That Voodoo That You Do
My girlfriend went to New Orleans for her birthday [It's probably best if you get over the fact that we travel separately and alone. I've said it many times before - It works for us. It doesn't have to work for you]. By all measures, she had a great time - did the aquarium, listened to music in Jackson Square, got a free drink or two on her birthday, watched NCIS New Orleans being filmed. She came home with an assortment of stories. And a set of voodoo dolls for me.
It wasn't a random gift. I'd hinted that it would be "cool" to have a voodoo doll, especially if it looked like my boss. Who I love. Seriously. My apologies to all the other bosses I've had over the years, but this one's the bomb. Then I added that maybe it would be "fun" to have a set of four - one for each of the big bosses at my big box retail employer. The bosses are all great. I truly enjoy working with them and for them. Still, I thought of voodoo dolls.
I've lived in the South going on fifteen years, but my northern sensibility remains. When I think of New Orleans, I think of voodoo shops and black magic. Yes, the French Quarter, beads (which I also got a bunch of), Mardi Gras, and drunken revelry, too. However, by and large, in my imagination, NOLA is a place where black magic lives and flourishes. Clearly, I've never been there.
I don't believe in God and I don't do religion. Given that Louisiana Voodoo is a mixture of African spiritual beliefs and practices that the slaves brought with them to America and European Catholicism, I scoffed and plopped it down on the pile. Not that spirituality and religion aren't powerful to believers or that believers are necessarily wrong for believing. Holding tight to spirituality can lend strength in difficult times. However, personally, I can't cotton to "Hocus-Pocus Jesus" - son of God and a virgin mother who rose from the dead to save the sinners of Earth - and figured that accoutrement of voodoo - amulets, funky herbs, dolls, etc - weren't much different. The power of religion is in the belief. Period.
And since I didn't believe, I asked for voodoo dolls. I never had any intention of using them for any nefarious purpose. Because, seriously, they're just dolls, no matter how snazzy or expensive, and black magic doesn't exist. Pins Schmins. Certainly stabbing one in the head with a pin wasn't going to cause someone to get a headache or have an aneurysm.
Then four resplendently decked out voodoo dolls (They look like a tiny royal family dressed in dazzling silk gowns) gazed at me unblinkingly from my kitchen table. Almost from the jump, I was scared to touch them. They looked so... I dunno... real. I read the instruction manual (Yes, they came with one) and took notice of the pins, plural. Each has two pins - one black (for diabolical machinations) and one white (for magnanimous gestures of good will). I'm not sure if the inclusion of the white pin is intended to keep tourists from freaking out about Black Magic or if white pins, and thus White Magic, are really a part of Voodoo.
For the record, I left the pins, both black and white, right where I found them. They say once you open the door to Black Magic, you never get it closed. And White Magic, well, it just might let it's cousin in the back door when you're not looking. It's not like I suddenly started believing or anything, but why chance it?
Then I started dropping stuff. Nothing important, really, but I'm pretty sure handed and I seldom drop anything. Then my knee began to hurt. And my ankle. I cut my hand on a can of cat food. The battery on my phone started dying quicker than normal. Every time I walked though the kitchen, there they were. The Voodoo dolls. Still on my kitchen table. Still staring at me. It was almost like their eyes followed me everywhere I went. I debated chucking them , but how does one get rid of a Voodoo Doll? And I had four. Four! Surely, you can't throw them in the household trash. Wouldn't ending up in a landfill piss them off? Maybe burning? Like a coven of witches?
I was still contemplating how to dump them without angering the Voodoo gods and my girlfriend when I accidentally knocked one over. Purple was on its side leaning on one arm. I gasped. The others - Blue, Green, and Yellow - didn't flinch, but I thought I saw Purple glance at its black pin. What to do? Stacee, it's a fucking doll. A doll! I welled up my disbelief and reached out my hand to stand it up. And that's when I saw it. A small gold and black oval. A sticker. "Made in China" it said. Ha! I googled to be sure, but they don't do Voodoo in China. I smirked at Purple and the rest. "You're just souvenirs! Fakes!" I said to myself.
