Category: Uncategorized

The Law of Rhythm

The ocean does not apologize for leaving the shore.

It comes in.

It goes out.

It comes in again.

The moon does not call this failure.

The tree does not panic when winter arrives.

The body does not breathe by inhaling forever.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

This is the tenth spell:

Life moves in rhythms.

And yet human beings are remarkably good at fighting them.

We think we should always be improving.

Always producing.

Always healing.

Always becoming.

Always moving forward.

We turn life into a staircase.

But sometimes life is a tide.

Sometimes you move toward the world.

Sometimes you move away from it.

Sometimes you are full of ideas.

Sometimes your mind is quiet.

Sometimes you want company.

Sometimes you want the door closed.

Sometimes you are strong enough to carry something.

Sometimes you need to put it down.

None of these states are necessarily a problem.

They may simply be part of the rhythm.

The mistake is believing that one half of the cycle is the real you and the other half is something that needs to be eliminated.

You are not failing because you need rest.

You are not losing yourself because you became quiet.

You are not moving backward because today you don’t have yesterday’s energy.

A bow cannot remain drawn forever.

Eventually it must relax.

That relaxation is not the opposite of the work.

It is part of the work.

This matters especially when you are building something.

A life.

A relationship.

A business.

A body.

A practice.

A philosophy.

Anything worth building has seasons.

There will be days when everything clicks.

There will be days when you stare at the thing you’ve been making and wonder what on earth you were thinking.

There will be days when you are hungry for the next step.

There will be days when the next step is sleep.

Listen.

The tide knows.

The tide does not need a motivational speech to come back.

It simply moves according to its nature.

You can learn something from that.

Not every low point needs to be defeated.

Some of them need to be inhabited long enough to pass through.

There is an important distinction here.

Rhythm is not resignation.

If you are sinking, you swim.

If something is broken, you repair it.

If someone is hurting, you help.

The spell isn’t:

Everything happens naturally, so do nothing.

It is:

Learn which movement belongs to the moment.

Sometimes the right action is effort.

Sometimes the right action is recovery.

Sometimes you need to push.

Sometimes you need to yield.

Sometimes you need to speak.

Sometimes you need to listen.

The skill is knowing which is which.

And you get better at it by paying attention.

Notice your cycles.

When do you think clearly?

When do you become restless?

When do you become social?

When do you need solitude?

When do you create?

When do you need to wander?

When do you need to stop?

Your patterns are not necessarily flaws to be conquered.

They may be instructions.

The body has been keeping rhythm longer than the mind has been keeping score.

So the next time you find yourself in a quiet season, resist the urge to immediately call it a problem.

Sit with it.

Breathe.

Let the tide go out.

It is not taking the ocean with it.

And when the tide returns, you won’t have to chase it.

It will arrive.

As it always does.

Cast the spell.

Do not fight the tide. Learn its rhythm.

The Law of Polarity

Hold your hand near a fire.

Move it closer.

Warmer.

Closer.

Hotter.

Too close.

Pain.

Where did warmth end and pain begin?

There wasn’t a line painted on the air.

There was only a change of degree.

This is the ninth spell:

Sometimes opposites are not enemies. They are distances apart.

Hot and cold.

Light and dark.

Loud and quiet.

Fear and courage.

Love and anger.

Confidence and doubt.

We like to put things into boxes.

Good.

Bad.

This.

That.

Me.

Not me.

But the world is often less interested in our boxes than we are.

Take courage.

We like to imagine courage as the opposite of fear.

But courage without fear isn’t really courage.

It is simply movement without resistance.

Fear is often part of the material courage is made from.

The same thing happens with anger.

Anger can be destructive.

It can also be information.

It can tell you that something matters.

It can become violence.

Or a boundary.

Or a conversation.

The fire is the same.

What matters is what you do with it.

This is why polarity is useful.

Instead of asking:

Which side am I on?

Sometimes ask:

Where am I on the spectrum?

You don’t have to become fearless.

