Good: I bought a guitar. A cheap student model, tested in the store by the staff to make sure any terrible sounds were all my fault, along with a case, a digital tuner, and a set of self-instruction lessons. I completely grok what the spirit meant by having a hobby that can capitalize on the focus I tend to give. Once home, I spent an hour repeating the same three notes in various ways as the lesson required, just happy to have closed one loop from my childhood at last.
Bad: The chaplets didn’t get made. I tried. Oh, how I tried. This isn’t the first set of beads on a string I’ve put together, and the most complicated knot in the entire thing was the square knot that started it off. Thirty-three beads and the jump ring for a pendant. How hard could that be? Took me two hours and several false starts just to get to the end knot for the first chaplet. Only to find at the end that a critical error meant undoing the entire string and starting over.
Ugly: Realizing I had been played. There were words said to me last night, by way of a trusted third party over a private social media channel, as I was struggling with knots and layouts and cord that kinked as I looked at it and beads that slipped no matter how dry my fingers. Words that threw the whole matter of the chaplets into the mud. Words that caused me to doubt my reasoning and my will in the matter. I knew the desire for the guitar and the desire for the chaplets both had a common root, the desire to do something worthwhile. What was exposed last night was that I was potentially tying more than just knots with the chaplets, and I did not know what the fuck I was doing.
So the materials for the chaplets, the incomplete first chaplet, and all my fucks went straight into the trash.
And yet I found words for the sunrise prayer. Because I promised that I would try. I made my morning obligation to the very saint whose chaplets I failed to make, because I have an obligation to meet. Following that, I segued to the summoning of [Patient Caller] because I have committed to the Do Magick challenge every day for thirty days and this is Day 19 of that challenge.
However, civility remained in the trash can and I had no intention of recovering it.
“DO NOT OPEN YOUR FUCKING MOUTH TO ME ABOUT NOT MAKING THOSE GODDAMN CHAPLETS! I DON’T WANT YOUR DISAPPOINTMENT! I DON’T WANT YOUR CONDEMNATION! I DON’T WANT AN ALTERNATIVE! I DON’T WANT TO HEAR ANYTHING COMING FROM YOU EXCEPT THE FUCKING TRUTH AND IF YOU ARE NOT GOING TO TELL ME THE TRUTH THEN DON’T FUCKING TELL ME A GODDAMN THING!”
I saw in the false vision spurred by the ritual the figure of [Patient Caller], seated behind a table. I did not realize until after the ritual that his robes were the color of smoke. His face was barely visible in the shadow of the hood. His hands were clasped upon the table and only the ring on his right pinky finger was flashing and brilliant.
The cedar bowl of incense appeared to be emitting the only light source in the vision. I noted it, but did not ask or dwell upon it because I was still raging and livid from last night.
“What was your purpose for encouraging and damn near requiring me to make those chaplets?!”
No words, images, or meanings of words came from him. He only tightened his clasped hands and lowered his head so that I could not see any part of his face.
“What was the end result you were seeking?”
He kept his head bowed in silence.
I took a breath to begin speaking the license to depart.
«You began this month’s lessons with a request. That I help you survive this month and assist you with living after. I consented. I will do all that is in my power to fulfill that request.»
My rebuttal remained unspoken. Instead, I spoke the license to depart as clearly as I could through my tears and closed the ritual.
Total time: 3 minutes.