The magic way to be partner in medium

The Lick of Acceptance: A Modern Fable of Ancient Rites

The magic way to be partner in medium

The Ritual of Acceptance

He was a man of modern means,

Who built his hopes on plastic screens.

He sought to be a partner, true,

With several cards, in colors new.

He tapped and swiped, with PayPal’s grace,

To find a love, to win a place.

But luck, that fickle, jaded force,

Declined his cards, a swift divorce.

The medium, a glowing screen,

Returned, “DECLINED,” with visage mean.

So from the glow of false belief,

He sought the old paths, wild with grief.

To Mr. Jinni, shadow-veiled,

Where logic faltered, faith prevailed.

The Jinni spoke, a dry-leaf sound,

“For partnership, you must be crowned.

Go now, and from a white gpa,

A single black hair pluck away.

Then catch a male ant, swift and dread,

And samach of ash bee, finely shed.

Mix these with care, a potent paste,

A ring of gold, for binding haste.”

He did these things, with trembling hand,

Assembling powers from the land.

Then made a party, loud and wild,

To please the Jinni, nature’s child.

And to this feast, a woman came,

“Coadaia” was her fiery name.

The whole ember, a frantic crowd,

Did dance and move, and shriek aloud.

While Coadaia, with a leap and call,

Made bodies twist, made shadows fall.

She danced and jumped, a frantic spark,

Until the man’s strength grew quite dark.

He spun and stumbled, fell to ground,

A puppet with his strings unbound.

Then from the chaos, limp and slack,

They brought a hen, its plumage black.

The male of hen, they held it fast,

And cut its tail — a deed that passed.

They brought it to the fallen man,

Who lay there pale, as pale as bran.

“Now lick,” they said, “this sacred part,

And let its essence bind your heart.

Lick, and the partnership is sealed,

Your worth by other means revealed.”

And so he did, with desperate tongue,

While wild the ember’s music rung.

He tasted feather, flesh, and bone,

To earn a place not his alone.

For love, when modern paths all fail,

May find its trail in blood and tale.

And he, with cards and PayPal spurned,

By ancient rites was finally turned.

A partner now, through bitter test,

With a black hair and a hen’s crest

Pressed to his lips, a strange brand,

To be accepted in the land.

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