Move one degree toward courage.

You don’t have to become perfectly calm.

Move one degree toward steadiness.

You don’t have to transform hatred into love overnight.

Move one degree toward understanding.

One degree counts.

A great deal of suffering comes from believing we must leap from one pole to the other.

I am anxious, therefore I need to become confident.

I am angry, therefore I need to become peaceful.

I am lost, therefore I need to know exactly where I’m going.

No.

Perhaps you only need to move.

One degree.

Then another.

This is how the mage works with fire.

Not by pretending it isn’t hot.

By learning how close to stand.

There is another trick hidden in this spell.

When you encounter something you hate, ask what quality exists at the other end.

Hatred may contain the memory of love.

Despair may contain the knowledge that something mattered.

Fear may contain the recognition that something is precious.

Loneliness may contain the desire for connection.

The opposite is sometimes hidden inside the thing itself.

That does not make every painful emotion secretly good.

It means emotions have structure.

They point somewhere.

And if you can understand the structure, you gain options.

The person who understands fire does not need to fear every flame.

They also don’t need to worship it.

They learn to use it.

So when you find yourself at one end of something, don’t immediately demand that you become its opposite.

Ask a smaller question.

What would one degree toward the other end look like?

If you are furious, perhaps it is not forgiveness.

Perhaps it is simply waiting ten minutes before speaking.

If you are terrified, perhaps it is not bravery.

Perhaps it is taking one step while still afraid.

If you are exhausted, perhaps it is not becoming energetic.

Perhaps it is drinking some water and sitting down.

One degree.

That’s enough.

The world does not require you to teleport from darkness into sunlight.

Your eyes can adjust.

Your feet can move.

You can approach the fire slowly.

And eventually you may discover something strange:

You were never fighting two separate worlds.

You were learning to move along one.

Cast the spell.

Find the degree between the opposites.

The Law of Relativity

A mountain is tall.

Until you stand beside another mountain.

A winter is cold.

Until you remember the summer.

A difficult day is unbearable.

Until you discover what you were capable of surviving.

We spend much of our lives measuring things.

Tall.

Short.

Fast.

Slow.

Rich.

Poor.

Early.

Late.

Better.

Worse.

But a measurement is never just a measurement.

It requires a reference point.

This is the eighth spell:

The thing you are measuring is not the whole story.

Imagine two travelers climbing the same mountain.

One has climbed mountains before.

The other has never left the valley.

At the same altitude, their experiences may be completely different.

The mountain did not change.

The reference point did.

This is why comparison can be such a strange magic.

Sometimes comparison teaches you.

Sometimes it tortures you.

You look at someone else’s life and think:

I’m behind.

Behind what?

Whose clock?

Which mountain?

According to what map?

You can become miserable by comparing your beginning to someone else’s middle.

Or your private life to someone else’s public performance.

Or your ordinary Tuesday to someone’s greatest achievement.

The measuring stick can become a weapon.

So put it down sometimes.

But relativity has another use.

It can help you recognize change that is otherwise invisible.

Think back.

Not to where you think you should be.

To where you actually were.

What could you not do then that you can do now?

What once overwhelmed you that you now handle?

What used to seem impossible that has become ordinary?

Growth is often difficult to see while you’re standing inside it.

The tree does not wake up every morning thinking:

Excellent. I have grown three millimeters.

It simply keeps growing.

You may be doing the same.

There is also wisdom in remembering that every perspective is incomplete.

When you are furious, the world looks different.

When you are frightened, the world looks different.

When you are in love, the world looks different.

None of those perspectives necessarily contain the entire truth.

They contain the world from here.

That little phrase is useful.

From here.

From this body.

From this history.

From this morning.

From this particular set of experiences.

From this particular distance.

Another person is standing somewhere else.

They can see something you cannot.

You can see something they cannot.

This doesn’t mean everyone is equally correct.

It means perspective is part of perception.

So when something feels absolute, try adding three words:

From where I stand.

It is impossible.

From where I stand.

