The Good Witch’s Guide: Spell To Protect A Loved One

Use

Protection of a loved one and, well, everyone needs a hearty giggle on Halloween!

Introduction

It shall soon be the night of All Hallows’ Eve and I suspect there will be plenty of nasty old black pointy hatted witches flying about on their gnarled broomsticks, cackling that is equivalent to indigestion albeit for the ears and, of course, showing off their pus bags to each other which you and I know as the common ugly wart! These pumpkin-bottomed hags have nothing better to do than to cast grotesque nightmares over the heads of innocent sleeping children so that they find themselves horridly trapped between the world of reality and the world of dreams, neither being able to rest or to just remain awake. In adults, the black witch will often conjure up a different sort of storm and I have observed in the past that their personal favourite is to incite conflict between people, even friends who have known each other for as long as they can remember, unfortunately, can succumb to the spell with tragic effect. Black eyes and bruised legs and silent treatments for weeks on end are only a few of the illnesses of the heart that a dogged witch of evil intent can bring upon you.

The time has come for you to take relief because Nature is an umpire most wonderful. Where there are a thousand black witches in operation, there will be at least one White Witch, a good witch, who will keep a watchful eye and protect you from harm engineered by malicious enchantments. Can you guess who she is? Oh look, is that a thin slice of a crescent moon smile on your face?  My personal favourite!

Now, I cannot be in many places at once so I am divulging to you a most potent spell that you may wish to use if your intuitions inform you that a loved one may be the target of an evil eye. Listen wisely and follow carefully.

Ingredients

  1. Capture the silver light of tonight’s crescent moon in a jam-jar and seal tight
  2. Collect a handful of spearmint leaves from a garden, preferably your own!
  3. A few drops of the finest vanilla essence

Method

  1. In an old battered kettle with a whistle bring water to the boil
  2. Pour the moonshine, sprinkle the spearmint leaves and drop the vanilla essence into the kettle and stir gently
  3. Chant the name of your loved one three times as you pour the concoction into a cup and sip with a smile!

 

Tea of Protection

“Chant the name of your loved one three times as you pour the concoction into a cup and sip with a smile!”

 

Your loved one, wherever they may be, shall know that you have enforced a protection charm over them and they will call upon you soon to express their appreciation. You must act as if you had no hand to play in the matter. Genuine loving kindness does not seek acknowledgement. Good luck!

 

p.s. “Received! Thank you so very much for protecting me…”

 

Photograph & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Good Witch Spell For Protecting A Loved One | UK 2014  

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You Renewed

It is of no consequence whether you are male or female, if you are reading these words you have journeyed through one of the most unbelievably traumatic and yet dazzlingly monumental feats of Nature’s theatrics: a Mother bore you and she was born the day you came forth from her delicate but powerful body, thus, alongside her, you too were born. That is not where the tale of birth ends with you, dear reader. There is the potential of a Second Birth in the seed of every person and it awaits your realisation, glistening in uncharted depths and carrying the sweetness of ruby red stones as those that rest hidden in an unpeeled pomegranate. It is a very special sort of birth and not achieved by all. It tends to follow after towering loss and shadowing regrets. It is when the Night of your soul smiles profusely because it no longer has any desire to be Day. Night is delighted with its own cloak of a million silver stars for each star is a dawn song of its own.

My Sight has been my guide in life and today, it tells me that are you undergoing your own Second Birth. When will you be complete? I do not know. But I can feel echoes in the air of the cogs of change whirring away and, therefore, I humbly send you healing prayers that I hope will float and settle in the cradle of your heart. I shall know when they have reached their destination…

You Renewed

“…I humbly send you healing prayers that I hope will float and settle in the cradle of your heart…”

 

Photograph & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Indian Sacred Medicine Bowl | Pitt River’s Museum | Oxford University | Oxford UK 2014

 

The House Of Love

The poem you will read shortly was inspired by a vision that came to me as I walked by the beautiful wooded river of my alluringly enchanting Cathedral town of Winchester. I do not follow any particular organised religion and yet I am a woman of Faith who can be found comfortably speaking to people from all religious backgrounds, never to have my awe ceased of how a person’s dedication to their religious pathway can be a source of shining inner strength in moments of crisis and a foundation for expressing loving kindness to their fellow human beings. I have prayed in both churches, mosques, temples and under the wide open sky. I have been heard to refer to my Creator as Allah, God, Bhagwan and Great Artist. There is no catastrophic dissonance felt, not a shudder of conflict to rip through my nervous system because my Spirituality is not the province of a rational logical mind. It is the wild meadow that grows with the outbreak ecstasy of infinite springs and countless lights of stars. The language of my soul is a Great Mystery.

