Metaphysical Fuckery

A few weeks ago, I bought cursed crystals.

I know. I was surprised too.

Initially, I was just surprised by the first part of that sentence, the “buying crystals” part.  Because although I lean heavily to the hippy woo-woo side of things (at least by conservative Alberta standards) I’ve never been a crystal person. Crystals, homeopathy, The Secret – these are things I’ve never really delved deep into.

Ayurveda, Tarot, and smudging, however? Totally in. Go figure. 

So I’m not a crystal person. The closest I’ve come to owning crystals is scavenging for quartz with my sisters during the summers we spent at our Ontario cottage growing up. But my sister Hilary was in town and she needed a new Tarot deck so we were taking a tour of the local stores that offered that kind of thing, and in the Venn diagram of people who buy crystals and people who do Tarot there’s a fairly large overlap. Many of the stores that carried Tarot cards also had a fairly significant offering of crystals for purchase, too.

We ended up at one in particular with a massive selection. Aisles and aisles full of every type of stone imaginable. This store shall go unnamed because I don’t want to invite any more metaphysical fuckery into my life by besmirching their name and accusing them of selling cursed crystals, but let’s just be clear here: they definitely did.

So.

We found this store and ventured in. We quickly realised that they only sold one or two super basic decks, and since Hilly is far from basic so she passed on both. Hilly, however, is a crystal person and wanted to browse for a bit. As I accompanied her through the aisles, holding the stones and reading the printed explanations about their purpose, I decided that this would be it. It was time. Time to buy some crystals!Leveling up  a bit, you know?

What’s the harm in a few crystals?

HA.

I chose three stones: Rose quartz (primarily because it was a really cute pink, if we’re being honest), amethyst, and smoky quartz. It was a modest purchase, I think around $7 in total, and I felt like it was a reasonable way of having crystals without having crystals, you know? I didn’t want to venture into Spencer Pratt territory with my crystal purchases, is what I’m saying.

Anyway, purchase made, we left the store. Hilly was still jonesing for a Tarot deck so we drove down to Kensington to a store called Zen or Breathe or Om –  I don’t remember.

I found parking right outside and felt like a total boss, but the only problem was that the parking sign looked something like this:

I stared at the sign for about twelve minutes, calculating dates, the weight of my vehicle minus the coins for the meter, drawing angled charts, checking time zones, and ensuring we wouldn’t be longer than two hours. I thought I had it figured out. I even paid for the goddamn parking!

I was wrong.

We came out of Zen/Namaste/Karma about fifteen minutes later and walked a few stores down to one of my fave consignment stores, browsed a cute baby boutique where Hilly picked up a gift for our brand new nephew, and then we headed back to the car.

The car, however – my car – was not there.

For a minute or two, we both stared in silence at the space where it had been. We looked up a block and back a block, but both were certain that we’d parked it right outside of Love/Peace/Nevernude. But we also knew that it was impossible that we’d done so because it simply wasn’t there.

I slowly looked up at the parking signs again, Redid my calculations. Factored in the time of the sunset and the current moon phase. And slowly, with a sinking feeling, I realized that I’d parked during a brief no parking time. and thus, my car had likely been towed.

I immediately got on the phone with the towing company listed on the sign (so helpful!) and we began walking to find a Car 2 Go. Initially, the towing company said they didn’t have my car because in my flustered state I accidentally gave them my old license plate number instead of my new one (my old license plate was stolen right off my car while I was on a date. When I left the guy’s house – in a nice residential neighbourhood, by the way – my car just didn’t have a license plate anymore. Poof. Gone. I didn’t even realise that this was a thing, but apparently, it is. So I had to replace it and it was a whole shenanigan. But that’s a different story.)

Anyway, eventually we located my car, Hilary and I walked to the Car 2 Go, and drove to the impound lot.  It cost me $175 and two hours to finally get it back.

That was the first indication that my crystals were cursed. But it wouldn’t be the last.

