“She began to walk forward, crunch-crunch
over the snow and through the wood towards the other light. In about ten
minutes she reached it and found it was a lamppost. As she stood looking at it,
wondering why there was a lamppost in the middle of a wood and wondering what
to do next, she heard a pitter patter of feet coming towards her. And soon
after that a very strange person stepped out from among the trees into the
light of the lamppost.”
-
C.
S. Lewis, The Lion The Witch and the Wardrobe
The lamp post in
the woods is a clear image representing Narnia in the minds of Anglophone
readers. It seems like a small detail, but it's important enough that it is one
of the two clear symbols or events linking the first book, The Lion the Witch
and the Wardrobe, with the penultimate book, The Magician's Nephew. In the
latter, we see the creation of Narnia. On Earth, the events surrounding
Narnia's birth are carried forward by planting seeds from a Narnian tree, producing
a magical fruit tree that eventually becomes the fated wardrobe. While in
Narnia, its state as a newly created world allows a bit of metal ripped from a
lamppost on Earth by a giantess to implant in the freshly formed soil and grow
into a lamppost. This lamppost, a piece of Earth, is the first Narnian thing
seen by Lucy as she enters Narnia. Lucy is the first human in Narnia since the
events of its creation. Her return sets in motion the beginning of the
restoration of Narnia from the damage and corruption caused by the White Queen,
herself the giantess who entered Narnia at its creation and who planted the
metal which became the lamppost.
The
gateway through which Lucy and her siblings enter Narnia is part earthly and
part Narnian. The seed of the tree that became the wardrobe came from Narnia,
but it grew on Earth. The lamppost, which becomes the guide marker in and out
of Narnia, is likewise part earthly and Narnian. The seed of the lamppost came
from Earth, but it grew in Narnia. There is a parallelism here based in their
liminality.
But
why even include the lamppost? A lamppost does not seem magical or fantastical.
It is quotidian in the extreme. An aesthetic is hinted at with the idea that a
lamppost is out of place in a forest. Initially, we don't know anything about
the forest. We might presume it's magical since it's found in a wardrobe, but
nothing indicates that a lamppost is wildly out of place. The events which
follow, and what is first seen in the light of the lamppost, begin the unfoldment
towards the wondrous as we discover a magical creature revealed in its light.
The text does not even indicate that the forest is dark, but the light of the
lamppost is where Lucy first clearly sees the faun, Mr. Tumnus.
Similarly,
flickering streetlamps, insects massing under streetlamps, or streetlamps
buzzing and flicking on or off are common elements of our visual language that
indicate the presence of the supernatural in films and television.
I
got to thinking about the magical liminality of the streetlamp last night while
looking at one through my window. It's a streetlamp that I see routinely. This
one is immediately visible from most windows on the western side of my house.
As I watched the lamp, it had a strikingly magical ambiance. The magical
quality of the streetlamp was often evident. Many streetlamps convey that sense
that a magical space resides underneath them, and some are even ingrained in my
mind as such spaces.
Looking
at the lamp, I wondered if other people had thought about or noticed this when
considering the nature of street lamps. Do other people view them as liminal
spaces or spaces for magic to occur? What symbolism or properties do people
accord to them? As these questions passed through my mind, I wondered if I
could explain how or why they were magical. I wondered if people had encounters
or experiences in the small round spotlight spaces beneath them. I pondered
about ways to engage them and if anyone had methods for doing so. I have only
really considered them in conjunction with crossroads. There are two crossroads
that feel particularly magic that are routine parts of my life, and in both
cases, their streetlamp contributes dramatically to the presence of the space.
My
reflection didn't settle the answers. It asked questions and considered
possibilities. I would love to see people discuss some of these ideas and their
experiences. In that spirit, I'll share some of my own thinking.
We
don't think of lamps in houses as something liminal and rarely as something
magical. In particular spaces, when they cast light in specific ways, something
might seem otherworldly about a lamplit area. It isn't the norm, though.
Streetlamps
present this quality more consistently. In a house, we're dealing with a
limited space. That space might, at the outset, be darker than the space
outside. The stars and the moon provide some illumination outdoors. In addition
to streetlamps, we have people's porch lights, and the light spill from their
windows. Inside a house with no lights on or with the power off, particularly
if the windows are drawn, there is much less small ambient light. The darkness
may be more palpable than outside, and you have a sense of an enclosed space
filled with things throughout that darkness.