My Abba and Amma (Father and Mother) were raised to practice the pathway of Islam. I was always fascinated by the tales told to me of the arduous journeys pilgrims used to undertake to reach their beloved ‘Allah Bari’ – The Ka’aba, the sacred square house draped in black and situated in Mecca and circled by devotees as prayers were cast into the air. It is a formidable sight to behold I am told. My poem is an act of honour to the magnificence of authentic devotion which, if true, will NEVER pose an easy path because it will contain within it the possibilities of spiritual progress and where transformation occurs so will the birthing pain of growth be felt, as when calm waters experience disturbance when the lotus pushes through its surface to face the glory of the sun. True Love is of the same breed and to reach the beloved’s ‘House of Love’ implies active submission to trials and tribulations far beyond anything ever imagined. The risks are indeed countless but the prize is Union. I address my poem to the Love that I have yet to meet and if he, whoever he may be, does read this tonight my Faith shall sound the horn to tell me that he will know what to do…

If standing before the Ka’aba in all its indefinable glory
Poses a rosy pilgrimage – a voyage dispensed of worry
One easily embarked on – tomorrow if necessary
Then, my Friend, you are certainly a man of Islamic duty
 
On the contrary, should you consider the pilgrimage to my Home’s sanctuary
Standing before me – under this emerald tree
An infinitely harder odyssey than that of the devout Hajji
Then, my Majnun, you are certainly a madman who is in Love with me…

 

The House Of Love

“… standing before me – under this emerald tree… an infinitely harder odyssey… “

 

 

Photograph, Poem & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | UK 2014

 

Young At Heart

Ladies and Gentlemen, I thought I’d brighten up the proceedings with a remedial splash of humour that I am inclined to believe will send the old funny bones into overdrive! I should imagine those of you who are photographers, professional and amateur alike, as well as any who love to soak up a delicious piece of zany metaphor for the day will come to measure my efforts with at least a respectable degree of admiration – even if there is a bit of shaking the head in pity! ‘Tis the way of us eccentrics and we all take it in our stride!

The story is simple. I am perpetually interrogated about why I do not look my age. I am a 36 year old teacher and visual storyteller who, apparently, still appears to be hovering around the terrible twos – that is 22 to be precise! I have baffled many and boggled the remaining! Rumour has it that I must be related to Peter Pan! Oh how I love to be a feast for the curious mind!

The answer is rather simple too! I just do not know how to age inside! It is beyond my spectrum of capabilities and that is the short and long of it! Below I attach a visual aid to support the backbone of my theory and, I do reckon you will let out a little giggle!

Examine specimen one if you may. An old timer of a motion camera that represents my granny age of 36 – and don’t think me wrong, I love where I am just as how I cannot keep falling in love with the mature season of autumn! This device is quite the dignified character, wouldn’t you agree? It does not belong to me but hangs with authority and charm at my local cinema and each time I’m in there one can observe me twiddling away on the buttons or admiring its retro chic frame!

Young At Heart

“… a motion camera that represents my granny age of 36… one can observe me twiddling away on the buttons or admiring its retro chic frame…”

 

Now brace yourself as you come to examine specimen two. This IS my camera and it does not take any reel or memory card but when the shutter button is pressed against the light a set sequence of stills can be seen through the viewfinder from various Disney films. It sits proudly on my bookshelf. If there was any way that I could convey to you the age I feel inside then you have come to the right place! Yes, dear reader, my soul cannot resist not wearing big black mousy ears now and again…!!

Young At Heart 2

“Yes, dear reader, my soul cannot resist not wearing big black mousey ears now and again…!!”

