Raising Children
in a Magical Home
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
Kahlil Gibran43
Children—all children—are magical beings. When a child is present, you are in the presence of a god. That little kid is the most powerful, awesome, and terrible magician in the room, and you will surely suffer if you don’t pay close attention. The child will soon enough grow into a floundering grownup like yourself, but for a few golden years you have the opportunity to learn from a master.
This doesn’t mean that you must put your magick on hold in order to raise a child. On the contrary, the moment the baby is born, your life gets really magical. But as a parent/magician, you must be perpetually mindful of the fact that the child is an ever-present and integral factor in the equation of your magical life. Try as you might, you cannot avoid the implications of this immutable fact of life.
In the spring of 1971, Constance and I had been married for nearly four years. One afternoon we both were struck with the same irrational conviction that it was time for us to have a baby. We did some quick calculating in our heads and determined that if conception happened immediately, the baby would be born on Constance’s birthday, February 27. Eschewing our usual contraceptive precautions (and ignoring the afternoon sun), we joyously (and with full intent) proceeded to conceive a child. It was no trouble at all.
About a month later, while attending church services at the Self-Realization Fellowship temple in Fullerton, Constance fainted (it was more like an ecstatic swoon) and I had to help her outside to the temple gardens. There, sitting on a marble bench in the cool, shaded garden, she blissfully announced that she was now sure she was pregnant. She was right, and on February 27, 1972, we woke up and said, “Today’s the day we’re having the baby!”
We took a long walk to El Matador (our favorite Mexican restaurant) and gorged on guacamole, chips, and cheese. Then, as if we were not stuffed enough, we walked even farther away from home to Thrifty Drug Store for a double-scoop ice cream cone.
We waddled home from our gluttonous adventure in the late afternoon and amused ourselves by playing penny ante poker, and mused over the fact that we still hadn’t chosen a name for the baby. Early in the evening, Constance’s water broke and we were off to the hospital in my light-green 1950 Chrysler Windsor (which we named Martha).
Constance brought along a framed picture of our favorite guru at the time, Paramahansa Yogananda, which she set up at her bedside in the labor room. His serene image comforted us both immensely during that long night. Our beautiful baby boy was born a little over six hours later than we had calculated nine months earlier, and our lives instantly became even more profoundly magical.
Several days later, we settled on the name, Jean-Paul. On our first date back in high school, Constance had told me she wanted six children. She had names for all of them. The first was to be named “Jean-Paul.” I was really hoping she would forget the other five children idea.
Even though for the next twenty years we would be operating a very active magical lodge out of our house, we tried to raise our son in the most “normal” environment possible. It was as if the three of us were growing up together. We never excluded him from lodge activities (with the exception of the super-secret O.T.O. initiation ceremonies), and we took him with us everywhere. Lodge and class members became our extended family and provided him with a collection of colorful aunts and uncles whose love continues to bless our lives.
For his part, Jean-Paul was always a very good sport, sharing his home and his parents with countless out-of-town guests, taking part in rites and plays (for years he read the parts of all the fairies in our backyard performances of A Midsummer Night’s Dream), and helping move furniture to prepare for masses and initiations. The three of us were a team. We amused ourselves, and we amused each other. We were and still are our own best audience and best friends. We opened our home to Jean-Paul’s school friends, who also enjoyed the colorful craziness of the eccentric DuQuette household. We remain friends with all of them.
Jupiter, c. 1982. Our son grew up amid a heavy schedule of magical events, public and private. Several of the seven planetary Rites of Eleusis afford rich opportunities for children to dress up and be part of the fun.
This photo is from the Rite of Jupiter. In mythology, Jupiter (or Zeus) is the jovial and beneficent father god. He is also the father of Dionysus, god of wine and ecstasy, and so the Rite of Jupiter is intended to be lots of fun for all involved. The costuming and decorations follow a strict color scheme dictated by the particular planetary sphere on the qabalistic Tree of Life each rite concerns itself with. The sphere of Jupiter (Chesed), being number four on the Tree of Life, is dominated by blues and purples. The costumes include accessories sacred to Zeus (such as eagles and thunderbolts) and Dionysus (such as snakes, leopard skins, and grapes). Here we see the boys wearing ivy wreaths, leopard skin (faux), grapes, and rubber snakes.
_____
Magick is not a “belief system” as the term is commonly understood, so there was really not much doctrine with which we could indoctrinate Jean-Paul. Therefore, there was little for him to rebel against. Besides instructing him to always use common sense and logic when evaluating spiritual or philosophical ideas, we encouraged him to develop his own spiritual worldview. We exposed him to a broad spectrum of religious ideas and never pressured him to believe anything. As far as I can determine, our lifestyle provided a safe, nurturing, stimulating, and (for as wild and crazy as things were) wholesome environment for a child to grow up in. We couldn’t be prouder of the man he has become.
Constance and I are both of the opinion (although there is no way to prove this) that the child chooses the parents, and does so for reasons that none of us can or ever will completely understand with our meat brains. We may have our personal opinions and theories of child rearing, but neither of us would ever dream of telling another parent how to raise their child. That being said, I have a few suggestions that might be helpful for magicians with children.
• Don’t make a big, spooky, dramatic deal about your magical studies and practices. Your involvement in magick might be dark, spooky, and mysterious to your parents and grandparents, but it shouldn’t be a dark or spooky thing for your children. It should be intelligent, fun, logical, beautiful, and, above all, normal. To that end …
• Don’t behave as if the rest of the world is persecuting you for your magical beliefs or lifestyle.
• Don’t suggest that your involvement in magick is in any way dangerous, sinful, or illegal.
• Don’t expect children to understand the metaphoric “reality” of angels, demons, and gods.
• Set a positive example. If the practice of magick makes you happy, let your children see and share in your happiness. If the practice of magick does not make you happy … get into something else!
Parenting is, always has been, and always shall be a challenging and sometimes frustrating endeavor. Your parents weren’t perfect, and you won’t be perfect either. Be prepared to forgive your parents for their imperfections, and if you’re lucky, your own children will someday forgive you for yours. Your magick will not help you if you cannot free yourself of both the past and the future.
43. Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1923), p. 17.