Considering
the darkness of inside spaces, they should be primed to feel like magical or
wild spaces when hidden in total darkness. They don't. They might feel scary or
creepy, but a lived-in space does not create the same sense as a wild space
just because it's dark. If anything, you feel frustration over the possibility
of bumping into things or the urge to find a light. When you're outside, even
if there is some visibility, the darkness feels more extensive. You're in an open
space. You can't illuminate throughout the full confines of the space because
there are no confines. You're probably less familiar with the space. A broader
range of things and people could be lurking in the darkness than there would be
in your unlit home. The sense of the unknown and the dangers of a wild space
become a more imminent part of your awareness, even if you're not in a place
that would be a wild space during the day. Wild spaces aren't necessarily
liminal, but they are magical. There is room for the unknown and unexpected,
and so there are possibilities for things to come into being out from the
darkness without hindrance or expectation. Wild spaces also frequently have
more otherworldly life than human spaces, as it is often more comfortable for
such beings to be more active away from the hustle and bustle of human
influence. The cover of darkness spreads that potential into otherwise tamed
human spaces.
This
might seem like a reflection or meditation on the darkness of night, unattached
from anything more tangible than a mental exercise. Still, there are reasons to
consider the power of darkness to shape the tame into the wild. Each of us has
likely had times when we encounter an outside space that seems unusually dark.
We have experienced spaces that seem somehow different from the rest of what
we're experiencing as we walk around at night. These spaces are often at some
area that is an entry or exit to some slightly separate location, or near a
crossroads, or a tree line. Sometimes they're near a structure that isn't in
use or is less regularly in use, or they may be near water. They're spaces that
have their own sense of liminality or the unknown. Outside of those spaces
which seem specially othered, we have all also likely had moments in the night
where being outside, even for something brief or routine, has left us
inexplicably feeling like something could be there lurking. It might be in a
place where we are entirely comfortable in the day and where we might have
caution but not typically concern in the night, but without cause in a given
moment, it suddenly feels like there could be something hidden or simply that
we shouldn't be there. This is a relatively typical human experience. It
indicates but doesn't necessarily prove what I'm saying about the darkness
falling and creating wild spaces.
History
and folklore add to this idea. Twilight times, the liminal temporal spaces
between day and night, are often associated with the fair folk and the
perception of spirits. The winter months, where darkness is more prevalent, are
associated with increased spirit activity. The Deipnon, when the moon is gone,
and the sky is a deeper dark, is when the restless dead are believed to roam.
Night herself was one of the first beings from which other Titanic powers
stirred and took form. Night holds within itself the potential for things to be
emergent from her darkness. The darkness of night is associated with bringing
the supernatural closer to human awareness.
As
we have explored, the darkness in a house and the darkness in the world outside
of one's house are different in quality. The relationship of lamps with that
darkness also differs. In a home, individual rooms form small areas with clear
boundaries. There are walls to reflect light and contain the dispersion of that
light. A lamp or an overhead light may dispel the darkness in a space entirely.
We can turn night into day easily in our homes with the flick of a switch. We
can't do this outside. Outside, we can only carve away at the darkness with small
pieces of light. That light highlights the darkness around it, as the darkness
defines the light. There is a liminal quality to the space defined by the
light. It is an exterior space, but it is defined away from the collective
space around it by the concentration of light. It is created by light but is
noticeable because of darkness. It is a space with a boundary, but it is
permeable, and the light that creates it glows diffusely beyond that boundary. By
its nature, it is a depiction of the quality of liminality.
The
magical quality inherent in this visual of light scratching against an
immersive and broad darkness is one most humans recognize. We have had forms of
outdoor lighting to deal with the dangers of walking around in the dark since
at least the first millennium BCE in various places. Still, modern people think
of the era where it became exceedingly prominent, the "Gaslight Era"
or "Gaslamp Era," when we think of the romanticized image of lights
illuminating historical cities. The idea that lighting developed with the glow
of gaslight is so pervasive that people once circulated memes saying that the
Catholic Church forbade gaslight in Vatican City because setting up lights to
illuminate the darkness flew in the face of God. In actuality, some European
cities had laws requiring outdoor lights at roads and intersections as far back
as the 15th century, so setting up lights to illuminate the darkness
wasn't new. Romans even had a word to describe slaves whose job was lighting
outdoor oil lamps. The Vatican government temporarily forbade the lights over
environmental and possibly political concerns related to using a foreign gas
provider.
Outdoor
lighting was common before the gaslight era, but this is the era of the past in
which pre-electric lighting is more familiar to us. As a result, whereas
steampunk fiction focuses on alternative histories and developments surrounding
the dawn of industrialization and modern technology, another genre focuses on
more magical fiction set in that same era. Magical and supernatural fiction set
in the backdrop of a fictionalized 19th century is called “Gaslamp”
or “Gaslight” Fantasy. The glow of gaslight against the semi-mysterious but
not-too-distant past creates an evocative setting for a magical space that seems
adjacent to what is real for us but distant enough to seem unbelievable. There
is, again, a kind of liminality to that.