 

And there you have it…!


Photographs & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | UK 2014

It’s A Kind Of Magic

You and I have never ever met, at least not in this life anyway! I see from afar that you are firmly nodding. It is of comfort and relief to know that we agree on that point otherwise one of us is charmingly bonkers! Now, if you were to be suddenly thrown on the spot and it was demanded of you that you answer the question of what my favourite colour was or, perhaps, quizzed about which pantry cupboard in my kitchen did I sneak in all my sweets into, then, without my fidgeting too much on the issue I’d say your face would be the subject of the most amusing shade of discombobulated blankness!!! You just don’t know the answer! Well, there is no mystique in that. You have simply never asked me! However, you might be pleased to know that I am about to perform an outstanding magic trick on you which will leave you feeling – let me think now – ah, yes, with the impression that you HAVE known me for a long, very long, time! May I draw your attention to my photograph below of a trinket’s corner taken from an emporium of fantastical finds, an Aladdin’s cave, that just so happens to exist in my world. Where are the ambassadors of my heart? Peruse at your pleasure but this is pleasure at your peril because in a few moments I shall have you feeling rather tender as you begin to question yourself as to how you have come to acquire such knowledge.

 

We Have Never Met But...

“… a trinket’s corner taken from an emporium of fantastical finds, an Aladdin’s cave, that just so happens to exist in my world…”

 

You and I have never ever met, at least not in this life anyway! Yet, it is of comfort to know that you possess the magical faculty to move your eyes over to the very things that pour sunshine into my heart…

 

Photograph & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | UK 2014   

The Mother Of Roses

When my Amma (Mother) gently holds any rose in our garden she does so in a manner that I believe would convince any flower that it were the very last of its kind on earth.  It is here that I am able to witness in the flower’s great unfolding of satin valleys and feminine undulations the song of its joyful vulnerability because it knows how purely it is Loved…

 

The Mother Of Roses

“… I am able to witness in the flower’s great unfolding of satin valleys and feminine undulations the song of its joyful vulnerability because it knows how purely it is Loved…”

 

Photograph & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | UK 2014

When Physics Missed A Spot…

By virtue of my role as teacher – not the sort of stiff-lipped starchy variety I should add – I think it would be extremely useful at this point that a preparatory practical be undertaken by your good self so that the things to follow later will fall nicely into place!  First things first, step outside and lift your head up and survey the ginormous sky above. I do apologise if after carrying out this order you have become painfully aware that your old neck isn’t as supple as it used to be! Bag of frozen peas should do the trick! Now, before re-entering the house, I would like it very much if you could inspect carefully where your feet are at. Please do not shake your head, just do as I say! Well done, my nameless apprentice! One final bit of observational assessment from you and I promise the whole ordeal will be over. Make your way to the clock in your house and count – yes count – how many numbers circle round its face. Now, now, wipe that twisted snarl of incredulity off your own face, it shan’t make things any more easier you know!

So, now that you’re back in the safe fortress of your tartan armchair or, indeed, on top of an ancient mountain in Ladakh – and why not, my words are after all travelling on strings of shooting light, they are free to roam the earth and as such free to be read by anyone listening – let us now gather our findings. What did you discover? Ah, yes, I can hear all your voices reaching my ears with crystal clear definition and my word, some of you are rather disgruntled and disappointed by what has appeared to you as a pitifully mundane activity! For instance, there is one who is rolling their eyes around and puffing out the words like a chuntering steam train, “For god sake, the sky is blue!” Oh, and there’s a lady who has slouched back onto her chair and is muttering under her breath, “What an insane writer! Everything falls to the ground, feet included!” I had to save the best till last, that of the livid chap – thanks to me – who now has a mind to bash the clock on my head! He is chiding me, “You idiot, if the last number is 12 on a clock why would I need to count each number!” You should know something about me by now, dear readers: to expect the expected is as extinct as the poor old dodo bird when one enters the circus of my world! You see, what I have proved to you is a very sad fact of the so-called mature adult brain. I know that none of you followed my instructions and, with enormous certainty, I am willing to bet that consciously or otherwise, you all IMAGINED undertaking them in your mind and, each one of you felt compelled to abide by the Laws of Physics in this place of all places. You saw a blue sky because that is the colour of the atmosphere as it interacts with the light of the sun. You shook hands with gravity and thus accepted that your feet would be glued to the ground. You saw 12 hours neatly positioned on the face of a clock since that is how they have always been manufactured, in compliance with the conventions of time-keeping.

