Black Witchcraft Is A Real Force

By James Donahue

A recent story in a Puerto Rico newspaper about a local judge and his court confrontation with a black witch reminded me of the time we met a powerful practitioner of voodoo magic in Savannah, Georgia.

The Puerto Rico witch was caught putting an unidentified substance on the chair, bench and microphone used by Superior Court Judge Juan T. Lizama before court was in session.

When questioned, she admitted pouring “medicine” on the judge’s seat so he would feel sorry for a client that was facing five traffic charges including drunk driving and reckless driving.

 Judge Lizama said he believed in black magic, but he told a local reporter he wasn’t bothered by the woman’s efforts to use her powers on him because “there is no higher being than God.”

He noted, however, that a maintenance worker became sick after cleaning the chair and publicly joking about it.

My wife and I came face to face with a powerful black witch when we attended a wedding in Savannah several years ago.

This woman, who sang a Christian hymn as part of the wedding ceremony, was a regular singer for a popular television evangelist at that time. She was gifted with a beautiful voice.

Typical of powerful gospel singers, this lady was a big and hefty. She looked at you with sharp, imposing eyes. We were privately told that she was a powerful practitioner of voodoo magic. Needless to say, that we did not see proof of her powers made us happy at the time.

We were told, however, that the Savannah witch had the power to make people sick and even kill them. Her potions were known to affect people in a variety of magical ways.

It struck me at the time, and I still believe this to be true, that voodoo magic seems to work best when the receiver knows he or she is a target, and also believes the magic works.

The Puerto Rico judge, for example, was confident that his “god” was stronger than the magic of the black witch in his court, and the potion had no effect on him. The court worker, however, apparently believed in the magic even though he or she joked publicly about the incident.

While living on the Navajo Reservation in Arizona a few years ago, my wife and I stayed for a while at the home of a woman who also was a practitioner of black magic. Before we left that home, she began using her craft on us and we found ourselves in a crash course in both spiritual resistance and retaliation.

 The first attacks came in the form of unexpected stomach disorders and heart palpitations that we quickly learned were coming from outside energies. When we mentally sent these energies back to their source, the woman found her “curses” coming back on her. I recall one night, after pushing a spiritual assault away and sending it back, hearing her moan and groan in her bedroom next to ours.

On another occasion, when I was about to make a weekly 60-mile-long drive from the house into the nearest town to pick up our mail, wash our clothes and buy some groceries, my suspicious wife searched and found a strange stone with a painted inscription on it under the front seat.

The stone was placed there even though all the doors of our car were locked.

The inscription was the sigel of a demon. We recognized it from research I had been doing concerning the spirits of the Goetia. We thought perhaps the object was an attempt to cause me to have a traffic accident. Strangely, within an hour or two after its discovery, the image on the stone faded and was seen no more.

We placed the stone in the center of the table we used for our meals so the woman would have no doubt that her “spell” was found out. When next we looked, the stone was removed. Not a word about the incident was spoken.

Even though we shared a friendly daily social intercourse with this woman and her husband, this silent warfare continued, each spell becoming more and more virulent, until eventually we decided it was in our own best interest to leave that home and the strange hospitality of that Navajo couple.

While we were easily able to resist the bombardment, we tired of the game.

In later years, we realized that our stay with this family was but a training camp for harsher things that were to be learned.