The only sorcery worthy of human attention

In a world that reminds us from time to time of looseleft- that is a feeling a sense of loss upon finishing a good book, sensing the weight of the back cover locking away the lives of characters you’ve gotten to know so well; it is such a wonderful feeling to have the spirit of trumspringa which is the longing to wander off your career track in pursuit of a simple life—tending a small farm in a forest clearing, keeping a lighthouse on a secluded atoll, or becoming a shepherd in the mountains—which is just the kind of hypnotic diversion that allows your thoughts to make a break for it and wander back to their cubicles in the city.

If there is something new and noble we want to seek in this urban world, it is just the feeling of elsewise life of others, struck by the poignant strangeness of other people’s homes, which smell and feel so different than your own—seeing the details of their private living space, noticing their little daily rituals, the way they’ve arranged their things, the framed photos of people you’ll never know. There is no sorcery there in our city lives filled with row after row of concrete cubes all around, there is just those rusty feelings that we feel day after day.

There is not even the sorcery left of the old world now, the ameneurosis which is the half-forlorn, half-escapist ache of a train whistle howling in the distance at night; that could in a way remind us that we need to escape this dark cave we that has covered us from all sides, these dark shadows of urban existence.

If you get all excited and introduced someone you know well to the sorcery that you if rarely encounter in this annihilation; there is sure to be some licotic comment from them about what's so sorcerous about it; which sort of gives you anxiously excited at first to introduce a friend to something you think is amazing—a classic album, a favorite restaurant, a TV show they’re lucky enough to watch for the very first time—which prompts you to continually poll their face waiting for the inevitable rush of awe, only to cringe when you discover all the work’s flaws shining through for the very thing shown to them.

While there is still some sorcery remaining deeply connected to your life, it is possible that this creates the reasons for having feelings such as the kick drop as in the moment you wake up from an immersive dream and have to abruptly recalibrate to the real world—unquitting your job, falling right back out of love, reburying your lost loved ones. It may be the same reason for you to feel, mahpiohanzia or the frustration of being unable to fly, unable to stretch out your arms and vault into the air, having finally shrugged off the burden of your own weight, which you’ve been carrying your entire life without a second thought.

If you have still left in you the feelings of merrenness, the lulling isolation of driving late at night—floating through the void in an otherworldly hum, trailing red jewels in the darkness, your high beams sweeping back and forth like a lighthouse. Or if you still have left in you the desires of liberosis, the desire to care less about things; to figure out a way to relax your grip on your life and hold it loosely and playfully, keeping it in the air like a volleyball, with quick and fleeting interventions, bouncing freely in the hands of trusted friends, always in play. Then these are indications of the only sorcery that are worth human attention.

It's possible you are a night hawk of sorts, having a a recurring thought that only seems to strike you late at night—an overdue task, a nagging guilt, a looming future—which you sometimes manage to forget for weeks, only to feel it land on your shoulder once again, quietly building a nest. The sorcery might be revealing to you - the whipgraft delusion which is the phenomenon in which you catch your reflection in the mirror and get the sense that you’re peering into the eyes of a stranger, as if you’re looking at a police sketch of your own face aged forward twenty years, which would imply that the real you is out there somewhere, wandering the streets of your old neighborhood, still at large.

Your deepgut, which a resurgent emotion that you hadn’t felt in years, that you might have forgotten about completely if your emotional playlist hadn’t accidentally been left on shuffle; is now beaconing you to focus on the worthy sorcery, that will punt kick your existence with a quiet jolt of recognition that it’s time to become a better version of yourself, sensing that all the strategies that brought you this far are no longer working—that it’s not enough anymore to be cute or nice or righteous or tough—as if you’ve now entered a new phase in the game of life, moving forward with a completely different token.

The sorcery of the manusia in you is calling you to recognize in you, the ambient feeling of being a human being; a baseline mood that everyone feels intensely every moment of their lives, but can never pin down because they have nothing else to compare it to. Let go of the anoscetia now, the anxiety of not knowing “the real you”.