WITCHCRAFT DEFINED 2
By: Joyce Luciano
Four months after my sixteenth birthday my Grandma said she felt content that her gift to me was in safe hands and she had given me all she could. She hugged me for the last time then kissed my cheek.
My Grandma died in her sleep at eighty-four years old. I remembered her words, “you no cry for Grandma,” and bit down hard on my bottom lip to honor her request but failed.
There was a profound feeling of sadness for a long time especially when I came home from school. I still expected to see Grandma sitting at the kitchen table near the screen door, talking to Mom. She promised me she would always be with me and I would still be able to talk to her and she would protect me the way she always had; Grandma never broke her promise.
I imagine it was better that we moved away from Passaic Street seven months after Grandma passed away. We moved to a newly constructed home, there were no memories there. It was a little easier to arrive home from school.
The summer following her death was quite unusual. I repeatedly read her and my own notes, then held the strange objects she had given me. I kept them safeguarded in my bedroom and decided to place the bracelet with them, feeling it was the right thing to do.
Grandma had also given me several old books which dated back to the early 1700s concerning magic, potions, bells, ingredients and words. Among these, was a newer book dated, 1947 about the works of the astrologer Nostradamus.
Her friend Jenny painstakingly translated the book into English. Grandma could only read Italian. “Keep this book she said, someday soon you begin to fix it.” “How am I supposed to fix a book Grandma, is it falling apart,” I asked? I had no comprehension of what she meant by, “fix it.”
“You will see, Joe-cee, this book is wrong, she answered.” “This man, Nostradami he was not a witch, too many people say he was and they laugh,” she said. “When you are older, you will study, astrologia (astrology) she continued, then you see more clear how to fix this book, you will translate the old language.” She reinforced I clarify the fact that Nostradamus was not a witch.
I absentmindedly thumbed through the pages which were written half in French. Having read the Quatrains a couple of years before, I knew they were incorrect. Setting the book aside, I opened Grandma’s, Book of Wisdom intending to read it again from the beginning. About twenty minutes elapsed when my eyes began tearing. I stopped reading and blinked a few times and saw a strange white yellow light in my room.
I was more curious than frightened and focused my attention on the corner of the room where it originated while taking deep breaths per Grandma’s instructions. The light, which had been about twelve inches (12”) in circumference, was growing into a large, luminous oval shape. As it grew, the colors changed from a whitish yellow color to a predominately golden glow that seemed to breathe.
Several long, fibrous threads emanated from the entire egg shaped mass and began stretching outward toward the direction where I was seated. Immersed in the beauty of the strange shape prevented me from looking away. It was enormous. The fibers touched my arm, giving a sense of familiarity. I looked at my arm to see if any imprint had been left and saw nothing.
I tried analyzing what was happening around me when quite unexpectedly I was slowly being pulled into the egg. I made no attempt to stop it, nor did I believe I could and relaxed as much as possible, then found myself in an unfamiliar setting. I was completely astonished at the realization that I was sitting opposite my Grandma.
“Am I dreaming Grandma, I asked, is this astral?” “She smiled and said, “no dream Joyce, not astral, this is real.”
Obviously, my next question was, “am I dead?” She assured me that I was very much alive, explaining the event could be manifested by anyone, if it was their intent. I wanted to know why my experience was spontaneous since I had no knowledge of such a technique for traveling or being with those who crossed over to the other side.
She said, “it was neither spontaneous or the first time I came to her, she had guided me when I slept.” “There has to be some sort of procedure to follow, I said, a set of rules, something, anything.” “Always full of questions and doubts, she said, yet it comes so easy for you, Joyce.”
I continued pressing for an explanation of the process completely forgetting my Grandma was physically gone from the earth. She seemed to be flesh and blood, although I never actually touched her.
Grandma said, “death was a rather ordinary experience and is nothing to be afraid of, you do it (die) every night when you go to sleep.” “You wake up the next morning thinking you had a few incomprehensive dreams which on rare occasions make perfect sense but more frequently, are a jumbled sequence of events having no essential meaning.” “This is not true because, when we sleep we travel to another plane meeting those souls that we are attached to, death does not break these ties we hold to each other and it is not final but, only the beginning.”
I absorbed her words, but not without realizing in complete amazement, that her vocabulary had noticeably changed; she spoke perfect English.
She continued, “the flesh body is a temporary vehicle for the soul which never ceases to exist.” “Every sentient being in the universe has its own special purpose, there are no exceptions. All those who have made the change called death have a responsibility as guardians who manifest during times of extreme crisis to assist.”
She paused for a moment then said, “Only to assist, not intervene, this is how the soul progresses.”
“Can others see their loved ones who have passed away, I asked?”
“Think of a fan,” she said. I was stunned to the degree of convincing myself I was having an absurd, spasmodic lucid dream. I shook my head and heard Grandma laugh. “This is no dream, she said, now visualize a fan.”
There was little to visualize and I asked if it should be stationary or in motion.
“First stationary then in motion,” was her reply. She then asked what I saw when I mentally turned on the fan and wanted to know if I could see the blades. I told her, it would be impossible to see the blades when a fan was turned on.
“But you knew the blades were still there,” she said. “Death of the physical body is the same, we occupy a higher frequency, one which the living can see if they wish,” Grandma said softly.
The method Grandma gave me is utilized with practice and self-discipline. It consisted of clearing the mind and is attempted when there will be no outside disturbances. She said, it should be done alone, in complete silence, because it was a personal experience. I learned, there are no quick fixes or short cuts and, that patience is the keyword.
A comfortable position is assumed in order to close down the intrusive thinking patterns that dissipate in and out of the conscious mind. This is the most difficult part to master.
Once attained, the attention shifts to an ordinary blade fan. Mentally the fan must be switched on and off until the blades can be slowed down enough to become visible. At this point a loud popping sound occurs which is the signal for the journey to begin. Grandma said, “it was a practice that should be done in moderation.” She asked if I had begun to fully understand, the bloodline of a witch, then cautioned me to remember the accompanying responsibility.
I looked around and saw other luminous oval shapes congregating and then returned to my bedroom.
Copyright 2006 All Material Contained, Joyce Luciano
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