This morning, I noticed that the hand mirror I tote around in my bag had shattered. I think that it broke last weekend when a friend stepped on my bag. It is sad to lose that particular mirror because it belonged to my father and also, Floyd said it was designed for cutting coke in the 1970s. I thought that was cool.
I am a bit spooked about breaking the mirror. I remember a hand mirror breaking when I was a child and not thinking anything of it. But these days anything affiliated with black magic and superstitions freak me out. As a result, I particularly feel the need to defend myself against the possibility of 7 years of back luck or whatever other ills that sites like this detail.
I believe that fiddling with the dark arts opens you up to the dark arts. The junior high sleep-over standards of Ouija, Bloody Mary, Stiff as a Board, etc shouldn’t be viewed as just games. I wish I didn’t take me until after high school to figure that out. That’s when I gave away the voodoo doll and other items my friend gave me after a trip to New Orleans, and when I regretted summoning my deceased father during a séance. I didn’t know better then. Now I do.
While I recognize that we are surrounded by supernatural entities on a regular basis, I prefer to not recognize or seek them out lest I end up beckoning something that would do me wrong.
So, tonight I will probably contemplate burying the crushed mirror shards in the moonlight to rid myself of the supposed curse. But, most likely, I will wrap them in newspaper, say a prayer and throw them away.