 

When Physics Missed A Spot...

“… to expect the expected is as extinct as the poor old dodo bird when one enters the circus of my world! “

 

Why does our imagination suffer as we grow older? Why does the gateway to the circus of endless possibilities succumb and disfigure into a servile imitator of reality? Why cannot we give ourselves the permission to deny the Laws of Physics entrance to certain sacred parts of our inner world?

Ah, now wait a minute! What do I see here? Did someone just conjure up a purple and orange polka dot sky?! Oh, look, a world where people float! And, yes, a clock with 12 hours but when counted there’s always 11 because the final hour is the one in which you take your last breath in. Does it not feel strangely pleasant when Physics misses a spot…?

 

Photograph & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Travelling Circus | Southampton | UK 2014

 

The Prerequisites Of A Potential Suitor

I have not the slightest fancy in broad muscles or pretentious wheels for what purpose would they serve? Straining the poor sleeves of many a shirt and t-shirt, bulky muscles fertilized in the competitive green-houses of the gym simply appear to my eyes as extra meat on the poor arms! Oh my goodness me, the thought just occurred that if I were to take such a man to my school during the much anticipated lunch hour, the rabid hunger of little children that can so often distort their visual perception could lead to the most unfortunate case of mistaking those Hercularian biceps for chicken drumsticks! What could follow does not bear thinking about! As for owning a sports car, what diabolical piffle!  Reaching a destination by breaking the speed of sound hardly tickles my affections, I would miss out on letting out sighs to the world to show how glad I was to be part of it because, at that ridiculous speed of travel you would have successfully blurred out the song of flowers, the buzz of laughing children and the chance to say hello to Mr Bruce, the octogenarian with the dandyish panama hat! Am I being rash and pernickety in my specifications, dear reader? What sort of man would I be drawn to, you ask?

 

Prerequisites Of A Potential Suitor

“… who would want to travel the world with me in a sieve knowing fully well that it could sink at any time; who saw that despite the indulgences of sunshine the sensual possibilities contained in a rainy day were impeccably in a league of their own…”

 

Someone who would smile and shake their head in loving recognition of my eccentricities as, for example, when I refer to the camera as a ‘magic box’;  who would want to travel the world with me in a sieve knowing fully well that it could sink at any time; who saw that despite the indulgences of sunshine the sensual possibilities contained in a rainy day were impeccably in a league of their own…

A pea-sized footnote. If his face frowns in confused agony when I ask him to tell me what a library is, then, undoubtedly, he is out the window and there is no crash mat included…!

 

Photograph & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | UK 2014     

The Shades Of Trees

I should imagine by now there is not one single tree on the surface of this earth that has not heard of my wish to live under its shimmering leafy dome because, my soul tells me over and over again, that if there ever was a place You would begin your search for me it would be so under the shade of a tree…

 

The Shades Of Trees

“… there is not one single tree on the surface of this earth that has not heard of my wish to live under its shimmering leafy dome…”

 

 

Photograph & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Painting Of Indian Female Ascetic | Ashmolean Museum | Oxford University | Oxford 2013  

I Send To You My Breath…

I thought to myself very long and hard on how I could defeat these troublesome miles to ensure that tonight of all nights you’d receive something from me that would erase all doubt and make it as clear as all the stars gathered together that I have all always been joyfully lost in the deepest depths of Love for You. To be rescued from these secret green forests would be an example of the most disgraceful villainy. Now, my dearest Heart, I must return and rest my head on my pillow of dandelions, you might have already guessed that there is one of the same next to mine whereupon lies the breath of all my poetry…

 

I Send To You My Breath...

“I must return and rest my head on my pillow of dandelions, you might have already guessed that there is one of the same next to mine whereupon lies the breath of all my poetry…”

 

 

Photograph & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | UK 2013