How To Remove A Curse Of Bad Luck – Dressed in a sari and covered with silver bracelets, the old woman placed a basket under my eyes and opened the lid. Dozens of baby cobras were writhing inside. In a crowded market at the foot of the Himalayas in the town of Shimla, I waited for my wife and daughter, Shoshie, while we shopped in one of the small shops on the narrow street. As I walk in the stroller with our youngest daughter, Naomi, I try to avoid the constant stream of people coming at me in both directions. The woman said something to me in a language I could not understand and held out one hand while holding the basket of snakes close to her chest, while holding out her other hand. A basket of cobras is a more effective method of begging than most, and so I reached into my pocket to give him a few rupees.
I caught snakes in Ohio as a kid, and the snakes didn’t bother me. Spiders. I have a healthy fear of heights but I wouldn’t classify anything as a phobia. I even had a mounted rifle in Mindanao, and I think I held my own with an aplomb that surprised me. Not because I’m brave. You don’t look at me (almost) a little boldly and say, “That dude is macho.” I’m just saying that things that should scare me usually don’t, and things that shouldn’t, sometimes do. By “things that shouldn’t scare me,” I mean the supernatural.
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At that time, my wife came out of the store on the street and beckoned me to come with her. I asked him to wait, but he seemed impatient and was already walking his way through the crowd. He has a habit of getting lost and in the grocery store it’s okay, I don’t want him to get lost in the crowd in India. I put my wallet back in my pocket, and the woman with the basket of snakes let out a terrible scream as if I had bitten her, followed by a string of words that I don’t need an interpreter for. He followed her, keeping up a steady yell, as I crossed the alley. People around us stopped and gaped. Part of me just wanted to give her money, but in front of me Margie was swallowed by the crowd and I didn’t want to lose her.
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When I finally caught up with him, he asked me what was there, and I told him I just thought I was cursed. He laughed and lifted the curse, even though we both found it easier to believe them than I did. Not just that day.
Margie is from Mindanao. The only place in the Philippines more likely to leave you cursed is the legendary island of Siquijor, the Spanish Isla del Fuego, where practitioners of black magic and white magic reportedly abound. Curses are common in Margie’s family. The chief dealer of curses is Evil Aunt Neneng (“Evil” is almost always an adjective added to her name). Evil Aunt Neneng was a datu from the Manobo tribe and the widow of Uncle Joseph, who in some accounts died of complications from diabetes, but more accurately because she was cursed by Evil Aunt Neneng. Because of Manobo’s grief or his death, she immediately married another man and began to take the family lands that were the rights of Margie’s mother and brothers. There are many stories of Neneng’s intrigues. Over the years he has recruited thugs to kill those who stand in his way and has sought more covert methods to accomplish his agenda.
For example, one day Margie’s Aunt Jovan got sick for no good reason. His head was pounding and he could barely stand. Three days later, a friend sought help from an Indonesian healer who saw a coffin when he looked into his crystal ball. He decided that Jovan was cursed and it’s a good thing he didn’t see a wreath of flowers placed on the coffin, because maybe his help would come. He told his friend to bring such a wreath to prevent the spell. In his description of the person who cursed Jovan, the description of Neneng is very appropriate. Trouble.
If I doubt it, that’s the nature of curses, right? Margie doubts my curses, and I doubt hers. This is the default when it comes to curses. It’s a matter of faith, goes the conventional wisdom, and if you don’t believe you’re not impressed. And if you are not cursed, it is easy to be disbelieved.
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Curses usually belong to the outcasts, their last and last defense. The best curses come from those with a history of oppression. Think of the Romani, the Haitians, the Afro-Cubans of Europe, “Can the curse pierce the clouds and enter heaven?” Queen Margaret asked
. Cursing is an act of hopeless anger that, as a last resort, does not require a definite answer from God about its effectiveness when worldly justice fails. He who swears first swears, then receives praise. In Margaret’s case, her question was rhetorical. He didn’t expect answers other than results. Both her husband and son were killed. What does he have to lose? “Then release my curses at once, clouds!” she was crying. In her situation, God is listening, and anyone who has anything to do with the death of her husband and son will eventually meet their end, as he predicted.
The effects of a curse are very rare or smooth. Some of the best curses probably come from my people, Jews, not Israelis, but Shtetl Jews, cursing in Yiddish. Ironically, at my brother’s wedding in 1980, my great-uncles Morty and Bill sat with me on my grandmother’s porch in Long Beach, New York, and taught me every Yiddish curse they knew. . To this day, I’m not sure why they chose such a happy occasion, except that this part of my family is upset, and too much happiness probably bothers them and they have to resist something. old grudges:
Lie with your head in the dirt and grow like an onion You gave birth in a trolley car. There are two beds and a fire in each.
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If Jewish curses are colorful, they are also easy to ignore. How can you take such wise curses seriously? They are infected with an established self-consciousness. Can you make a trolley car? The ancestors of my people, the Israelites, cursed better, or at least more violently. Here, the prophet Elisha cursed a group of wayward children.
And on his way to Beth-el, he met some small children from the city who mocked him: “Come on, Baldy! Come on, Baldy!” When he looked back and saw them, he cursed the children in the name of the Lord, and then two she-bears came out of the forest, and tore forty-two of the children. Samaria (Kings 2, 23-25, my translation).
It seems that the crime is not so important – the needle of light is the cause. Male pattern baldness is a reason to avenge God rather than killing your husband and child. What the audience may see as a disproportionate use of force is the balancing act of Heaven, not us poor mortals who might find such a sight too deadly.
It is usually translated as “forest” or “wilderness”, but I think the concept of brutality should be emphasized. The curse as an extension of nature, the concept of paradise as the ferocity of the whirlwind or whirlwind or she-bears. The curse is the power of madness and anger, a different frequency than the gentle murmur of the beggar. Curses mean nothing; they are not expressed in moments of reflection, so the results can be messy.
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Zora Neale Hurston recorded a curse from the Algiers section of New Orleans so long that just hearing it knocks me out:
On the one hand, he says, “The south wind will burn their bodies and dry them and not hurt them.” “The north wind cools their blood and numbs their muscles and does not harden them. Let the west wind blow the breath of their life and make their hair grow and their nails fall off and their bones break.
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