Ghosts Of A Former World

As many of my regular readers will already know I have more than a passing interest in the history of the many allied trades that make up the modern magickal diaspora. Socially minded, yet anarchic by choice, my hollow nature has left me apart from the very mainstream culture that I inhabit. It is from this lonely perch above the sewage works that I observe the huddled masses going about their daily business, my mind racing with equal parts fascination and disdain.

It was a desire for solace that set me sailing upon these murky supernatural waters many years ago, and ultimately turned my vulpine mind towards impossible things. Occasionally this quest leaves me poking at the soft underbelly of modern occulture, to ask the questions which many would prefer remain unsaid.

As an example, I wonder if it ever crosses the average magickian’s mind just how anachronistic and bizarre it is to believe that we can change consensus reality in line with our will. To claim ancient abilities that fly in the face of accepted science, or bastardise quantum physics into whatever shape best fits the task at hand. History does not necessarily guarantee truth, nor does moving some numbers on a chalk board to hijack an already improbable new form of science when the classical model fails to make us kings.

Cause, effect, while such things do indeed break down at the quantum level there is no evidence that trying to upload your intent into our wider reality can trigger anything other than a major headache. So we become ghosts of a former world, heirs to classical traditions equal parts delusion and fanfiction which refuse to die despite being superseded by modern science on all fronts.

For years voices have been raised against us, decrying what we do and calmly reinforcing the fact that there is no reason on this godless Earth why burning a candle and chanting in some long forgotten tongue should make reality take notice of our needs. We all know that the sky is blue because of how molecules scatter the light from our Sun, a massive fusion reactor of sorts that is but one of many stars in an almost limitless universe. Earth is not special, nor does mankind have any destiny other than the one it sets for itself that day.

And magick is impossible. Our elders drummed that fact into us from an early age. They told us that goblins belong in folktales and ghosts only come out at Halloween. Even Scooby-Doo teaches children that the real monsters are always human, while also ignoring the highly suspect talking dog cocking his leg in their midst.

So yes, there really is no escaping the fact that spells should not work. But of course, as every wizard knows, that is far from the way our story ends. No matter how hard they protest the thoroughly modern masses cannot bleed every drop of mysticism from the world, nor should we let them. All the supposedly natural laws enshrined by academia, every numbing theory made against the wonder that our ancestors felt when the sun rose in the morning is not enough to change how mankind still basks in its warming glow.

Magickians live in the difference between how those golden rays simply shine and how they make you feel. In that distinction we find out who we really are. Our monsters are out there somewhere too, walking on suburban asphalt instead of soft forest soil but largely unchanged. No one dares to tell them that they no longer exist, and I doubt that they would listen anyway. Neopagans, witches, demonolaters, chaotes; all either knowingly or unknowingly sidestep consensus reality by choosing superstition over facts every time they change the world by the force of their will alone.

What we do cannot be real and yet it refuses to be unmade at the behest of the scientific intelligentsia. The world is strange at the best of times, and we should strive to be the strangest part of all. Those who manipulate the universe without the use of large hadron colliders and atomic radiation are both the past and future of society, riding the hedge between fantasy and reality without a care in the world.

So what it the consensus says we are deluded. As I sit perched above their rapidly decaying civilisation observing the faeces piling ever higher around them part of me is glad that I have the strength to stand apart. My worldview is not for everyone, nor would magick really suit the common man and woman in the street. Those who are destined to be different will find their way home eventually, and I sincerely hope that my work will serve as another lantern to help light them on their way.