Chapter 1
I believe in the power of symbols. I used to think that meditation, yoga, memorizing chants, all those things that build self-discipline, were the most important parts of magick. The ability to focus one’s will separates the true magus from kiddie witches reading spells out of a book like a recipe. Don’t believe for a second that if you rub a red candle with marjoram, and say a rhyme three times, the next person to text you will be your true love. But there’s something to be said about ingredients.
When you can’t just nip down to the corner store and pick up what you need, when you can’t just order it online from a retailer in exotic goods. Even after spending hours on hours crafting the wand or altar or pentacle, you need something more. Then you’re on to something. When the item you require, the component on which you focus your will, can only be had by risking your future and throwing away your humanity, then you have a powerful symbol.
Like, for instance, a human body.
Mine sat chilling right where I left it, resting in a plastic bin, ice starting to melt. After liberating it from the hospital morgue the night before
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