Magic isn’t something I reserve for special occasions—it’s woven into the rhythm of my daily life. From greeting the house spirits each morning with an offering of tea or coffee to blessing the meal my wife and I share, my routines are small but intentional acts that deepen my connection to my spirits, my home, and myself. Each moment, from listening to the crows to placing my besom against the door at night, is a quiet spell, a reminder that magic is always present, waiting to be lived.

For 25 years, I’ve walked the path of a practicing witch, shaping my craft through folklore, folk magic, and personal experience. While I appreciate the structure of Traditional Witchcraft, I hesitate to claim the label outright. Too often, it comes with assumptions—of strict adherence to specific traditions, of working with the Witch Father or the Witch’s Devil, of following a path that isn’t mine. My magic is rooted in history but ultimately personal, and I’ve learned that labels, while useful, should never define me more than my own practice does.

I have been practicing magic for 25 years, yet my grimoire remains empty. Not because I lack spells, rituals, or knowledge—but because perfectionism keeps me from writing them down. What if my handwriting is messy? What if I discover a better method later? What if I get something wrong? But magic isn’t static, and neither should my grimoire be. It’s time to stop waiting for perfection and start treating it like what it truly is—a living record of my craft, more like a family recipe box than a sacred, untouchable tome. It’s time to finally put pen to paper.

Veiling is a practice often associated with religious tradition, but for me, it has become a deeply personal part of my witchcraft and Pagan path. What began as a way to protect my energy during divination and ritual soon evolved into a daily act of magic, honoring my ancestors and recognizing the sacredness of my hair. Now, I veil in public spaces as both a form of spiritual protection and a ritual of personal power. In this post, I explore the magical, ancestral, and practical aspects of veiling—and how it has transformed my practice.

Magic is not just about what we do—it’s also about what we do it with. A year ago, I began rewilding my witchcraft, shifting away from mass-produced supplies and returning to historically appropriate materials and crafting methods. This meant trading store-bought candles for hand-dipped beeswax, synthetic cords for hand-spun thread, and glass bowls for earthenware and wood. In doing so, I found a deeper connection to my magical ancestors, a richer engagement with my craft, and a renewed sense of authenticity in my spellwork.