The
liminal nature of a fictional context does not make streetlamps liminal spaces.
It reflects how the crossover in boundaries between a lit space and a dark
space, a wild space and a space impacted by human technology, evokes a sense of
magic and the other. The evocation of such a sense also does not prove an
actual magical reality to the lamplit regions of the night. Still, it indicates
something that inspires us to perceive them as magic. That inspiration could
come from an authentic magical nature inherent in, or at least often present
in, these spaces.
Streetlamps
being a marker or a maker of a magical space is an interesting thing to
consider regarding how and why they are magical. We can explore how that power
reflects back into the world through human imagination. To find a useful
meaning, we must consider how and why we would engage these spaces. To me, the
first thought that arises is the similarity to the experience of noticing the
movement of other beings just in the edges of our sight. Shadows of something
other slipping into visual awareness at the edges of our attention are one of
the modes through which otherworlds express themselves, sometimes in the light
but often in the darkness. The feeling of the streetlight space reminds me of
the feeling of observing these sorts of spirit movements. They seem like the
sort of places that could be prime for that type of observation or for
interacting with things that are on the edge of perceptibility already.
I
have frequently written about using lamp invocations to connect with
intermediaries and the illumination they can provide in viewing and
communicating with the spirit world. Typically, I address this as invoking the
spirit through the light of an oil lamp or a candle. The way in which a
streetlamp provides illumination and the ability for someone to immerse
themselves in that illumination makes them feel like an option for applying
that kind of work. The magician could stand bathed in the streetlamp's light
and invoke the god of light. Through that conjuration, the magician would aim
to stand within the illumination of their intermediary ally. This could be used
to see those spirits mentioned above at the periphery of our awareness or to
connect specifically with that intermediary. It could also be a precursor to
conjuring another specific spirit.
Regarding
conjuring a spirit and immersing ourselves in the power to perceive the spirit
world, the streetlight space could be viewed as a physical expression of the
nexus point in which spirit communication occurs. Some forms of consecrating
space to create the appropriate conditions for interacting with a spirit
address the idea of mimicking a liminal space like a crossroads or drawing on
the power of a token taken from such a space. Using the streetlight as the
physical space of the conjuration would obviate the need for a token because
you would be working directly within that liminality. Streetlights can often be
found at intersections. A tucked-away intersection would allow you to leverage
both the streetlamp and the crossroads, possibly also combining in the lamp
invocation.
These
are not statements that are intended to convey methods you should be using or
methods I have used. These are ideas I've been kicking around for the last day
or two. These possibilities of using this space are examples of spit-balling
magical options that seem reasonable and exciting. I would love to see people
discuss or try them and post about them, and I'm excited to try some of them
myself. I have worked at a crossroads with a streetlight but did not use the
light. I have considered using a streetlight as a place to leave offerings
adjacent to a crossroads several times. However, I have generally used other
crossroads instead and have yet to actively utilize the light as a part of the
ritual.
I
think an essential thing to remember when considering something like this is
the real and present nature of magic. Magic doesn't stop. Magic isn't something
that only developed in the past, so it isn't something that only utilizes old
elements. We don't need to change and reinvent magic constantly. We don't need
to deconstruct magic and strip away its parts. We don't need to make space for
our every impulse, comfort, or convenience and say magic fits itself to
whatever we want it to be. We do, in fact, need to be adaptable and engage and
explore the world around us. Living magical traditions have frequently had to
adjust and find uses for new things they encounter. Sometimes they have to let
go of old materials and tools as they become unobtainable and new options which
do similar things make their way into the material lexicon of magic. Similarly,
as new types of spaces, new types of experiences, and sometimes even new types
of technology occur, we can ask ourselves how they fit into the animistic
structure of our engagement with the world. This is part of keeping magic real
and present such that it is grounded in the reality of our experience instead
of the fetishized fantasies of a lost world we might imagine we'd like to live
in.
Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this please like, follow, and share on your favorite social media!. You can also visit our Support page for ideas if you want to help out with keeping our various projects going. Or follow any of the links below.
We can be followed for updates on Facebook.
Check out my newest book, Familiar Unto Me: Witches Sorcerers and Their Spirit Companions
If you’re curious about starting conjuration pick up my book – Luminarium: A Grimoire of Cunning Conjuration
If you want some help exploring the vast world of spirits check out my first book – Living Spirits: A Guide to Magic in a World of Spirits
NEW CLASS AVAILABLE: The Why and What of Abramelin
Class Available: An Audio Class and collection of texts on the Paracelsian Elementals
More Opportunities for Support and Classes will show up at Ko-Fi
