Chapter 22: Do you believe in magic? What is a magical experience to you?
Originally written May 18, 2021
When it comes to magic, I guess you could call me a skeptic, but also a seeker.
The main factor driving my skepticism toward magic and mysticism in general is that so many self-proclaimed mystics / holy men / psychics / gurus / self-declared prophets are such obvious grifters, more interested in selling their books, their potions, their supplements than leading people to enlightenment.
It might strike some as strange that I’m a skeptic when I spent the lion’s share of the 1980s involved in the Wicca movement, helping to form a local Santa Fe group called “Jackalope Coven.”
It was a fun group full of fine people and I definitely have no regrets. I certainly didn’t agree with everyone I met and every idea I heard in the Pagan community. But one of the good parts about that community — at least in New Mexico in the ‘80s — is that different people could have different opinions without bad feelings or a bunch of strict doctrinarian hooey.
And by the way, Satan was never a concern of Jackalope Coven – or any other Wiccan I ever met. Basically the only time any of us even mentioned the Prince of Darkness was when we were making fun of the religious zealots leading the charge in what was later dubbed the Satanic Panic.
To be honest, our little coven was more of a social group than any hard-core mysterioso mystery lodge. Sure we’d “raise some energy” with our ceremonies. But looking back, the main benefit I got from Jackalope Coven was having a group of pretty cool, like-minded folks to hang out with. I can’t speak for the others but I’m pretty sure that most of them felt the same way.
Like any small group of humans, Jackalope Coven was not immune to internal conflicts.
Most of us had assumed that our high priestess and our high priest were married. They lived in the same house, shared the same last name and had a young daughter together.
But one day in 1989 I had to go to Santa Fe County Magistrate Court as part of my job. (I was the crime reporter, so each weekday I had to check this court to see what criminal cases had come in.) While sitting in the lobby waiting for a clerk to bring me the new files, I saw our high priestess come into the courthouse with a guy from the coven — and not the high priest.
They were shocked to see me there.
They were not at the court to take care of some traffic ticket. They were there to get married by a judge.
Turns out the high priestess and the high priest were not actually married. They had split up and divorced years before I’d ever met them. They’d reconciled right before they decided to move to Santa Fe. But they had never re-married.
So that day at the old Santa Fe County Magistrate Court our high priestess was eloping with her new man. I was one of the two witnesses to the wedding required by New Mexico law. The other witness was a lady none of us knew who was in court for some traffic offense.
Maybe it was “magic” that led them to the courthouse during the short time I was there that day. Who knows?
That basically was the beginning of the end for Jackalope Coven.
The high priest felt betrayed of course. And for some time he was angry with me for not telling him. The priestess asked me not to say anything about it to him because she wanted to tell him herself. I didn’t realize that she’d take several days to do so.
And, of course, the woman who had been living with the high priestess’ new husband also was shocked and angry.
There was no joy in Jackalopeville during this period. The coven didn’t last very long after that.
But even before my Wicca period, I’d always been drawn toward the supernatural.
My grandmother was more than a little witchy. Nana would tell your fortune using regular playing cards, which she’d spread over her Ouija board.
When Nana was little, her family had a friend they called “Auntie Newt,” an old woman who taught Nana how to read cards — regular playing cards — and make charms out of paper.
My grandmother told us that she was born with a veil of skin over her face — which she said was a sign of psychic powers — and that a sailor had once offered her mother big cash bucks for the veil.
And Nana was no stranger to ghosts. She said that one time when she spanked my mom as a little girl, her dead mother (my great grandmother, who I never met) appeared to her and scolded her for spanking her child.
Unfortunately the ghost of Mary Schwoerke never came to my defense the couple of times Nana spanked me.
In the early ‘70s I started throwing I Ching coins and reading tarot cards. I began using psychedelic drugs.
I didn’t view LSD or magic mushrooms as “party drugs.” With only a couple of exceptions, I viewed my trips as spiritual adventures, quests into the mystic. By the end of the ‘70s my tripping days were basically done, though I had only a few more chemically induced excursions in the ‘80s.
There was one trip at my old house on Houghton Street which inspired me to start writing the lyrics for a song that I later recorded as “The Mushroom Sweet”
Little mushroom feelers
Little mushroom eyes
Massive mushroom moon lights the purple mushroom skies
Mushroom gods and devils dance behind the shroud
Little mushroom cities ‘neath the mushroom cloud …
It sounds like this …
My last tip, was in 1988 I believe. It was a fairly mellow mushroom experience while camping in the Jemez Mountains with a few fellow Jackalopes.
Like my involvement with Wicca, I have no regrets over my psychedelic years.
I’m not actually sure I experienced “real magic” — whatever that is. But it sure felt like magic when I was in the midst of it.
Finally, I’ll leave you with this sacred Pagan hymn: