You know what? I’m genuinely baffled that the modern world still doesn’t breathe magic. Like, seriously. On one hand, we’ve got a swarm of New Agers—starting from Blavatsky, Crowley, and some random Moseses and Schmakovs—right up to today, where rooted traditions like my beloved Ifá or Chinese divination are still standing like ancient oak trees in a typhoon of influencer nonsense.
Not using magic today is basically a crime. Ever since Jung decided psychology didn’t need to be a cold hard labcoat discipline and gave it a warm blanket and some archetypes, we’ve basically had spellcraft wearing the cosplay of clinical terms. Trauma work? Shadow integration? Bro, that’s just banishing rituals with extra steps.
But here’s where the crime starts: With that good old “patchouli = money” logic. Like... really? If blind trials don’t work, we get the expected placebo-flavored zero. But take away the blindfold, stir in a little intention, and boom—magic happens.
Me? I’m a fully unhinged New Age potion of China, Africa, and Europe. I write calendars based on Ze Ri, hoard hoodoo oils like they’re rare Pokémon cards, and have full-on Ifá initiations, with my daily rituals involving Ebo, Ibori, and more liturgical drama than your local cathedral on Easter. And yet... I stay Thelemic-level skeptical. I know this might all just be a delusion wrapped in symbolic system updates from my overclocked psyche. Maybe the Orisha are nothing but highly aesthetic user interfaces to the universal API. And that’s not even the weird part.
Still, if something calls you in this world? You answer. You challenge the unknown. You dive in and pry your own pearl out of the void. Otherwise, you’ll be grinding your teeth to the soundtrack of your own confusion, endlessly doubting what the hell your life even is.
Psychology, pharmacy, any branch of science you can wrap your anxious little fingers around—go for it. The ancient magi knew their anatomy and herbs and dreams too. Just under different labels. So why the hell should we be worse?
