My late friend once wrote something on their blog—a space dedicated to social activism, spirituality, Slavic roots, queerness, and so much more—that stuck with me forever:
"You might not even stomach the cliché repeated in 'alternative' spiritual circles that 'everything is connected.' But the deeper you dive into something, analyzing its history, evolution, and all the threads tied to it, the more you reach surprising, even shocking discoveries. It’s like eating a hot dog: you rarely stop to think about where it actually came from, even if you’ve read the ingredients list."
Even though he passed away a good seven years ago, leaving so many things undiscussed and so many mysteries about his life unsolved (he was an anarchist from a different city, so we didn't see each other often, and our mutual friends back then were more focused on mocking bigots than deep dives), his words are etched into my memory. He was right in so many ways.
This truth applies to almost everything. The more I learn about a subject instead of just consuming the "finished product," the more I exercise critical thinking. It allows me to see multiple perspectives. Sometimes that knowledge brings a smile or a sense of irony; other times, it brings pure shock, horror, or a full-blown existential crisis.
I remember joining a Discord server that quickly revealed itself to be a fascist echo chamber. These guys were spinning fantasies about how when the Greeks spoke of Hyperborea, they surely meant the Slavic people. One of them even tried to hit on me, impressed by my historical knowledge. But as soon as I mentioned that "Loki is queer" and they realized I’m genderqueer myself, the insults started flying. On my way out, I metaphorically threw Jared Diamond’s books at them and told them that "even playing Heroes of Might and Magic taught me more about how success isn't just about the size of your army.".
Late last year, I picked up a book—one of the first on the Polish market—about the history of occultism. Much of it was familiar, but it sparked deep reflection. It contained a statement that mirrored my own research:
The real problem in the 21st century isn't the mocking "Hehe, how can people still believe in this nonsense?" It’s the fact that while we are drowning in books about Kabbalah, herb magic, crystals, and Tarot, we have almost no resources explaining where these things came from, how they evolved, and who the people behind them were (especially in the US).
When I shared this thought, someone dismissively replied, "Well, what we really lack are books that provide actual magical training."
But that’s exactly the point. Without understanding the history, we are condemned to turn spiritual growth and "shadow work" into another capitalist rat race. This lack of context leads to spiritual bypassing and turns spirituality into a chaotic "cabbage and peas" mess (as we say in Poland) where nothing has roots and everything is just for show.
I once belonged to a community where a person, much younger than me, practically banned any mention of Aleister Crowley or the Thoth Tarot deck. Their reasoning? "Because Crowley was controversial.".
When I shared this thought, someone dismissively replied, "Well, what we really lack are books that provide actual magical training."
But that’s exactly the point. Without understanding the history, we are condemned to turn spiritual growth and "shadow work" into another capitalist rat race. This lack of context leads to spiritual bypassing and turns spirituality into a chaotic "cabbage and peas" mess (as we say in Poland) where nothing has roots and everything is just for show.
I once belonged to a community where a person, much younger than me, practically banned any mention of Aleister Crowley or the Thoth Tarot deck. Their reasoning? "Because Crowley was controversial."
Look, I’m not going to argue that Crowley wasn’t problematic—he absolutely was, and he caused a lot of harm. But refusing to even mention him strips away the very context needed to understand what people today proudly call "witchcraft" or "chaos magick" You can dislike him, you can even despise him or focus entirely on how toxic he was, but his influence is everywhere, often in places we don't even realize.
It’s like traces of peanuts in food—you’ll frequently stumble upon them, even if the dish doesn't taste like peanuts at all. And there’s always a story behind how those peanuts got there in the first place.
Made come quick edits because I was posting from my laptop withouth a mousee and messed up a bit. Huge apologies to readers! ;)
My late friend once wrote something on their blog—a space dedicated to social activism, spirituality, Slavic roots, queerness, and so much more—that stuck with me forever:
"You might not even stomach the cliché repeated in 'alternative' spiritual circles that 'everything is connected.' But the deeper you dive into something, analyzing its history, evolution, and all the threads tied to it, the more you reach surprising, even shocking discoveries. It’s like eating a hot dog: you rarely stop to think about where it actually came from, even if you’ve read the ingredients list."
Even though he passed away a good seven years ago, leaving so many things undiscussed and so many mysteries about his life unsolved (he was an anarchist from a different city, so we didn't see each other often, and our mutual friends back then were more focused on mocking bigots than deep dives), his words are etched into my memory. He was right in so many ways.
This truth applies to almost everything. The more I learn about a subject instead of just consuming the "finished product," the more I exercise critical thinking. It allows me to see multiple perspectives. Sometimes that knowledge brings a smile or a sense of irony; other times, it brings pure shock, horror, or a full-blown existential crisis.
I remember joining a Discord server that quickly revealed itself to be a fascist echo chamber. These guys were spinning fantasies about how when the Greeks spoke of Hyperborea, they surely meant the Slavic people. One of them even tried to hit on me, impressed by my historical knowledge. But as soon as I mentioned that "Loki is queer" and they realized I’m genderqueer myself, the insults started flying. On my way out, I metaphorically threw Jared Diamond’s books at them and told them that "even playing Heroes of Might and Magic taught me more about how success isn't just about the size of your army.".
Late last year, I picked up a book—one of the first on the Polish market—about the history of occultism. Much of it was familiar, but it sparked deep reflection. It contained a statement that mirrored my own research:
The real problem in the 21st century isn't the mocking "Hehe, how can people still believe in this nonsense?" It’s the fact that while we are drowning in books about Kabbalah, herb magic, crystals, and Tarot, we have almost no resources explaining where these things came from, how they evolved, and who the people behind them were (especially in the US).
When I shared this thought, someone dismissively replied, "Well, what we really lack are books that provide actual magical training."
But that’s exactly the point. Without understanding the history, we are condemned to turn spiritual growth and "shadow work" into another capitalist rat race. This lack of context leads to spiritual bypassing and turns spirituality into a chaotic "cabbage and peas" mess (as we say in Poland) where nothing has roots and everything is just for show.
I once belonged to a community where a person, much younger than me, practically banned any mention of Aleister Crowley or the Thoth Tarot deck. Their reasoning? "Because Crowley was controversial.".
Look, I’m not going to argue that Crowley wasn’t problematic—he absolutely was, and he caused a lot of harm. But refusing to even mention him strips away the very context needed to understand what people today proudly call "witchcraft" or "chaos magick" You can dislike him, you can even despise him or focus entirely on how toxic he was, but his influence is everywhere, often in places we don't even realize.
It’s like traces of peanuts in food—you’ll frequently stumble upon them, even if the dish doesn't taste like peanuts at all. And there’s always a story behind how those peanuts got there in the first place
