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I was sleeping, dreaming I was writing the following on here. I laughed a bit as I realized it waking more and more. I was laying bed, the thoughts circling my head still. Something inside me was stirring, pushing me. I was trying to let it go so I could sleep. Nope. I had to get out of fucking bed or I would never sleep. I dictated this is Word in all of about 6 minutes, and pasted it here. Here is what wouldn't let me go until I got it out:
It’s a hell of a thing, this path we walk. One foot in the mundane world, the other across the veil.
Part of our life is grocery shopping, you buy meat, vegetables, cereal, and then you forget the butter (Dammit!) We hold down jobs, we have relationships, we laugh, we cry with others, and we spend time with friends and family. One foot in the mundane.
The other foot? Yeah that’s the one across the veil. That’s where we hold mysteries. Where we encounter spirit. Where we get answers to questions that normal people spend their whole lives circling without ever scratching the surface.
It’s a hell of a path we walk indeed.
You know, science tells us there’s no such thing as the color magenta. Something about the way the eye sees red and blue together on the light spectrum, there’s no green between them, so the brain invents a new color to fill the gap. A color that doesn’t technically exist.
Scientists say magenta isn’t real.
But those who study consciousness would say: if your brain experiences it, then it exists.
The mystic says both are correct, each within their own frames.
The Hermeticist says: Exactly. All is mind.
Let’s take it a step further. Let’s go one layer deeper. Speaking of Hermeticism, the Seven Principles. What if magick was magenta? What if that’s what magick is? What if that’s what the spiritual is, this thing like magenta: impossible to pin down or prove, and yet undeniable once seen and experienced?
Here’s another metaphor. The human eyeball, specifically our night vision. We don’t see well at night, but we know that with time, about twenty minutes in darkness, our eyes adjust. We get as good as we’re going to get. But even then, stare straight ahead, and you don’t see much. Shift to the side? Suddenly, there’s something there.
Our peripheral night vision is stronger than our straight ahead vision. It’s just how we’re built.
Now look at magick through that same lens. You try to look straight at the veil, nothing. You intellectualize, focus, hold your breath, strain… and there’s nothing. You exhale, frustrated, pissed, then glance to the side, and there it is. The veil didn’t move. You did.
You snap your head to stare directly into it again. Gone (fuck). Soften your eyes, shift again, and there it is.
The veil is like magenta. It doesn’t reveal itself to force. You don’t see it by trying. You see it in the pause between breaths. The space in polarity. That moment between push and pull, that sweet, surrendered middle, that’s where magick exists.
Let’s swallow all this. What if the mundane world is masculine? Science, schedules, grocery runs, walking the dog, driving to work, the shared reality. Physicists would agree. We all share the same experience that a table is solid. Snow is cold. Boiling water is hot. Gravity pulls. The mundane world is structured, measured, knowable. That’s the masculine container.
Then what’s on the other side? The metaphysical. The unseen. The current. The part that isn’t shared in the same way. I can hand you a snowball, and we’ll both agree it’s cold. But I can’t hand you my encounter with spirit. I can’t say, “Here, feel what I felt when the veil opened.”
That’s the feminine. The mystical. The lunar. The intuitive. The storm you can’t see, but you can feel. The realm we don’t treat as shared, even though it could be. That doesn’t mean it’s not real. It just means we haven’t built language or containers to agree on it outside the occult circles (and we do a piss poor job inside occult circles with this, but we at least make an effort).
So you’re seen as kooky or “out there,” because what you experience can’t be proven. But that’s not failure. That’s feminine power.
We obsess in the occult over symbolism, Hermeticism, gender, anima, animus, yin and yang, micro and macrocosm. But maybe spirit itself is feminine. Maybe what we’re touching with the “metaphysical” is the feminine current we’ve been trained to distrust.
Science, the masculine, is a container. A structure built so humans don’t feel small, helpless, or powerless. But I don’t think we are helpless. I think we were told we were, and we believed the lie.
Balance, then, is this: one foot in the mundane, one in the mystical. One hand holding relationships, responsibilities, joy, and grounded life. The other hand holding paradox, terror, awe, storm, beauty, and silence.
And none of this is free. People think magick is free. It’s not. It costs. It costs everything.
It costs your ego. It costs the tectonic beliefs you thought were immovable. It costs comfort. And sometimes, it costs your sanity, at least for a while. We hope our psyche doesn’t fracture too far. We hope it all holds.
But the path to being whole, truly whole isn’t just integrating your ego. It’s not just shadow work. It’s not just doing Jungian tasks and checking boxes.
It’s integrating the masculine mundane and the feminine mystical. That is what it means to be whole. That is the path. That is the Work.
