magic for the city dweller
chapter two: the liminal, the lost, and the low-lit
you know that feeling when you’re walking down a back alley at 2 am, and everything feels… weirdly mystical? ethereal? like the world is holding its breath? yeah. it might not be because you’re drunk (though, i mean, it also might). but it could be because that’s liminal space, babe.
liminality is the in-between. it’s not quite here, not quite there. it’s the glitch between one state and another. the emptiness of a subway station at night, the heartbeat between dusk and dark, the threshold of a rooftop where you’re in neither sky nor street. and it’s magic as hell.
liminal spaces are haunted, holy, magic, and hidden in plain sight.
the city is laced with them. they’re not the sacred groves of old, but they’re every bit as charged. think: empty bus depots at midnight, graffiti-covered stairwells, rooftops soaked in rain. these are the city dwellers crossroads now. this is where the veil thins in neon light of your neighborhood.
what the fuck is a liminal space? (and why should you care?)
liminal = transitional, the threshold of something…else, between-worlds. you’re not in one place, but not in the next either. magic thrives here because reality gets a bit loose in the seams.
traditional witches had forests, caves, bonfire hills. we’ve got:
• alleyways that hum like a hummed spell
• subway tunnels that breathe like sleeping gods
• doorways between storefronts and abandoned dreams
• rooftops where the sky opens wide, and the city is stretched out around and below you
in these places, time warps. intention lands harder. spells echo longer.
urban liminal spaces and how to haunt them
this city is stitched together with magic seams. here’s where they hide, and what you can do there:
🔻 alleyways – shadowy corridors between the loud and the known. draw sigils in chalk. light a match and whisper into the dark. it’s perfect for secret workings, spirit murmurs, and banishing bullshit.
🔻 abandoned buildings/lots – literal modern ruins. once-places. they’ve got echoes, spirits, and ghosts of old purpose. leave offerings here. sit with the stillness. use these for spirit work, necromancy, or hedge-crossing meditations.
🔻 subway stations and bus stops (especially late at night) – our underground temples. they’re crossroads. write intent in your notes app and read it out loud between train rushes. leave sigils written in marker or chalk under a benches. bonus: alone on a bus or train can be powerful for magic, too. use the motion and movement to charge your spells. think of the city streets as the veins of the city and cast spells for the city’s health as a member of its body.
🔻 rooftops & overpasses – sky magic, babes. perfect for spells needing air, perspective, or elevation. charge objects in moonlight, scream affirmations into the wind, or sit with your spirits during full moons. liminal as fuck.
🔻 crosswalks & intersections (esp. at night) – literal crossroads. traditional magic in a modern grid. drop coins for spirits. draw sigils to be charged by passing cars or pedestrians. ask your ancestors for guidance while the lights flicker red.
🔻 stairwells & emergency exits – places meant to be moved through, not lingered in. so obviously: linger. burn incense. do a quick glamour boost spell before a date. it’s quiet and thresholdy and criminally overlooked.
🔻 community gardens & park edges – little wildness in the middle of machines. great for grounding, spirit communication, or talking to the land beneath all the concrete.
🧷 rituals for the liminal
these aren’t formal. they’re felt. use what you’ve got, darling. here’s a few to try:
sit on a stoop. a curb. a fire escape. let your mind wander between worlds. imagine you’re slipping through cracks in the city’s spine. ask: what am i leaving? what am i becoming? where do i go from here? what’s next? wait for an answer.
🔮 veinwalking spell (subway spell)
as the train moves, whisper your intent into the metal and motion. imagine the tunnels as arteries. like i said, streets can be veins. send your spell pulsing through the city’s bloodstream. this works especially well with manifestation or movement magic.
bring water, bread, incense, or simply something symbolic. leave it for the city. say thanks. it listens. it might grant favors or requests in return. especially on full moons, eclipses, and thunderstorms.
✍️ tag & trace sigil magic
draw your sigil in chalk, spray paint, lipstick, pen, or sharpie. leave it in a transitional space. stairwell. bench. bathroom mirror. charge it every time someone passes.
stand in the middle of a quiet intersection. hold a coin. whisper your desire into it. drop it. walk away without looking back. yes, like the legends say.
⛓ urban magic, queer magic, chaos magic: all liminal by nature
let’s be honest: urban witches live in the liminal. we don’t get forests and fields, but we get concrete, crowds, blur, and noise. but that’s where our power lives .
🌆 urban/chaos witches love liminal spots because they’re full of glitch energy. alleyways = mystery zones. graffiti = sigils in disguise. subway schedules = divination tools. you adapt, hack, and twist space into meaning. nothing is fixed, so everything is possible.
🌈 queer magic is deeply liminal. we live between binaries, between margins, between visibility and erasure. that nightclub bathroom you cried in? sacred. the pride march? a ritual procession. the fire escape you kissed someone on? altar. queer magic is threshold magic. it’s resistance, reinvention, and claiming power in places not meant for you.
🌿 traditional witchcraft loves thresholds too, but usually the natural kind: hedgerows, rivers, caves. in the city, that means adapting. a brick wall becomes your hedge. a stairwell becomes your forest path. it’s quieter, more structured. but no less potent. the vibe is “ancestral witch whispers over a bowl of soot and rainwater.”
🕯historical roots, modern boots
liminality’s got deep-ass roots. the celts had their “thin places.” the greeks gave crossroads to hecate. medieval witches danced at twilight in ruins. even now, halloween and beltane are liminal feasts.
• texting spells between subway stops
• crying on a rooftop with the full moon and a joint
• kissing a stranger in a rave bathroom and calling it divine communion
• finding magic in construction cones and back alleys
our magic is ancestral, yes—but it’s also punk as fuck.
final note: the city is a haunted house that loves you back
you just have to notice it.
walk the liminal paths. whisper at corners. draw in dust. the magic’s there. in the pause before the light turns green, in the hush between club beats, in that back alley of your favorite dive bar.
the veil is thinner than you think, babes. step through.
andulkaphoto
tangentwithtanner
origamiaround
izzy806
jbbartram-illu
blakekathryn
