Embodiment

Magic, as I practice it, is not a matter of bowing, of pleading, of asking some higher power to intervene. It is not devotion. It is embodiment.

My magic is the ruthless art of becoming. I do not worship—I become. I do not petition—I integrate. Every element, every spirit, every daemon I call, is not for the sake of spectacle or belief, but for transformation.

To work with demons is not to beg their favor. It is to stare into the fractured mirror of my own psyche and recognize the monstrous within me. Each invocation reveals a hidden mask I already wear. Each shadow cast is my own. I summon monsters not to command them—but to confess: I am one.

When I call upon Jove, it is not to be ruled by Jupiter’s thunder but to draw his force into my spine, into my bearing. I do not pray to Jove. I walk as Jove. His grandeur, his largesse, his sovereign judgment—I forge these into my actions. I do not wait for divine permission. I act, and in acting, I transform.

Magic is not a means of bending the world while you stay the same. That is fantasy. Magic begins with the self—because it is the self that generates the real change. Before the world shifts, you must. Before the world kneels, you must rise.

I use magic not to escape reality, but to deepen it. I take archetypes, symbols, and spirits and wield them as blueprints for reconstruction. I do not serve them—I extract their essence and metabolize it into my choices. Into my work. Into how I speak, move, love, build, destroy.

Magic is a forge. Not a comfort.

It is the will made visible. It is the act of re-writing the story of your life—not by pen, but by blood, sweat, and repetition. There are no shortcuts. No saviors. No one is coming to save you.

The spirits will not live your life for you.

They will simply offer you a mirror—and a challenge.

Who are you willing to become?

Because that is the question at the root of every ritual.

And only action answers it.