They don’t care.

From where I stand.

I’m terrible at this.

From where I stand.

This is the worst day of my life.

From where I stand.

The sentence becomes softer without becoming false.

And sometimes softness is enough room for new information to enter.

The spell is not telling you to minimize your pain.

Pain matters.

Difficulty matters.

Loss matters.

It is simply reminding you that the view from one hill is not the entire landscape.

Move a little.

Look again.

Sometimes the mountain changes.

Sometimes you do.

Sometimes you discover there was another road the whole time.

So measure yourself if you must.

Just choose a useful measuring stick.

Yesterday’s you is usually more interesting than somebody else’s highlight reel.

Cast the spell.

Change the distance. Then look again.

The Law of Perpetual Transmutation of Energy

Nothing stays where you put it.

You can hold a breath.

For a little while.

Eventually, you have to let it go.

You can hold a thought.

For a little while.

Eventually, another thought arrives.

You can hold a feeling.

For a little while.

Then it changes.

Or you change.

Or the world changes around it.

Everything is being transformed.

All the time.

This is the seventh spell:

Nothing is wasted. Everything becomes something else.

A fallen leaf becomes soil.

Wood becomes ash.

Water becomes cloud.

Cloud becomes rain.

Food becomes muscle.

A word becomes a memory.

A memory becomes a story.

A story becomes something someone else carries.

Even the things we wish would simply disappear rarely disappear.

They change form.

This is the alchemist’s secret.

The alchemist does not ask:

How do I destroy this?

The better question is:

What can this become?

Anger can become a boundary.

Fear can become attention.

Grief can become tenderness.

Embarrassment can become humility.

Curiosity can become knowledge.

Pain can become compassion.

A mistake can become instruction.

This does not mean every painful thing was secretly good for you.

Some things are simply painful.

You don’t have to romanticize suffering to learn from it.

The spell is more practical than that.

When something arrives, ask what you can do with it.

You have been handed this moment.

Perhaps it is not the moment you wanted.

Very well.

What can you make from it?

A bad morning can become a good afternoon.

A difficult conversation can become understanding.

A failed attempt can become data.

A broken plan can reveal a better one.

Even boredom can become space.

This is transmutation.

Not changing what happened.

Changing what happens next.

That distinction is enormous.

You cannot put the leaf back on the branch.

You cannot un-speak the sentence.

You cannot return yesterday to the condition it was in before you lived it.

But the story is not finished simply because the event is over.

The event enters you.

And then you decide, consciously or unconsciously, what happens with it.

That is where the alchemy happens.

There is another kind of energy worth noticing.

Attention.

Whatever you continually feed with attention tends to become important.

Feed resentment, and resentment grows.

Feed curiosity, and curiosity grows.

Feed fear, and fear becomes very practiced.

Feed wonder, and wonder becomes easier to find.

You are an alchemist whether you realize it or not.

Every day, you are taking experiences and turning them into something.

Stories.

Habits.

Beliefs.

Relationships.

Skills.

Memories.

You are constantly processing the raw material of being alive.

So choose your furnace carefully.

Some people burn everything they touch.

Others turn almost everything into wisdom.

Neither person was born knowing how.

They practiced.

So when something difficult enters your life, don’t immediately ask:

How do I get rid of this?

Try asking:

What can this become?

Maybe the answer is nothing yet.

That’s fine.

Leave it on the workbench.

Let time work.

Let experience work.

Let yourself work.

The alchemist does not rush the transformation.

They simply keep tending the fire.

Cast the spell.

Nothing ends where it enters you.

The Law of Cause and Effect

Drop a stone into a pond.

Watch.

The stone disappears.

The water remembers.

A ring moves outward.

Then another.

Then another.

The stone did not ask permission.

It simply entered the water.

This is the sixth spell:

Things continue after we stop touching them.

A word can keep moving after it leaves your mouth.

A kindness can keep moving after you forget giving it.

A wound can keep moving too.

So can a habit.

So can a decision.

So can a moment of courage.

We tend to imagine actions as isolated events.

I did this.

Then that happened.

But life is less like a collection of events and more like a thread.

One thing pulls on another.

You wake tired.

You become impatient.

Someone notices.

They become defensive.

You interpret their defensiveness as hostility.

You become more defensive.

Now both of you are having a completely different conversation than the one that started it.

Where did the problem begin?

There may not be a single answer.

There is simply a thread.

This is why cause and effect is not primarily a law about blame.

It is a law about leverage.

If something is happening repeatedly, somewhere in the chain there may be a place where you can intervene.

You don’t control every cause.

You don’t control every effect.

But you may control one link.

And sometimes one link is enough.

Change the first breath.

Change the first word.

Change the decision to answer immediately.

Change the route you take home.

Change what you practice every morning.

Change what you repeatedly expose yourself to.

Tiny causes can have surprisingly large effects when given enough time.

A seed is tiny.

A tree is not.

A thought is tiny.

A habit is not.

A single conversation is tiny.

A relationship is not.

This is the part of the spell that makes ordinary moments important.

You don’t need to perform some enormous heroic act to change your life.

You need to become interested in seeds.

What are you planting?

What are you watering?

What are you feeding?

And perhaps most importantly:

What are you rehearsing?

Because repetition is one of the great magics of being human.

What you practice becomes easier to practice.

What you repeat becomes easier to repeat.

The path through the grass becomes a path because you keep walking there.

So does the path in your mind.

But there is mercy in this spell too.

If a chain can be built, it can be interrupted.

You can stop.

You can apologize.

You can choose differently.

You can put down what you have been carrying.

You can make one small cause that leads somewhere else.

You are not required to trace every thread back to its beginning.

You only need to find the next knot.

Then loosen it.

The pond doesn’t judge the stone.

It simply makes ripples.

Reality does something similar.

Things happen.

They lead somewhere.

Then something else happens.

Your job isn’t to control the entire pond.

Your job is to become aware of what happens when you throw stones into it.

So before your next action, however small, pause.

Ask:

If I do this, what might this make easier next?

Not:

What will this accomplish immediately?

But:

What does this begin?

That question can change a life.

Because every action is also a beginning.

Cast the spell.

Follow the thread.

The Law of Inspired Action

There is a particular kind of magic that cannot be performed while sitting still.

You can think about it.

You can plan it.

You can read about it.

You can imagine what it would feel like.

You can even become extremely knowledgeable about the reasons you should probably do it.

And still nothing happens.

Until you move.

This is the fifth spell:

A possibility becomes real when you participate in it.

There is a difference between wanting something and moving toward it.

Wanting is a feeling.

Movement is a vote.

Every action says:

I am willing to find out what happens next.

That is what makes action so frightening.

You don’t get to know what happens next.

You only get to take the step.

The old language calls this inspired action.

I like that phrase because it contains an important distinction.

You don’t have to force yourself.

You don’t have to beat yourself into submission.

You don’t need a five-year plan tattooed onto your soul.

Sometimes inspiration is quiet.

Sometimes it sounds like:

Go outside.

Send the message.

Make the thing.

Apologize.

Ask.

Leave.

Begin.

And sometimes the inspired action is:

Stop.

The spell is not about doing more.

It is about listening for the movement that is actually yours.

Fear will often tell you to wait until you are certain.

Perfectionism will tell you to prepare a little longer.

Ego will tell you that the first attempt needs to prove something.

Wisdom is often much less dramatic.

It says:

Try it.

You don’t need to know whether the path is correct.

You need to know whether the next step is honest.

Take it.

Then look again.

This is how you walk through fog.

Not by seeing the entire road.

By seeing enough road for one foot.

Then another.

Then another.

And here’s something people sometimes miss:

Action creates information.

You cannot think your way into knowing what happens when you actually do something.

You have to do it.

Want to know whether the door opens?

Touch the handle.

Want to know whether someone will listen?

Speak.

Want to know whether you can make something?

Make the terrible first version.

Want to know whether you can survive being embarrassed?

Risk being embarrassed.

Reality gives remarkably good feedback.

It doesn’t always give the feedback you wanted.

That’s okay.

A failed attempt is still information.

A successful attempt is information too.

Either way, the map becomes clearer.

This is why the spell is not:

Make the universe obey your desires.

It is:

Participate.

You are not standing outside your life waiting for the correct conditions.

You are one of the forces acting upon it.

Your hands matter.

Your feet matter.

Your voice matters.

Your next five minutes matter.

So when you feel the little spark—

that strange I should probably do something about this—

don’t immediately smother it with analysis.

Pause.

Listen.

If it is honest, take the first step.

Not the tenth.

Not the hundredth.

The first.

The mage does not command the path to appear.

The mage walks.

And the path reveals itself beneath the feet.

Cast the spell.

Take the step you can actually take.

The Law of Attraction

There is a strange thing about carrying a lantern.

It does not create the forest.

It does not change the forest.

It does not command the forest to give you what you want.

It simply makes some of the forest visible.

Where you point it matters.

This is the fourth spell.

What you repeatedly attend to becomes easier to find.

If you spend your day looking for threats, you become very good at finding them.

A footstep.

A strange sound.

A change in someone’s voice.

A door that didn’t close quite right.

Your mind becomes a magnificent threat-detection machine.

And then the world starts looking dangerous.

Not necessarily because the world became more dangerous.

Because your lantern is pointed there.

The same thing happens with beauty.

Start looking for small kindnesses and suddenly they are everywhere.

A stranger holds a door.

Someone laughs at something stupid.

Sunlight hits the kitchen floor.

Your kid says something ridiculous.

A bird lands three feet away and doesn’t seem particularly impressed by you.

None of these things appeared because you wished for them.

You simply became available to notice them.

This is where the old idea of attraction becomes useful.

Not:

Think about money and money will appear.

Not:

Imagine the perfect life and the universe will deliver it.

Reality is not a cosmic vending machine.

Instead:

What you repeatedly give your attention to begins to shape what you perceive, what you choose, and what you become available for.

Attention is a spell.

Your mind is constantly sorting an impossible amount of information.

It has to decide what matters.

So give it something to look for.

If you want connection, start noticing opportunities to connect.

If you want courage, notice the tiny moments when you already have it.

If you want beauty, hunt for beauty.

If you want kindness, become interested in where kindness is happening.

If you want a different life, become curious about the actions that would make that life more likely.

The lantern does not create the path.

It lets you see the next few feet.

And that is usually enough.

There is another secret here.

Your lantern also reveals you.

Pay attention to what you cannot stop looking at.

What irritates you?

What fascinates you?

What makes you jealous?

What makes you angry?

What makes you stare?

Your attention is information.

Sometimes the things that pull your gaze are showing you something you want.

Sometimes they show you something you fear.

Sometimes they show you something unfinished.

You don’t have to obey them.

Just notice.

A mage who cannot control where his lantern points will eventually mistake whatever it illuminates for the entire world.

Don’t make that mistake.

Your attention is not reality.

It is a window into reality.

And windows can be turned.

So tonight, try this:

For ten minutes, look deliberately for something good.

Not something enormous.

Something small.

A color.

A sound.

A gesture.

A comfortable chair.

A good breath.

A funny thought.

Let yourself become absurdly interested in finding it.

Then notice what happens.

The world probably won’t transform.

But your experience of the world might.

And sometimes that is where transformation begins.

The universe doesn’t need to rearrange itself for you.

Sometimes you only needed to point the lantern somewhere new.

Cast the spell.

Choose what you illuminate.

The Law of Correspondence

There is an old idea:

As above, so below.
As within, so without.

It sounds mystical.

It can also be incredibly practical.

Look at your life for a moment.

Not to judge it.

Just look.

What keeps happening?

What kinds of people keep finding their way into your orbit?

What situations keep making you react the same way?

What do you keep avoiding?

What do you keep reaching for?

Sometimes the world outside you is carrying information about the world inside you.

Not because the universe is punishing you.

Not because you manifested every bad thing that ever happened to you.

Life is far too complicated for that.

But because you participate in the world you inhabit.

Your expectations affect your behavior.

Your behavior affects other people.

Other people respond.

Their response affects you.

And suddenly a pattern has become a world.

This is the spell:

Look for the pattern before you blame the mirror.

If every conversation feels like a battle, perhaps there is something worth examining.

If you are constantly waiting for abandonment, notice what you do while waiting.

If you expect people to lie, notice how carefully you watch them.

If you believe nobody can be trusted, notice what happens when someone tries to get close.

The mirror doesn’t necessarily show you the truth.

It shows you something.

That distinction matters.

You can look into a dirty mirror and see yourself without seeing yourself clearly.

Your perception has fingerprints all over it.

This is why the spell must be used gently.

Don’t turn it into:

Everything bad that happens to me is my fault.

That is not wisdom.

Sometimes people hurt you.

Sometimes systems fail you.

Sometimes the storm simply arrives.

A mirror is not a judge.

It is an instrument.

Use it to notice yourself.

Watch what happens when you change something small inside.

Become a little less defensive.

Does the conversation change?

Become more honest.

Does the relationship change?

Stop rushing.

Does the world suddenly seem less urgent?

Rest.

Does your perception of the entire day change?

This is where the magic gets interesting.

You don’t always have to rearrange the entire world.

Sometimes you change the person who is looking at it.

And suddenly the same world contains different possibilities.

The room hasn’t changed.

You have.

Which means your relationship with the room has changed.

And that changes what happens next.

This is the deeper meaning of correspondence.

Not that the universe is a vending machine for your thoughts.

Not that every tragedy is something you secretly requested.

It is simpler than that.

The inner and outer worlds are constantly informing one another.

Your thoughts become choices.

Choices become actions.

Actions become habits.

Habits become environments.

Environments become experiences.

Experiences become thoughts.

Round and round.

A little machine.

A little mirror.

A little spell.

So tonight, look at one recurring pattern in your life.

Don’t fix it.

Don’t explain it.

Don’t defend it.

Just look.

Then ask:

What is this showing me about the way I am meeting the world?

You may not like the answer.

That’s okay.

The purpose of a mirror was never to flatter you.

It was to help you see.

Cast the spell.

As within, so without.

Then look again.

The Law of Vibration

Nothing is still.

Not really.

Put your hand against a wall.

It feels solid.

But the wall is moving.

The atoms are moving.

The molecules are moving.

The heat is moving.

Sound is moving through it.

The planet beneath your hand is moving through space.

And you are moving with it.

Even when you are sitting perfectly still, you are participating in an enormous amount of motion.

The world only looks still because some movements happen too quickly for you to see and others happen too slowly for you to notice.

This is the second spell:

Stillness is often movement you haven’t learned to perceive yet.

We use the word vibration for many things.

A string vibrates and becomes music.

A drum vibrates and becomes rhythm.

Your vocal cords vibrate and become a voice.

A building vibrates when a truck passes.

Your chest vibrates when you laugh.

Your body changes when someone you trust walks into the room.

That last one is important.

Because humans are instruments too.

You can walk into a room and feel that something is wrong before anyone says a word.

You can hear a friend’s voice and know they’re tired.

You can sit beside someone who is frightened and feel yourself become alert.

We are constantly reading one another.

Not with magic.

With information.

Tone.

Posture.

Breathing.

Timing.

Facial expression.

Movement.

Presence.

Your nervous system is listening even when your conscious mind isn’t.

This is where the old language of “frequency” can become useful without needing to turn it into superstition.

People have states.

Rooms have states.

Relationships have states.

A person can be frantic.

A person can be peaceful.

A room can feel tense.

A room can feel safe.

And those states are contagious.

