Attracting Good Fortune with the Eternal Secret Talisman
Luck is an idea. It doesn’t exist until after it has happened. The word “luck” is used to retroactively explain why things happen, especially those that we don’t control or understand, and that gives us a little peace of mind. Your luck is what it is and can’t be helped, or so they say.
It only makes sense that we try to control these forces anyway. Human nature compels us to tame the uncontrollable. It seems impossible to the skeptic, but perhaps we can use luck, to some degree.
The Romans believed the goddess of luck, Fortuna (called Tyche by the Greeks) was tied to virtus, or virtue, and that virtuous people attracted good luck.
Good things don’t always happen to good people, true enough, but maybe good things have the potential to happen to those who want them. And what can make up the difference but luck?
Perhaps it’s not the luck we can control, but the events leading up to it: if we can climb the mountain, a bit of luck will push us to the summit.
Or you might catch a lucky break, that’d be dumb luck. If you don’t, tough luck.
Talismans have everything to do with luck. They attract good luck, ward off bad luck, whatever those mean to you in the moment you need it. A talisman can be anything: a printed word, a lucky charm, a stone, a sprig, a string.
The shape of the Eternal Secret Talisman brings to mind an omamori or an ofuda, Japanese silk or paper talismans that one can receive at Shinto shrines.
The inscription ἀεί on the Eternal Secret necklace brings the fast and wild gamble of luck to a halt. ἀεί is the ancient Greek word for forever, always, that which is eternal. Luck is fickle and fleeting, and you must make use of it while you can, but a strong talisman offers more than that. This one in particular is a reminder that you should trust your heart in that which is unchanging: love, unconditional kindness, and hope for humankind.
And for those who are not risk takers, there are plenty of ways to manifest your own luck. I wore the same hand lotion while studying for and taking history exams all through middle school because I was sure it made me score higher, like my own personal luck in a bottle—though maybe the scent helped me recall more of what I studied. That’s a bit of luck, a bit of personal responsibility, a bit of science.
Lately, I prefer a little lucky charm as a talisman, my own glowing source of motivation and hope; a reminder that my fortune depends on me, and perhaps a stroke of luck.