Natural Witchery (19 page)

No doubt about it: chocolate is magickal. In fact, chocolate contains phenylethylamine, and this substance sets off a sensation in your body that is very much like that old “falling in love” feeling. Why? Well, when chocolate hits the taste buds, they are stimulated, and then endorphins are released—and that makes your body feel good. While researching the mystery of chocolate, I had to chuckle. There are some pretty serious medical articles about chocolate stating that there is “a link between hormonal fluctuations in women and chocolate cravings.” What, have those guys been living in a cave? Hell yes, there is.

The good news is that chocolate isn't necessarily bad for you. It has less caffeine than most people think. There are just 10 milligrams of caffeine in the average chocolate bar, compared to a cup of coffee that has 100 milligrams. Chocolate is rich in magnesium and phosphorous, and it contains antioxidants. The darker and finer chocolate contains more potent antioxidants called phenols. Phenols, it seems, prevent bad cholesterol from building up in the arteries. So you can indulge in chocolate occasionally, and the world won't stop revolving.

Chocolate has the magickal correspondences of the planet Mars; hurray for warrior energy! It is also linked to the element of fire, so we can easily tap into that element to create “transformation.” Plus chocolate encourages love and wealth. Well, there you go.

Have things at work been a little “off” lately? The following chocolate spell works well when you are usually happy at work but are noticing a lot of stress and unhappy coworkers. This is a practical type of magick, and it is a great way to stop your fellow employees from bickering and sniping at each other, as the spell transforms negative emotions and vibrations into positive, friendly ones.

A Chocolate Spell

To begin, conjure up something sweet and chocolatey to take to work. After it is baked, enchant the food so that when it is consumed, it instills a sense of camaraderie and happiness. This should help to bring a shift in the atmosphere at work. As the baked item cools, hold your hands over the treat and visualize a soothing pink light coming from your hands and swirling into the dish. Keep that goal of “changing the work atmosphere to a positive one” in your mind. Then repeat this charm:

They used to call chocolate the food of the gods,

May this shift the psychic atmosphere at my job.

Encourage happiness and friendship in a subtle way,

Bringing efficiency and success for us all today.

For the good of all, with harm to none,

By these Witch's words, this spell is done.

Now take the treat to work and leave it out in the break room with a note for everyone to enjoy it. This is subtle, effective magick, and nobody in their right mind passes up chocolate—unless they are evil. Okay, they might be allergic, but I'd be suspicious of them anyway. See if they cast a reflection, levitate, or foam at the mouth during lunch break, just to be sure.

There is nothing impossible in the existence
of the supernatural: Its existence seems
to me decidedly probable.

George Santayana

Mission: Wicca Impossible

It was during the middle of writing this book that I found myself in the position of having to go back to work. The winter holidays were coming up, and money was beyond tight. So I followed my instincts and went looking for a part-time job close to home. Four hours later, I had a job.

I was relieved to get this job: cute little shop, fairly pleasant boss, and a short drive to work. I was somewhat concerned about working outside the home again. It had been a year and a half, and at my last part-time job everyone there knew about my books and my religion, and to be honest nobody even batted an eye. (One of the nice things about working in a larger company.) However, working in a small boutique-type of atmosphere might be radically different. So I tucked in my pentagram necklace, dressed a bit more conservatively, and told myself to be a grownup and get over it. Because, after all, I wasn't getting a job for fun, I was working to help out with the family finances. The chances of someone recognizing me in this type of boutique environment were slim. The job was temporary; I knew it would only last through January—maybe February, if I was lucky. So I hoped for the best and went back to work.

On my first day at my job, I discovered that the owner's sibling worked at the shop too. And the sibling was a Fundamentalist Christian—a hard-core one at that. As I put away my purse, the sibling launched into a passionate tirade about this weird wedding that they had attended the night before. She was horrified because the bride's grandmother performed the ceremony and had tied the bride's and groom's hands together. As the previous evening had been Halloween, it was easy to guess she had attended a Pagan handfasting.

I clamped a hand over my mouth and walked into another room so I wouldn't laugh in front of them. I rolled my eyes to the ceiling, asked the Goddess to give me strength, and imagined that the Goddess was probably amused at my current situation, me being undercover and all, and enjoying the heck out of the show.

A few days later, my new boss began making some none-too-subtle inquiries about what my religious affiliations were, which I tap-danced around. I was funny and told her with a straight face that I was a free spirit and a modern, tree-hugging hippie (which confused her and bought me time). I was clever, I was entertaining, and I never answered a single question directly. At the end of my second harrowing week, I was on edge, on guard, and exhausted.

After a few more weeks, I settled in and finally found my sense of humor again. Now, it has been my experience that people tend to tell Witches the strangest things. Whether they even know about us or not, they tend to intuitively link in and feel that you are an open-minded soul, and therefore, you will listen to and offer advice on all their troubles. This theory of mine was put to a huge test at the end of my first month in the little shop of horrors. On that day, the store owner regaled me with the three-hour tale—nope, not an exaggeration, she talked about this for three freaking hours—how her life was saved by Jesus. Say that with a slight Southern accent, and you've got it:
Jeea-zus.