So pay attention to what you bring with you.

Not because you must maintain some perfect spiritual frequency.

You don’t.

You are allowed to be sad.

You are allowed to be angry.

You are allowed to be tired.

You are allowed to shake.

The spell is not always vibrate higher.

The spell is:

Notice what you are transmitting.

Before you enter the room, notice yourself.

What is your breathing doing?

What is your body doing?

What are your hands doing?

What happens to your voice when you speak?

Then notice what happens when you stop trying to perform yourself.

Sometimes the most powerful change in the room is a person becoming genuinely calm.

Not pretending to be calm.

Not forcing calm.

Actually becoming calm.

The people around them may begin to breathe differently.

Shoulders drop.

Voices soften.

Someone stops preparing for a fight they didn’t realize they were preparing for.

One nervous system tells another:

We are safe enough to stop running.

That is vibration in a form worth understanding.

You don’t need to control the frequency of the universe.

You don’t need to manifest a Lamborghini.

You don’t need to become a glowing crystal wizard.

You just need to become aware of what you are doing to the space you occupy.

Because you are doing something.

You always are.

Your presence enters the room before your philosophy does.

Your body speaks before your mouth does.

Your state becomes part of the environment.

So here is your practice.

Before you speak, pause.

Feel your feet.

Let one breath happen without directing it.

Notice the room.

Then ask:

What am I adding to this moment?

You don’t have to change the answer.

Just know it.

That is enough.

Because awareness changes the instrument.

And once you can hear yourself clearly…

you can begin to play.

Cast the spell.

Notice the vibration.

The Law of Divine Oneness

There is a spell that becomes easier to cast the less you believe in it.

You don’t have to believe that everything is one.

Just notice.

Sit somewhere quiet.

Listen.

There is the sound of your breathing.

There is the refrigerator humming.

There is a car passing somewhere beyond the walls.

There is wind moving through a tree.

There is your body sitting in a room, and there is the room holding your body.

Where exactly does one thing end?

Your breath was outside you a moment ago.

Now it is you.

Your heat leaves your body and warms the air.

The air enters your lungs and becomes part of you.

The food you ate was once soil, rain, sunlight, and another living thing.

The words you speak leave your mouth and enter someone else’s mind.

You are not sealed inside yourself.

None of us are.

We are constantly exchanging pieces of ourselves with the world.

And the world is constantly entering us.

This is the first spell:

You are not separate from the thing you are standing in.

The mind likes borders.

Me.

You.

Mine.

Yours.

Self.

Other.

Inside.

Outside.

Those borders are useful. They help us navigate.

But a map is not a wall.

The distinction between yourself and the rest of existence is real enough to help you cross a street, but not so absolute that the universe has to honor it.

You are a temporary shape taken by everything else.

So is everyone you meet.

The stranger who annoys you.

The child who needs you.

The person who hurt you.

The person you love.

The person you cannot understand.

All of them are another arrangement of the same enormous process you are participating in.

This doesn’t mean you have to like everyone.

It doesn’t mean you should abandon boundaries.

It doesn’t mean everything is secretly pleasant.

A forest contains both flowers and things that will eat you.

Oneness is not sameness.

It is relationship.

The spell is simply remembering that nothing exists alone.

When you become angry with someone, try it.

Before deciding what they are, notice what is happening between you.

Something passed from them to you.

Something passed from you to them.

A look.

A word.

A movement.

A fear.

A kindness.

A misunderstanding.

You are already affecting one another.

You don’t need to believe in mystical energy to see this.

You only need to pay attention.

And once you notice it, something strange happens.

The world becomes less like a collection of objects…

and more like a conversation.

You are not standing outside of reality looking at it.

You are one of the things reality is doing.

That is the spell.

Not I am everything.

Not everything is me.

Something quieter:

I am part of this.

And so are you.

And so is this moment.

And if you remember that before you act, even for a second, you may find yourself moving through the world a little differently.

That second is enough.

Cast the spell.

Then see what happens.