It’s a hell of a thing, this path we walk. One foot in the mundane world, the other across the veil.
Part of our life is grocery shopping, you buy meat, vegetables, cereal, and then you forget the butter (Dammit!) We hold down jobs, we have relationships, we laugh, we cry with others, and we spend time with friends and family. One foot in the mundane.
The other foot? Yeah that’s the one across the veil. That’s where we hold mysteries. Where we encounter spirit. Where we get answers to questions that normal people spend their whole lives circling without ever scratching the surface.
It’s a hell of a path we walk indeed.
You know, science tells us there’s no such thing as the color magenta. Something about the way the eye sees red and blue together on the light spectrum, there’s no green between them, so the brain invents a new color to fill the gap. A color that doesn’t technically exist.
Scientists say magenta isn’t real.
But those who study consciousness would say: if your brain experiences it, then it exists.
The mystic says both are correct, each within their own frames.
The Hermeticist says: Exactly. All is mind.
Let’s take it a step further. Let’s go one layer deeper. Speaking of Hermeticism, the Seven Principles. What if magick was magenta? What if that’s what magick is? What if that’s what the spiritual is, this thing like magenta: impossible to pin down or prove, and yet undeniable once seen and experienced?
Here’s another metaphor. The human eyeball, specifically our night vision. We don’t see well at night, but we know that with time, about twenty minutes in darkness, our eyes adjust. We get as good as we’re going to get. But even then, stare straight ahead, and you don’t see much. Shift to the side? Suddenly, there’s something there.
Our peripheral night vision is stronger than our straight ahead vision. It’s just how we’re built.
Now look at magick through that same lens. You try to look straight at the veil, nothing. You intellectualize, focus, hold your breath, strain… and there’s nothing. You exhale, frustrated, pissed, then glance to the side, and there it is. The veil didn’t move. You did.
You snap your head to stare directly into it again. Gone (fuck). Soften your eyes, shift again, and there it is.
The veil is like magenta. It doesn’t reveal itself to force. You don’t see it by trying. You see it in the pause between breaths. The space in polarity. That moment between push and pull, that sweet, surrendered middle, that’s where magick exists.
Let’s swallow all this. What if the mundane world is masculine? Science, schedules, grocery runs, walking the dog, driving to work, the shared reality. Physicists would agree. We all share the same experience that a table is solid. Snow is cold. Boiling water is hot. Gravity pulls. The mundane world is structured, measured, knowable. That’s the masculine container.
Then what’s on the other side? The metaphysical. The unseen. The current. The part that isn’t shared in the same way. I can hand you a snowball, and we’ll both agree it’s cold. But I can’t hand you my encounter with spirit. I can’t say, “Here, feel what I felt when the veil opened.”
That’s the feminine. The mystical. The lunar. The intuitive. The storm you can’t see, but you can feel. The realm we don’t treat as shared, even though it could be. That doesn’t mean it’s not real. It just means we haven’t built language or containers to agree on it outside the occult circles (and we do a piss poor job inside occult circles with this, but we at least make an effort).
So you’re seen as kooky or “out there,” because what you experience can’t be proven. But that’s not failure. That’s feminine power.
We obsess in the occult over symbolism, Hermeticism, gender, anima, animus, yin and yang, micro and macrocosm. But maybe spirit itself is feminine. Maybe what we’re touching with the “metaphysical” is the feminine current we’ve been trained to distrust.
Science, the masculine, is a container. A structure built so humans don’t feel small, helpless, or powerless. But I don’t think we are helpless. I think we were told we were, and we believed the lie.
Balance, then, is this: one foot in the mundane, one in the mystical. One hand holding relationships, responsibilities, joy, and grounded life. The other hand holding paradox, terror, awe, storm, beauty, and silence.
And none of this is free. People think magick is free. It’s not. It costs. It costs everything.
It costs your ego. It costs the tectonic beliefs you thought were immovable. It costs comfort. And sometimes, it costs your sanity, at least for a while. We hope our psyche doesn’t fracture too far. We hope it all holds.
But the path to being whole, truly whole isn’t just integrating your ego. It’s not just shadow work. It’s not just doing Jungian tasks and checking boxes.
It’s integrating the masculine mundane and the feminine mystical. That is what it means to be whole. That is the path. That is the Work.
. I intentionally created situations that would make my ego scream. I did this over and over again. I know what you're thinking, that's not how you're supposed to use those AI porn bots, and you'd be correct hahaha. But that's what I did. It wasn't about getting off, it was about making my shadows scream, with the intended purpose of learning what the actual narrative was, what the voices sounded like exactly. It didn't take long until I was dreaming some very loud, very graphic horror stories. I stopped with the bots and let my sub brain do its work. Take that Carl Jung!