|
|
The Fellowship of the Ring
October 13, 2002
Have I submitted to the urge? No, design rather than oracle, artistry rather than cartomancy. My hands seem satisfied.
It is my second day without benifit of the verdant liquor of which I am so fond. I feel surprisingly awake despite the copious amount of sedatives I use to stave off anxiety and tremours. There is a crack in the chinese tea-pot, and the jade-plants need water. I am waiting for coffee and inspiration, blank cards of thin white board lie patiently beside me, destined to be filled with symbols, sigils and esoteric imagery. I think I’ll ask Klee for assistance.
There was a girl I met, once, with red hair who, on a previous journey to Hawaii, had experienced a vision of the goddess Pele. She was subsequently endowed with healing powers. I have no doubt of this - I quite clearly felt the energy shoot from her hands like an electric current, so strong I indeed for a moment thought I had been shocked. There was a girl I knew, once, with red hair who claimed the ability to charm away warts. She said she possessed no other magick or psychic talents, but her wart-charming never ceased to fail. There was a woman I knew, once, with red hair who practiced the art of psychometry with brilliant accuracy, but to extract a precise reading one had always to catch her by surprise, sneak up on her, place an object in her hands and yell, ‘read this!’. The words that would then spontaneously issue from her mouth would be uncannily correct in their description and prophecy. There is a boy I met, recently, with red hair who is from Wales.....
The ring was cursed. It was given to me by a young man whom I did not know well, but who later was to become a close friend. I was lounging at my friend John’s apartments, discussing the shallowest of subjects, for John was the shallowest of creatures. (please note this is not the same John mentioned in a recent entry in conjunction with the haunted house). Jimmy arrived. I had met him only once or twice. He was a friend of a friend of.... you understand. As soon as he saw me he said, ‘Do you want a ring?’
Needless to say I was a bit taken aback by an offer of jewellry from a complete stranger, but being unaccustomed to turning down free stuff, I could hardly refuse. He continued to explain that it belonged to a witch, and that he never felt comfortable wearing it, but maybe I might like it. He left the apartment and returned with a small white box stuffed with cotton. Movement of the cotton shroud revealed an old looking ring, silver and tarnished, a band surrounded by arcane symbols. I tried it on, and it was a perfect fit. I decided I liked it.
That afternoon on my way home I was hit by a car. The perpatrator fled the scene and was never caught, and I was fortunate enough to escape with only a bruised hip. Things got worse, of course. My co-habitational partner and I split up, rather badly. The lease for the apartment I had found for myself fell miserably through at the last minute. I was robbed at work and for a while seemed to be a suspect, or at least an accomplice. I didn’t at first suspect the ring - that suspicion dawned gradually. One day I snuck up on Mary, the psychometrist, and shoved the ring in her hand and yelled, ‘read this!’ She gasped, and sputtered, ‘It’s cursed’ and dropped it on the floor. She quickly retrieved it and told me that it was a gift. She said the person who gave it to me was unaware of any curse and his intentions were friendly - he just wanted to get to know me. She told me not to wear it.
Needless to say I followed her advice, and kept the ring in a box. It seemed not to have an effect unless worn. I did indeed become friends with Jimmy, and kept in frequent touch with him over the years after he moved away to a nearby, larger city. I never told him his kind gift was, in actuality, cursed.
Years later I had a few interesting dates with a young christian man called Allen. We found ourself often discussing the occult and the esoteric, most of which he attributed to demonic forces. He believed that curses couldn’t touch him as long as he had God on his side.It sounded like a challenge to me, and I asked him if he’d like to wear my favourite ring. I think Allen took it as an indication of a furthur development in our relationship, rather than an experiment on my part, and he accepted. Several days later he lost his job. Not long after that he was in a car accident. Then he was evicted from his apartment. Et Cetera. Et Cetera. After the accident I admitted to him that the ring was cursed, and that it was probably best he give it back. He refused, stubbornly, and continued to wear it righteously, with Jehovah and Jesus as his protectors. They didn’t do a very good job.We broke up after a short period of incompatable companionship, and he moved away without returning the ring. Some months later I got a phone call from Jimmy, saying a fellow he had newly met had, after a lengthy conversation about esoteric matters, given him a ring, claiming it was cursed and had been given to him by a witch. To Jimmy it looked just like the one he himself had given me years before. I told Jimmy the whole story of the ring and he confirmed the identity of the ring-bearer as Allen, my estranged ex-boyfriend, to whom Jimmy had only recently been introduced. Jimmy later gave the ring to me a second time, though I have never again worn the thing.
|
|