And quickly stood up Purple and apologized for knocking him over. I might not believe and they might be from China, but what if? What if? No sense opening a door that doesn't need to be opened.
It wasn't a random gift. I'd hinted that it would be "cool" to have a voodoo doll, especially if it looked like my boss. Who I love. Seriously. My apologies to all the other bosses I've had over the years, but this one's the bomb. Then I added that maybe it would be "fun" to have a set of four - one for each of the big bosses at my big box retail employer. The bosses are all great. I truly enjoy working with them and for them. Still, I thought of voodoo dolls.
I've lived in the South going on fifteen years, but my northern sensibility remains. When I think of New Orleans, I think of voodoo shops and black magic. Yes, the French Quarter, beads (which I also got a bunch of), Mardi Gras, and drunken revelry, too. However, by and large, in my imagination, NOLA is a place where black magic lives and flourishes. Clearly, I've never been there.
I don't believe in God and I don't do religion. Given that Louisiana Voodoo is a mixture of African spiritual beliefs and practices that the slaves brought with them to America and European Catholicism, I scoffed and plopped it down on the pile. Not that spirituality and religion aren't powerful to believers or that believers are necessarily wrong for believing. Holding tight to spirituality can lend strength in difficult times. However, personally, I can't cotton to "Hocus-Pocus Jesus" - son of God and a virgin mother who rose from the dead to save the sinners of Earth - and figured that accoutrement of voodoo - amulets, funky herbs, dolls, etc - weren't much different. The power of religion is in the belief. Period.
And since I didn't believe, I asked for voodoo dolls. I never had any intention of using them for any nefarious purpose. Because, seriously, they're just dolls, no matter how snazzy or expensive, and black magic doesn't exist. Pins Schmins. Certainly stabbing one in the head with a pin wasn't going to cause someone to get a headache or have an aneurysm.
Then four resplendently decked out voodoo dolls (They look like a tiny royal family dressed in dazzling silk gowns) gazed at me unblinkingly from my kitchen table. Almost from the jump, I was scared to touch them. They looked so... I dunno... real. I read the instruction manual (Yes, they came with one) and took notice of the pins, plural. Each has two pins - one black (for diabolical machinations) and one white (for magnanimous gestures of good will). I'm not sure if the inclusion of the white pin is intended to keep tourists from freaking out about Black Magic or if white pins, and thus White Magic, are really a part of Voodoo.
For the record, I left the pins, both black and white, right where I found them. They say once you open the door to Black Magic, you never get it closed. And White Magic, well, it just might let it's cousin in the back door when you're not looking. It's not like I suddenly started believing or anything, but why chance it?
Then I started dropping stuff. Nothing important, really, but I'm pretty sure handed and I seldom drop anything. Then my knee began to hurt. And my ankle. I cut my hand on a can of cat food. The battery on my phone started dying quicker than normal. Every time I walked though the kitchen, there they were. The Voodoo dolls. Still on my kitchen table. Still staring at me. It was almost like their eyes followed me everywhere I went. I debated chucking them , but how does one get rid of a Voodoo Doll? And I had four. Four! Surely, you can't throw them in the household trash. Wouldn't ending up in a landfill piss them off? Maybe burning? Like a coven of witches?
I was still contemplating how to dump them without angering the Voodoo gods and my girlfriend when I accidentally knocked one over. Purple was on its side leaning on one arm. I gasped. The others - Blue, Green, and Yellow - didn't flinch, but I thought I saw Purple glance at its black pin. What to do? Stacee, it's a fucking doll. A doll! I welled up my disbelief and reached out my hand to stand it up. And that's when I saw it. A small gold and black oval. A sticker. "Made in China" it said. Ha! I googled to be sure, but they don't do Voodoo in China. I smirked at Purple and the rest. "You're just souvenirs! Fakes!" I said to myself.
And quickly stood up Purple and apologized for knocking him over. I might not believe and they might be from China, but what if? What if? No sense opening a door that doesn't need to be opened.
Comments
Post a Comment