That weekend, I got into a fight with one of my best friends. And to know why this is a big deal, you have to know that I’m really not a fighting person. I’m pretty tolerant, I very rarely ever yell and I’m really slow to anger. So fighting, whether it’s with partners, family members, friends, coworkers or service staff just really doesn’t happen all that often – less than once a year.

Typically I’m a talker, not a fighter. But this was definitely a fight.

The details aren’t important, but it was a fairly important issue we both felt strongly about and emotions were running high. It was totally out of character for both of us and at one point he began texting in capitals and I was like, “Whoa, whoa, whoa – are you text-yelling at me?!”  and it was horrible.

If it had just been those two things, it’d be a coincidence. Shit happens. Life goes on. But it was not just those two things. Over the next few days, more terrible nonsense went down. I ended up in the hospital with a bizarre kidney infection. Olive lost her glasses (it’s super unusual for us to lose things) and spending $300 to replace them after just shelling out $175 for that goddamn parking mistake was a really unpalatable prospect.

Even more strange was the fact that I just felt angry. Unsettled. Tetchy and irritable and wholly unlike myself. One morning I was lying in bed looking out my window when I happened to glance down at the crystals, neatly lined up on my window sill.

All at once, everything clicked and I began to realise that all of these terrible events started to happen mere hours after buying those damn stones! I walked over to my window, picked them up and held them in my hand. I didn’t feel any evil energy emanating from them or anything, but it did get me thinking and I began texting people.

With a friend, the conversation went like this:

Me: I think those crystals I bought are cursed.
Friend: What? What crystals?
Me: I bought crystals. They’re just little ones, but still. Everything has been fucked ever since and I’m pretty sure that it’s because they’re cursed.
Friend: ….right.
Me: I know it sounds crazy but I really can’t figure out what else would be happening.
Friend: Is that…I mean, does that happen? Can crystals be cursed?
Me: What?! Are you serious? Of course, crystals can be cursed. Anything can be cursed!

(While I don’t enjoy being the weirdo friend, um, doesn’t everyone know that literally anything is subject to cursing at literally any time? Isn’t this common knowledge? Come on.)

So I texted my sisters instead:

Me: I think my crystals are cursed
Sisters: Which ones did you get?
Me: Rose quartz, Amethyst, and smoky quartz.
Sisters: OK, and why do you think they’re cursed?
Me: *listing all the nonsense*
Sisters: Yeah. They’re obviously cursed.
Me: RIGHT?!
Sisters: There’s literally no other explanation.

And guys, herein lies the main problem with becoming a person who buys crystals:

One day you’re a fairly normal, intelligent, university-educated woman with a few odd quirks like burning sage and divining the future. The next, you not only own three crystals but you also now believe that these three crystals are wholly responsible for a series of events ranging from expensive parking infractions to strange medical conditions.

It’s a slippery slope! And once you’re on it, you can’t get off.

So we had to cleanse the crystals. Obviously.

Hilly waited for a full moon and then while I was at the hospital getting an IV, she and Olive made a little bath out of water and Himalayan salt. They immersed the crystals and used their hands to cover the bowl – Hilary’s tattooed fingers resting calmly alongside Olive’s dimpled ones.

My sister and my daughter closed their eyes and wished positive things for me and then walked outside and set the bowl on my back porch to bathe in the light of the full moon.

I know that this is nonsense. Crystals don’t affect your life any more than Tarot predicts it. And yet…

And yet.

I woke up feeling calm. My anger had drained away with the night’s darkness and I felt content and happy, back to my normal self. My kidney condition cleared up. My friend told me he was coming home early, and we apologized. An incredible new career opportunity presented itself. Life was good again.

My crystals still sit on my windowsill  – though the smoky quartz stone has, strangely, gone missing. And when I think about the whole thing now it reminds me of one of my favourite quotes. One I have been considering getting tattooed on my body for over two years now.

You are your hell and your heaven too.
-Osho

Crystals, man. Be careful out there!