‘You have a smudge…right…there

My friend and I went over to her mom’s place this week to cleanse her apartment.

I don’t mean “clean,” I mean, help her give the old heave-ho to some evil spirits lurking in her bedroom.

Her mom is a soft-spoken, no-nonsense lady from a small town in Texas.  She has a well polished southern drawl, soulful eyes and carries herself with economy.  Not the type to flit around in batik muumuus that reek of patchouli oil.  The last person you’d think, to be haunted by some nasty-looking presences.

I’ll admit I was intrigued to help and a little scared.  Intrigued since I love all things spooky, and scared that a veil may have been ripped open to let in a world we either don’t want, or don’t truly believe exists.

It all started after one of her other daughters had died.  At first, she was just visited by family members who had passed.  She’d shoo them away if they were too persistent and annoying – much like you’d do to a pesky house fly.  Lately, a more ominous presence has been popping up at night.  An unfamiliar presence that is not a playful family member, but a large dark entity that fills the room.  She has always been sensitive to what’s behind the curtain, but the uneasiness these visits bring are new.

My friend may have a touch of psychic sensitivity too, but is uneasy wearing that mantle.  She had already gone over and smudged her mom’s apartment with sage, but these negative entities still appeared – most recently in broad daylight at 8 am in the morning.

“Well,” I thought, the veteran of many an exorcism movie, “it’s time to pull out the big guns.”

We went over Wednesday evening (after picking up pizza and grinders. I mean, we had some heavy spiritual lifting to do!).  On the way I had my friend stop at the local Catholic Church since I had the kooky idea to steal some holy water. The doors were locked – darn those Catholic sensibilities!

My friend had been brought up Southern Baptist  – a bond we share.  Therefore, we were a bit awkward regarding the practices of exorcising, which always seemed to be more of a Catholicky thing to do.

I did, however, bring her mom a rosary that had belonged to my late father-in-law.  My husband had  – unbeknownst to me – hung it over my side of the bed not long before he passed.  Can’t hurt?

We smudged the crap out of that apartment.  It was incongruous us waving our arms around the smoke, urging it into every knook and cranny.  Incongruous because her bedroom is a girly girl’s  room.  Chintz curtains, homemade quilts and a thimble collection on the wall.

Her mom was a bit worried some of the elderly neighbors who congregated outside her window to smoke some nights, might hear our chanting, see us waving our arms around the rooms like the temporary crazy coven we had become.  We closed the blinds and smudged every corner, every closet.  All the while, we talked rudely to these entities and did NOT use our indoor voices: “Leave this woman’s home.  You are not wanted here!”

We made her very hesitant mom join hands and recite a prayer.  We even threw in the Lord’s Prayer for good measure.  My friend’s mom as I said, is not prone to hysterics or flights of fancy.  She grew up in an orphanage, had picked cotton,  raised children on her own after marriages had crumbled like old brittle bones.  She had experienced more than her fair share of difficulties and risen above.

But even if her mom had not been so genuine and stoic,  so true to what she had been experiencing, what was the harm in lending her our support?  We all go through difficult manifestations in life.  It’s best not to go it alone.

Since the super smudging, I’ve joined my friend in keeping tabs on her mom. So far, all is clean and clear at her home.

‘Nary a shadow.