"In hoodoo practice, after one completes a "job of work" or magical ritual, the most neutral way to dispose of remnants such as left-over candle wax, incense ashes, footprint-dirt, or ritual bath water is to carry everything to the crossroads, throw it into the intersection, turn and walk home without looking back. (Alternative methods for the disposal of ritual items include throwing them into running water for get away or moving spells, taking them to a graveyard for hard-core enemy work, or burying them in one's yard for drawing influences toward one.) "--from this site
"The man with the power...(what power?)"
Can't you just see the crossroads? Robert Johnson's crossroads, where he sold his soul to the devil, the story goes, in return for genius. Oh, what we would trade for our heart's desire.
It's a metaphor, of course.
At least, in the clean light of day, I'm pretty sure it's a metaphor. We make those trades every day, right? Stealing time and energy from families and jobs, to put towards the monster we're building in our basement, or that manuscript we're assembling, or that degree that's supposed to take us somewhere, or...Well...You get the idea.
"The power of hoodoo...(Hoodoo?)
You do..."
It seems so simple and clean, in comparison, just to take your guitar down to the crossroads at midnight and wait for that big black guy to show up and offer to tune it for you.
It's a way of thinking, too, though--what do you want badly enough that you'd trade everything else you have, just for that one thing? Sacrifice everything? I think there are things we think we want that badly, but when the rubber hits the road we don't want it so badly after all. Not badly enough to go find our own crossroads late one night, anyway.
That isn't a bad thing, by the way--it's about balance versus insanity. I don't believe you have to be tortured and driven to get what you want.
"Standin' at the crossroads, risin' sun goin' down
Standin' at the crossroads baby, the risin' sun goin' down
I believe to my soul now, po' Bob is sinkin' down"
(From Crossroads Blues, Robert Johnson)
I also don't believe you have to be tortured and driven to be brilliant.
But if you did...how bad do you want it?
6 comments:
Jason--yeah. Definitely. But what about that edge just beyond where hard work can take you? What about that thing that separates the talented and hard-working from the geniuses?
What would you trade for that?
The sad thing for many geniuses is that it isn't a ticket to being recognised as such. Many of them live pretty tough lives in obscurity. Then again, being recognised as a genius may not be much fun either, as Jason suggests. It can have pretty enormous repurcussions, particularly if recognised as a prodigy at a young age. I have a family member like this. His life seems to consist of brighter lights and darker shades than most other people. Still, it's interesting to wonder what kind of life he would have had without the genius bit.
You know--I don't know if it's about recognition, though, Ms. M--when I consider what it would be like to be a genius, it's more about seeing in a unique way. Having something extraordinary that culminates in an extra awareness.
I think it would be exceedingly uncomfortable.
Oh, I thought that was what drugs were for. Ah. Only being silly. Plus I'm a bit paranoid now that this will not be received as funny.
Mac, you're my kind of writer. :-) A pleasure to run across your blog, which I found through the esteemable Miss Snark. I'll visit often.
BTW...forgive my ignorance, but aren't these snippets of song from Labyrinth, and if so, did David Bowie steal them from Johnson? I do so love running across Labyrinth quotes!
And by way of confession: yes. Anything. Anything at all for the writing.
Thanks for the boost...it's good to know there are others as crazy as me. Looking forward to reading more of you!
Peace out,
-S
www.housephoenix.blogspot.com
Ms M--no paranoia here--you're completely delightful, as always. *grin*
S.W. Vaughn, the snippets are from the Bowie song from Labyrinth, which is apparently or supposedly from a childhood rhyme or jingle--though not one I remember from my childhood.
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