The thrift-store deck had notes in it
Found a well-loved oracle deck at the thrift shop for $3. When I got it home I realized the previous owner had written tiny pencil notes on the backs of some cards. 'Called Mom.' 'Got the apartment!!' 'Not yet.' One just says 'Breathe, D.'
I almost erased them. Then I decided the deck had come to me as a conversation, not a blank slate.
First pull, before I'd even cleansed it: the card with 'Breathe, D.' on the back. My name doesn't start with D. I breathed anyway. Whoever you are, D, I hope you got the apartment and that things are good now.
The botanica owner who said 'not this one, mija'
Went into a botanica last week for candles and picked up a beaded necklace I thought was beautiful. The owner, a woman in her seventies, gently took it out of my hand. 'Not this one, mija. This one you receive, you don't buy.' Then she walked me over to the saint candles and the herbs and showed me what was there for anyone.
I could have felt embarrassed. Instead I felt taught.
Eclectic doesn't mean everything is mine. Some practices are open, some are closed, and plenty sit in between, held by communities who get to decide. My job is to ask, listen, and admire from the doorway when the answer is no.
I've also started asking my dad's sisters about the old Igbo stories. Some aunties laugh, some change the subject. One sent me a voice note that is forty minutes long. I'm on minute twelve.
Found a green pillar candle at Goodwill for 99 cents, so obviously it's now a money candle. Carved my rent amount into the side with a bobby pin (very traditional), dusted it with cinnamon from the spice drawer and brushed off the extra so it wouldn't flare, then lit it on a saucer in the sink while I updated my resume. Never left it alone, snuffed it when I was done.
I've been reading a lot this year about which practices are open to me and which aren't mine to borrow. Candle magic with things from my own kitchen feels like home. It's humble, it's mine, and I can afford it.
A dream pillow from an orphaned sock
Lost the matching sock months ago, so the survivor has been promoted. Inside: a handful of dried lavender, some chamomile, and rose petals saved from the bouquet my sister brought for my birthday, all wrapped in a scrap of muslin first so nothing sheds. Tied off with garden twine.
It lives under my pillowcase, not inside it, because I learned the hard way that lavender in your ear is not restful.
Have I had prophetic dreams? No. Have I had gentler ones and fallen asleep faster? Honestly, yes. I'll take it. If you're sensitive to any of these, swap in whatever smells like comfort to you.
Inventory of my crystal collection
Three river rocks my nephew gave me, one amethyst point, a chunk of something the label called 'aura quartz' that I now have questions about, and a blue glass marble. The marble is staying. It has seniority.