Low Magick by Lon DuQuette (little red riding hood read aloud TXT) 📗

Magical theory suggests that everything in the universe is the product of intent. I wouldn’t dare to attempt to prove this vast and unprovable statement (and gods forbid I would dare open the absurd “intelligent design” can of imaginary worms). I will, however, not hesitate to point out how many things in our shared reality—objects, inventions, events, ideas, religious and political movements, even our view of time—can demonstrably be the direct and unambiguous products of intention. Take this book as an example:

It is my intent to communicate a few of my thoughts and experiences concerning magick to as many people as possible; it is also my intent to earn some money in order to help keep a roof over my head, and sustain a modicum of self-respect for myself and my family as I look to the fast-approaching years of my dotage.19

It is my publisher’s intent (among other things) to provide a quality literary product in such a manner as to make the maximum profit from the minimum expenditure, and to provide information and entertainment to the book-buying public (especially those individuals whose interests are in harmony with the publisher’s philosophies and interests). Furthermore, it is the publisher’s intent to keep his or her family of employees, subcontractors, printers, distributors, suppliers, etc., gainfully employed and contributing to the intended support and well-being of their families, communities, etc.

As the reader (I am assuming), it is your intent (among other things) to enrich your life with the knowledge and ideas presented in this book, and to use this information and insight for your own intended applications.

Magical intent has much in common with what we normally associate with the concept of willpower. It is, however, something much greater than the teeth-gritting power of concentration to force something to happen that was otherwise not going to happen. Magical intent is more a matter “seeing” what you truly want so clearly that your vision (indeed, your love of the vision) creates a living entity. Faced with the birth of this new cosmic citizen on the creative plane, the universe has no alternative but to rearrange conditions on the material plane to accommodate the complete manifestation of this now-inevitable object or event.

You may find this hard to believe, but I learned the secret power of magical intent when I was six years old. The inspiration for my operation was my kindergarten classmate, Linda Kaufman. She was the most beautiful girl at George Washington Carver Elementary School in Lakewood, California. I always arranged to sit near her for rhythm band and finger painting. She seemed to enjoy my antics, especially my sophisticated ability to bark like sea lion. I also had the pity factor working for me because the first few months of my kindergarten year I was forced by a serious hip condition to walk with the aid of crutches.20

I was insanely in love with her and each night as I lay in bed I fantasized how I would take her to the movies on a real grown-up date. I correct myself: It was not a fantasy. It was a vision of a perfect moment of love—a perfect vision of love given—and of love received.

For months I rehearsed the scene in my imagination. I would be dressed in a suit and tie. I would somehow drive to her house and pick her up. I’d meet her parents. Her father would invite me into his den and offer me a cocktail (like they drank on the television show, Topper). Then Linda would appear in a pretty new dress and we’d drive off to the movie theatre. I’d buy us some popcorn. We’d find seats near the front and share our popcorn and giggle. Then, when the lights went down and the film began, she would take my arm (because I’d be too shy and polite to do it myself) and put it around her shoulders, and she and I would snuggle close for the whole movie.

It was a lovely dream, and I was determined to make it happen. During Christmas vacation in 1954, I approached my mother in the kitchen and told her I wanted to take Linda Kaufman to the movies. I ordered her to call Linda’s parents “right now” and arrange everything. It was a bold move. I was conjuring a dangerous demon. My mother could be unpredictably violent and cruelly abusive. It was such an odd little demand, however, that I think it took her completely off balance. I didn’t have the slightest doubt that she would obey my command. She stared at me for a moment, then picked up the phone and called Linda’s mother. They laughed and gossiped for what seemed like hours. When she hung up, it was a done deal.

New Year’s Day 1955 was a Sunday—the perfect day for Linda and me to see the new biblical epic, The Silver Chalice.21 Mom and my older brother Marc (he and his date would be our chaperones) waited in the car while I, dressed smartly in my Sunday school sports jacket and clip-on tie, knocked on the door of the Kaufman residence. Her dad answered and invited me into his den and told me to sit down.

“Would you like something to drink?”

I couldn’t believe this was happening. He poured us each a heavy highball glass of ginger ale and ice. I’d never tasted ginger ale before. Was this a cocktail? Linda soon appeared with her mother and spun around to show off her new dress. I was sure the ginger ale was taking effect. Everything, almost to the last detail, was happening exactly as I envisioned—and it didn’t stop there.

At the theater, with my brother and his date following discreetly behind us, I bought popcorn and Linda and I found our seats near the front. We giggled and munched, and when the lights dimmed and the big Warner Brothers shield beamed at us from the silver screen, Linda Kaufman, my goddess, the love of my life, grabbed