I happened upon the aisle of magical elixirs at the grocery store. I’m fairly certain I’ve walked past them before, seen the neon colors from the corner of my eye, but I’m usually a woman on a mission at the grocery store and my mission usually does not include the discreet acquisition of magical elixirs.
This time, however, I stood in front of the bottles of liquid – pepto bismol pink, slime green, blue curacao – trying to decipher their different powers. The vials promised a better love life, more energy, health, luck, money. Immediately to the left of the potions were stacks of soap, adorned with similar promises. The soap snuggled up against candles in tall glass cylinders where light would shine through pictures of Jesus, of saints, of poems and prayers. In Panama they apparently devote as much retail space to magical potions as we do to flavors of cereal.
Surely no one buys this stuff, I thought to myself, alone in the magical elixir aisle.
I leaned in close to better read the labels, but quickly recoiled when another woman entered the aisle. Self-consciousness flooded over me and my harried response would make you think I’d just been caught thumbing dirty magazines. I busied myself by organizing the shopping bags in my cart, peering down at my shopping list, making it appear like I was just passing through on the way to the dental hygiene aisle. Magical elixirs? What magical elixirs? The woman had barely registered my presence. She also seemed a woman on a mission.
As I casually exited the aisle, so as not to draw attention to myself, I glanced over my shoulder. The woman was lifting bottles from the shelf, examining each one closely, like a pharmacist trying to find just the right ointment for a particular ailment.
For the next half hour I couldn’t peel my mind from the contents of those containers. While depositing canned beans into my cart I decided to do a slow motion drive by. This time there was a young couple, a woman with her child and an elderly man, all selecting potions with the same concentration I use to select wine or olive oil. Without the strength of conviction to enter the aisle, I rolled right on by.
Everything on my shopping list was now in my cart and I was en route to the check out stand. An internal monologue on the merits of these magical implements, the cultural differences they revealed and how my apparent close-mindedness might be denying me access to the powers that lie therein, had been playing non-stop in my head.
Just as I reached the check-out line, I pulled a hard left and marched back to the magic aisle. A petite woman with small, soft features and wavy black hair stood on her tippy toes in her shiny grey pumps, attempting to reach a bottle that lay just beyond her grasp.
“Do you need a hand?” I asked, towering over her.
“Yes.” She replied quietly. “The yellow bottle, please.” It was as bright as the sun depicted in children’s books. A bottle full of promise. In the hand-off I could only discern the words “Restore Health” on the label. She smiled and stashed the bottle away in her basket. “Thank you.” It was like peering into her medicine cabinet or diary, but only for a moment. Several different narratives played in my head as she walked away. A daunting prognosis, a sick child, fear of aging, an ailing parent, or maybe she just finds the yellow liquid beautiful to look at.
Sometimes when you expend a significant amount of energy hoping, you fear you may someday exhaust the supply. As much as we like to think of hope as an infinite resource sometimes it feels like we’re getting dangerously close to scraping bottom. And then what? Then we can take comfort knowing that there are bottles of hope for sale at the corner store. A few drops may be just enough to sustain us until we can locate another internal well or replenish the existing source. Sometimes that’s all the magic we need, just a little something or someone outside of ourselves to assure us that even if we’re running low, there is more hope to be found.
“I got you a present.” I exclaimed when I was nestled back on the boat, unpacking the backpack.
“What is it?” Jeff responded eagerly.
“Magic soap. I got one for me and one for you.” I pulled them from my bag.
“Soap, huh?” I think he was hoping for a more edible present.
“Yeah, I figured they might help us get rid of the bad juju. Turn our luck around. Do you want Suerte Maxima? Or Saca Lo Malo?”
“Ooooh. Tough choice. Give me Saca Lo Malo.” Loosely translated Saca Lo Malo means get rid of the bad stuff, leaving me with Suerte Maxima or maximum luck.
Each bar of soap is brightly colored with a fruity scent. Jeff likened it to washing his body with a giant Now and Later. Each bar also contains an incantation to speak out loud to the universe before scrubbing down:
Oración
Conjuro este jabón bajo el amparo y ayuda que me dan todos mis guías y maestros espirituales que conmigo van, para que la buena suerte rápida acuda en mi favor ahora que la necesito y la solicito con amor. Pongo todas mis energías y mi fe con sinceridad a la realización de mis sueños en este plano terrenal, mi ser esta comprometido de mente y corazón con lo que quiero lograr en esta ocasión y gracias le doy a la Luz que en mi ayuda viene ya.
I enchant this soap under the protection and help of my spiritual guides and teachers who are with me. Good luck please be in my favor now that I need it and ask for it with love. I give all of my energy and my faith with sincerity to the realization of my dreams on this earthly plane, I have committed my mind and heart to that which I want to achieve in this occasion and thanks I give to the Light that will come to my aid.
My terrestrial and my astral self now feel clean and I trust that the run of bad luck is quickly coming to a close…