The roots of Magic

The Shamans and spiritualists of years gone by have left a long time ago.
Aural traditions were to remain but got heavily influenced and forgotten through the shifting sands of time.

As us, the modern world, put forth our concrete buildings.
Discuss political escapades, our latest vacations abroad and get lost in the fantasies of superheroes.
In fantasies or religion.
Fantastical world of social justice.
Encourage minorities and fight for respect and inclusion.

A part is missing.
A divine and magical hand.
Not only did Nieztsche predict the death of god.
He exclaimed it.
He boldly stated its replacement.
Look around you.
Look inward.
Most of our current gods are to be found in digital media.
Is it not that we seem to be living in a period of superhero revival?
Is it not that many of us vouch for a new cause?
Be it BLM, Feminism, Manosphere, Climate, Transgenders and the like?

Spirituality down the drain as the new mistresses learned about emotion and inclusion.
Natural fragility and exacerbation as we spin down into an abyss of self-righteous ambiguity.
Exclamations of mastery in the lower echelons of lesser magic.
Or call it marketing.
Or call it branding.
Mental fortitude to evoke emotive responses.
To guide the wills of many through social programming.
Exclaim the coming of the forthcoming of the next magical age!

Cowards in deceit.
By their own incompetence and fragile egoes.
The masters of old have turned into ashes as anyone could have foretold.
Spread around.
Their thrones and empires left to future kings and queens.
Yet none to take up their royal crown.

Is there not even a Helevant worm?
Has magic become insignificant?
Can we only rhyme for a dime.
Degenerate and devolve to cybernetic monkeys.
Apes who throw shit at the old masters.
And being a mockery of the inherent potential lost?

How long has it been?
When adepts set foot in the abyss of the natural world?
Dined with maggots beneath their feet.
Preyed and dined on vermin.
Washed themselves in creeks.
Slept in crevices.
Appreciated dawn after a cold dreary night.
The very first steps into the abyss.
To have encountered the natural primordial beast within.
Magical moments so eagerly evaded and seldom persuaded.

To understand their craft.
To walk the path.
And reach beyond.

Understand that mastery is not tradition.
Understand that it is not mastery in itself.
It is what is done.
“Will to power” are merely words.

Inherent cruelty and self-flagellation.
As fetishists lost in the abyss.
Searching for meaning and contentment.
Where none is to be found.
As overstimulated senses have been blunted and stunt.
Through emotional over-gratification.
And made to mock the pious disciples and masters.
Who could move the world.

There is a vacant throne.
Before the dare.
Can you?