even need to know when or what you took, or why. The Universal Intelligence of which we are all a part already knows everything.
Thieves will be Fed to The Flying MonkeysTime and space brush aside and the shop’s flying monkeys are on auto-release. Think of this mental construct like Karma’s Little Helpers. Why wait until the next life to pay off that energetic debt? Let’s ring that school bell RIGHT NOW and get it absolved quickly. To be clear, I don’t wish this fool harm; I wish him educated, enlightened, elevated. I wish for karmic justice to be served swiftly, so he will not muddy up his life this nefarious way any further.
Stealing from me is not advisable. This merchandise, these stones, are like my children. I respect them like allies, and they are loyal to me. Unless you make fair and proper exchange for their services–unless you also respect their power–they will never serve you as well as you hope.
I don’t expect to ever see the goods again, and will write off the loss on my taxes and move on with my life. I don’t loose much sleep, and I refuse to become a crotchety, paranoid, fire-breathing dragon hoarding these precious items. There will never be goons breathing down our shopper’s necks or treating them like potential criminals. I’ll close this shop before I succumb to that mania.
I’m mostly just flabbergasted at the stupidity of any choice to do us the disrespect of thievery. Regardless of how I feel about my losses, it’s going to suck even more for them in the long run.
Justice Served Two Ways
1) Return to sender
One day we received a little box in the mail. No return address, but the post-office mark was for Raleigh, so it came from somewhere pretty local to us. Inside, haphazardly jumbled, were a few stones, and small dolomite carvings from our “spirit animal” display. Some were poorly fashioned into wire-wrap pendants, that must have been worn a while, judging by the wear of the black cord, and their chipped, neglected state. They were in a fabric pouch I recognized, too. No note. No explanation. But everything was small enough to have been pocketed.
A little clairvoyant seeking, and I discern that these were stolen from us. The sender considered them “cursed,” and mailed them back in a desperate attempt to correct their wrong doing. I found this utterly amusing, but through that same piercing connection, I absolved them of their crimes, and mentally called off the monkeys. <cackle>
2) Karma is a Bitch, but Only if You’re One First
Another time, someone comes to report to us that they were at a party where a woman was boasting about how easy it was to steal from us–what suckers we were. They took a picture of the shoplifter showing off a jet nugget bracelet and a pendant she’d lifted from a blind corner, and brought the picture to us with a warning. We knew exactly who this thief was. I posted the picture like a “most wanted” mug shot and waited.
The same informant came back with a newspaper clipping of the shoplifter’s arrest. Mere days after we learned of her boasting, she was busted at another shop. Again, I find this deeply satisfying, and I didn’t even have to dial the police.
The Moral of the Story
Am I a scary witch? Not really. (Unless you’re an asshole, and then you should probably give me a wide berth.) I think of myself as an Warrior of Divine Love. You cross my threshold and do me harm, and there will be a reckoning. Running amuck like a renegade asshole, harms YOU worst of all, and I’m here to help you get back onto the righteous path. Tough love, dontcha know.
Remember, I’m a Witch. Don’t confuse me with a pacifist new-age guru fluffer or a turn the other cheek Jesus take the wheel, type. Witches stand in the gap as enforcers of natural balance. I think I’m a good Mama Heron; some days I love you with a kiss, and other days a spanking, but it’s all for your highest good, harming none.