I was told a tragic tale full of broken marriages, despairing children, and leaving one man for another only to be dumped several years later by her new man for a much younger woman.

“Whoa,” I commented half under my breath as I tried to stay busy rearranging displays. “Can you say
karma?”

“Can you say what?” My boss questioned suspiciously.

“Caramel,” I said, deadpan.
Note to self: My inner monologue is broken.
On the fly, I smiled as I turned around and calmly replied, “Do you smell caramel?”

My boss sniffed the air, shook her head no, and on it went—for a total of three incredibly long and stressful hours.

At one point, I started to consider what the fastest way to end my suffering could be … Should I leap off the store's second-floor balcony, or just wait for my brains to start leaking out of my ears? The story was finally concluded with my boss explaining that they had even considered ending it all, because they were so disgusted with all the lives that they had ruined. Then, in a moment of glory, they became … drum roll, please … Christian.

Hey, I was two for two! It wasn't only the sibling who was a fundie, it was also my boss. Now the boss was on husband number three (or was it four?), and they were members of a very large local church, I was informed, one with television commercials and everything, and they were now spreading the good word and saving lives.

I mean,
what
are the odds? Good grief. Only I could end up in such a situation. By the time this story was finished, I was one wound-up and nervous Witch. I could not afford to make any waves or identify myself as a Witch. Keeping my mouth shut and not commenting on that tale was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Plus my natural sense of humor and sarcasm could really cause trouble here. Truth was, I needed this damn job. My family was counting on me, and it was too close to the holidays to find another one.

Finally I was able to escape this never-ending story and fled to the lower floor of the shop. One of the other employees took one look at me and immediately came over to pat me on the back in sympathy. When I briefly explained where I had been for the past three hours, they could only grimace and then offer to buy me a drink after work. Ah, so it wasn't just me who was being regaled with the story.

I called a Pagan friend that evening and talked to them about my situation. Okay, I whined, moaned, groaned, and complained about how hard it was to keep a low profile and to stay undercover. My friend was laughing hysterically and begging me to include this in the book.

“It's not funny!” I complained.

“It's great!” She howled with laughter. “Maybe, just maybe, you can teach those women something. They probably need a lesson in religious tolerance.” My friend told me that perhaps the Goddess had plans for me—spiritual plans that I was simply unaware of at the present time. Maybe I was on a mission, my friend cheerfully pointed out.

“Yeah,
Mission: Wicca Impossible,”
I agreed with a grumble. But you have to admit—that is sort of catchy.

So here I was, a Witch undercover at work for the first time in years, working for an ultraconservative, fundamentalist boss. I could practically hear the theme music from
Mission: Impossible
every time I parked my car and then walked in the shop's back door. Once, when I was feeling particularly ornery, I slipped on my dark sunglasses and raced to the building. I flattened myself along the back brick wall and inched my way in slowly just for the dramatic effect.

There I was, skulking along the back wall, checking right and left, then diving into the door to slam it closed and lock it safely behind me. Was that mature? Absolutely not. But it did make me smile the rest of the day.

One morning I shot an elephant in my pajamas.
How he got in my pajamas, I'll never know.

Morrie Ryskind

Operation Pink Elephant

Just about the time I was congratulating myself for blending in and staying undercover, my master plan was neatly demolished. Now, my boss knew I wrote books; she just assumed they were on gardening. Do you recall the “Pink Elephant Syndrome” that was described for you in the last chapter? Yup, well, it also followed me to work. Those pink elephants are silent and sneaky! A few months after the holidays, I was on my way out the door to work one early February morning when I literally tripped over a flat package left on my doorstep. I flipped it over and saw that it was from the publishing company. With no time to spare, I kept moving and tossed it in the car with my lunch, purse, and notebook, and then quickly drove to work.

After getting to work, I turned on the lights, counted the cash register, hung up my coat, and put my lunch in the fridge. Once I had the front door unlocked and the store open for business, I went behind the counter and opened the package: ooh, it was a nice surprise, too; it was the full cover art—front and back—for my book
The Enchanted Cat.
I had never received a full cover before for framing. As I looked it over, I was completely engrossed and completely oblivious to my boss, who let herself in the back door right behind me.

I calmly said good morning and went to slip the cover back in the box. There was unfortunately no way to be discreet, and I was already cursing myself for opening up the package at work. When my boss inquired about the artwork in my hand, I took a deep breath and handed her the cover art.

She commented on how pretty the artwork was and chuckled at the tabby cat. She's a huge cat fan herself. The boss made a nice comment about how exciting it all was and that she was looking forward to seeing the finished product at the bookstores in a few weeks. As she stood there and read the back cover copy, I kept a pleasant smile on my face while my heart pounded, and I thought, “Okay, this is it.”