— Hmm ... Where is it?...
I browse through several web pages, opening and closing tabs, trying to remember where I saw that article. I know it's somewhere, lost among so many other documents. As I click on yet another link, something at the top of the page makes me stop. An unusual title appears in the recommended tab: "Oberon: The Grimoire for the Sorcerer's Apprentice – by Zell- Ravenheart ".
I stare at the title for a few seconds. My first impulse is to ignore it and continue my search, but I can't. Something about the name grabs me. Grimoire . Sorcerer's Apprentice. Is it a book about witchcraft? It's not common to find this kind of material like that, by chance, especially on academic article websites. Without thinking much, I click.
The page loads, and I see a long document, much more professional than I expected. Unlike the amateur occult texts that circulate on the internet, this book seems well structured, almost like an academic manual. The introduction surprises me with the didactic way it presents witchcraft: not as a game of illusion or fantasy, but as a serious practice, based on traditions and knowledge.
I feel a strange shiver. I don't believe in magic, at least not in this world, but I also like the idea of its existence. There is a part of me, more silent, that believes it. That feels that the world is bigger than what the eyes can see.
My fingers glide across the touchpad, scrolling through the pages. The Grimoire talks about the first steps of an apprentice, the basic principles of sorcery, the need for discipline and practice. I stop at a passage that reads:
"Magic is not a supernatural power granted by mystical forces; it is the act of shaping reality through knowledge and will."
Shaping reality... I purse my lips slightly. If that were possible, what would I change? Where would I be now? Not here, for sure. Not in this world that seems so alien, so indifferent. Maybe that's the real magic: finding a way to belong.
I remember when I was a child. I would spend hours alone, imagining worlds where I could be different, where I could be whoever I wanted to be. I would create stories, invent rituals that I didn't even know where they came from. A drawing on the floor, a lit candle, a wish whispered in the darkness. I never expected anything to happen, but I did it anyway. Why? Maybe because I wanted to believe. Or maybe because, deep down, I already felt that the normal world wasn't enough for me.
But then I grew up. I learned that these things were ridiculed, that they were just fantasy. I convinced myself that I should put all this stuff away in the back of my mind. And yet here I am now, reading this book with an interest I can't justify.
I take a deep breath. It's ridiculous, isn't it? Deep down, I know it is. I know that real life has no room for witchcraft, for magic, for apprentice tales and grimoires . But why, then, this tightness in my chest? This strange feeling, as if I were faced with something I had always sought without realizing it?
My hands grip the edge of the notebook. Something inside me wants to delve deeper, explore each page, absorb each word. But there is another part that resists. The fear of disappointment. What if it is just another book full of empty promises? What if it is just another illusion that I allow myself to believe in, only to end up frustrated later?
Reality has been cruel enough to me. I've held on to so many things only to watch them fall apart. So why should I allow myself to believe that now?
I close my eyes for a moment. The weight of skepticism is almost comforting, a barrier against foolish hopes. But at the same time, I feel something I haven't felt in a long time: genuine curiosity. Not the scientific, pragmatic kind, but a childlike, almost naive curiosity. A desire to discover something greater, something that transcends the ordinary.
My hands hover over the keyboard. I should close this tab. I should get back to my work and forget about this nonsense.
But I'm not closing. Not yet.
I keep reading, and the feeling is strangely comfortable. As if that book had come to me at just the right time, as if it were a piece I didn't even know was missing, but now fits perfectly. With each page, I delve deeper and deeper, not only into the contents of the Grimoire , but also into my own ideas, my own concerns.
The irony of this is not lost on me. I, who have always looked with skepticism at any kind of structured belief, now find myself fascinated by a book on witchcraft. But there is a stark difference between this and traditional religion. While the church preaches blind obedience and submission, this book is about self-knowledge, about taking control of your own destiny, about questioning, learning and growing on your own. There is no absolute dogma, no closed set of rules imposed by an unquestionable authority. Here, everything is discovery, exploration and interpretation.
This reminds me of Nietzsche. His fierce criticism of imposed morality, his view that values are human constructions and that, therefore, they can be destroyed and remade. He spoke about the need to create one's own truth, rather than accepting truths imposed by others. And there's something very powerful about that. Something that resonates with me in a way that few things do.
I also think about nihilism. The idea that nothing has an inherent meaning, and that it is up to each of us to give meaning to our own existence. Some find this a depressing, hopeless prospect. But I see the opposite: freedom. The freedom to decide what is true for me. The freedom to reject what was shoved down my throat and build my own vision of the world.
And now, sitting here, with this Grimoire open before me, I feel like I'm one step closer to that. As if, somehow, this book isn't just about witchcraft, but about a different way of looking at reality. A malleable, changing reality, where the rules are not absolute, where everything can be questioned.
I take a deep breath, feeling a strange excitement grow inside me. I close the Grimoire for a moment, resting my hands on the cover scanned on the screen. By chance, it appeared before me. But is it really by chance?
Maybe some coincidences aren't just coincidences. Maybe there are invisible threads connecting certain moments, certain encounters, certain discoveries. Maybe this is just another piece of a larger puzzle, a puzzle I'm still trying to put together.
But for now, I just keep readingI keep reading, immersed in the Grimoire as if I've found a portal to a parallel universe. As the pages pass before my eyes, the feeling of enchantment grows within me.
What captivates me is not just the magic described, but the way it presents itself: not as a dogma to be blindly followed, but as a personal journey, an invitation to experiment and build one's own understanding of the world. This fascinates me. Unlike the religious beliefs that have been forced down my throat for as long as I can remember, here there is no closed set of absolute truths. There is, instead, a path to be followed, a vast and open field for exploration.
The Grimoire speaks of magic as something inherent to existence, something that permeates not only rituals and formulas, but the very perception of reality. The concept that esoteric knowledge is not separate from the world, but is a tool to better understand it, hits me like a lightbulb. It is not about blindly believing in spells or occult energies, but about questioning and experimenting. Creating meaning rather than simply accepting it.
This reminds me of the philosophies that have always intrigued me. Nietzsche, with his denial of absolute truths and his idea of the "beyond-man", always made me reflect on the imposition of morality and religion. Nihilism, with its recognition that the meaning of life is not something given but something created, resonates strongly with what I am reading now. If there are no definitive truths, then why not seek knowledge in places where few dare to look?
The Grimoire does not present itself as an answer, but as an invitation to search. And I've always felt more comfortable with questions than with ready-made answers. The irony of this is not lost on me: all my life I have been pushed down a path of dogma and unquestionable beliefs, and now, by sheer chance, I stumble upon a book that encourages me to question everything.
My fingers tingle as I flip through the last few pages open before me. I find myself smiling slightly. Maybe fate isn't a real thing, but certain coincidences are incredibly timely.
I close the e-book, but I know I'll come back to it. Because for the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm on the right path—not to finding truth, but to creating my own.