I don’t mean to scare you, but I may be a witch. Not the green-faced, nose-moled, cooking-from-a-cauldron kind — at least I don’t think — but rather the telepathic/telekinetic/teletlikeitis kind. Like, I may be one of the X-Men waiting for Professor X to invite me to his university for the “gifted.” Which would be perfect because not only have I been itching to get my master’s degree in something but also I would look dope with a white streak in my hair.
Forgive me for not having this more figured out. I just became aware of my powers a few weeks ago.
Setting off on our family move across the country to a new life, our first stop was at my favorite national park. It was here — in this very desert, under these very stars, staying at this very spot — that the idea to make this move came to us. It felt apropos to be back. It felt destined. It felt alive with vibrating energy. It felt … magical.
The kids were asleep, when my husband said, “You’d better meditate on that snake rock.”
Let me back up.
You may remember that the house we are moving to is in the woods and, when we saw it, was housing a slithering squatter. And you may also recall that I have been told that I am part of the slithering sisterhood. Yes, I may look human, but my soul is made of scales. I have it on good authority from an aboriginal shaman who explained my incessant run-ins with snakes as nothing more than communication between soul mates. According to him, both of our beings comprise the same serpent energy.
Recent events have put me in odd situations. From visiting bizarre locales to getting my tarot cards read, life has been a jaunty jig of cockeyed circumstances and catawampus conclusions. But the one thing that has been a constant is the presence of snakes. Everyplace I go, there they slither. When my soul card was pulled from the tarot deck, there one was, sticking its forked tongue back at me.
I told the tarot reader I was scared. Even if I could believe that snakes are my totem and would never hurt me, I have young children. What about them? She gave me quartz. “Meditate on this crystal. Tell the snakes to stay out of sight and at least 20 feet from you and your children.”
“Um. Should I expect them to say something back?”
She looked at me as if I were nuts. “Rocks don’t talk.”
“Well, I don’t know,” I said. “You’re the one telling me to talk to it. How will I know if meditating is working?”
A week later, there we were, under the stars at my favorite national park, en route to our new house, and my husband told me to meditate on the crystal.
“Do you believe in this stuff?” I asked him.
“I believe something weird is going on with you, and I don’t want more snakes at our house when we arrive.”
I took the stone and sat down in the dirt and tried to meditate. “But what exactly am I to be meditating on?” I thought. “Sure, there is a Pied Piper-type reptile relocation goal, but how will I know the crystal has worked? If I get to our new home and never see a snake again, how can I be positive it was my witchy-totemy powers that vanished the vipers? Shouldn’t I summon the snakes first to make sure I’m truly powerful? But if I summon the snakes, will our new home turn into the snake pit from Indiana Jones’ nightmares?”
I decided that I would summon the diamondback rattlesnake. They are very prevalent in the park but don’t live near our new home. Holding the quartz totem crystal in my hands, I closed my eyes, breathed in deeply and visualized the diamondback rattler.
There was a rattling behind me! I jumped to my feet. Spun around. Looked at the ground. And there it was. My husband’s phone. On vibrate on a hard surface.
My husband picked up his phone and stared at me. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, man, that was scary! I was summoning diamondbacks, and I thought that rattling noise came from one.”
My husband’s jaw dropped. “It did,” he said. And he showed me the push notification that had vibrated his phone.
“Diamondbacks beat the Dodgers.”
This witch can communicate with snakes. Or maybe just Major League Baseball.