By Mischa Geracoulis
Hand of Fatima, blue eye amulet: just two of the many versions to protect against evil eye
January 2010—a new year and a new decade. Reason enough to give pause for reflection on the havoc-wreaking, life-altering events of these last ten years. For better or for worse, our world has changed; paradigms are shifting, breaking from normalcy (whatever that is), and springing forth anew. We're in a period of uncertainty. It's time to reconfigure, to leave the unproductive, unfulfilling ways behind, and set course with a higher purpose—Insha'Allah ("God willing") or in the Spanish version ojalá, fingers crossed (as in the Cross), Cross myself, and knock on wood (the symbolic wood of the Cross)!

So, what's with all the non-secular-sounding expletives, you may ask yourself? Does it ring of superstition or religion? Maybe. (Habit is a more likely explanation.) Perhaps it's a means of covering all bases, and incorporating the old ways with the new. Or maybe, just maybe, it's a way to participate in the unseen world. Invoking Insha'Allah, crossing fingers, and knocking on wood suggest respectful affirmation for the mystery of life. It says, "I'm open to Grace." Insha'Allah is a verbal nod to that infinite, universal power that's beyond human control.

Insha'Allah, et cetera might also be considered a protective measure. After all, there's the evil eye to consider. In my familiar lingo, the evil eye goes by several names. In Italian, it's mal occhio. In Greek, kako mati, in Arabic, ayin hara, and in Armenian, char atchk.

For anyone unfamiliar with the evil eye, it's a look or stare that's thought to be capable of delivering misfortune or harm. And it comes in several forms. The first is involuntary and envy-driven. Children and celebrities are believed to be particularly susceptible to this form, as they are frequently praised, revered, and thereby often envied. The second type is curse-like, having malicious intent. This is not to be confused with an actual spell, however. La fatura (Italian for "bewitchment" or "jinx") is left to the professionals, and is something altogether different. Lastly, is the angry glare. If ones gaze is set upon another in a state of anger or lust, this too can pass for the evil eye—albeit a lesser or downgraded one.

Allegedly, those with colored eyes (blue, green) are considered more dangerous, and more apt to cast the evil eye. In all likelihood, this allegation stems from the fact that brown is the dominant color of eyes of the peoples of the Mediterranean, Middle East, and North Africa, and northern invaders usually possessed light-colored eyes.

Given the random sources of an evil eye affliction, are we defenseless to its energies? Au contraire. We have our talismans. Mediterranean, Near and Middle Eastern lands offer an array of jewelry, keychains, pendants, and home décor sporting protection from the evil eye. Typically, cobalt blue glass with an eye painted or etched upon it is worked into a bracelet, pin-on pendant, ceramics, jesveh or briki (small boiling pots for coffee), beads, horseshoes, the Hand of Fatima, and the Hand of Miriam. This artistically crafted eye—not to be confused with the evil eye—represents the omnipresent, omniscient, omnipotent Eye of God.

Arabic and non-Arabic speakers alike are known to appeal to God's blessings by inserting masha'Allah ("God has willed it") into their speech. This is thought to ward off the evil eye. As does a certain hand gesture. Former headbangers may remember this one from the ‘80s, the same one inducted into the heavy metal world by Ronnie James Dio. The hand forms a closed fist, but extends the first and little fingers, as if to form "goat's horns." When necessary, this one can be discreetly performed with a slip of the hand behind the back.

The sign of goat's horns (also known as the Greek mythological "Pan's horns") is said to counter any ill effects of the evil eye. Among the men of Italy, this hand gesture is usually accompanied by another, baser, gesture: the crotch grab. To doubly render impotent the evil eye, the Italian male is likely to raise up the hand sign on the right while promptly grabbing his crotch with the left. This can happen so quickly that it often goes unnoticed by others. Apparently, there is an inherent threat to masculine fertility and virility, which may explain the continued popularity of the ancient horn amulet in Italy and other southern Mediterranean cultures. Usually made from gold or silver, this is typically worn on a chain around the neck of boys and men. Think Saturday Night Fever.

Other anti-evil eye procedures include spitting over the shoulder, anointing the front door of the home with holy oil in the sign of the Cross, sprinkling salt at the doorways and windows, burning sage, incense and frankincense.

Another association with the evil eye is with the Third Eye—that space located between the physical eyes above the brow, just about in the center of the forehead. It's the realm of higher consciousness. This spiritual eye has been likened to the Eye of God, as well as to the evil eye; meaning that we spiritual-beings-having-a-human-experience have the ability to transmit both positive and negative energy.

So, is the evil eye for real, or is it archaic superstition? Are these various invocations, signs, symbols, and amulets really necessary today, or are we just habitually carrying on religious and illogical ritualism? Perhaps the evil eye, et cetera are accepted ways of admitting human limitations. Perhaps by leaving space for the metaphysical realm, we're also making room for a higher power and divine intervention. In this era of strife and crises of every sort, I daresay we could do with some mystical benevolence.

This notion of the evil eye is as eternal as humankind itself. It's a way of making sense of what cannot be understood or explained. In reality, everything is energy and intention, and the evil eye has only as much power as we give it. For now (Eye of God keychain in hand), my intention is to experience, and to wish you, a happy, healthy, peaceful, prosperous new year, Insha'Allah.

Mischa Geracoulis is a writer in Los Angeles and Associate Editor of Levantine Review.