Is Your Soul Under the Spell of Normalcy?
You didn’t choose this spell. It was woven around you. And every time you scroll, obey, perform, or suppress a question that won’t die—its thread tightens.
Oh the spell of society, one I am very familiar with. That droning sense of normalcy that buries the soul in social programming, political ideology, and religious indoctrination. That river of “going with the flow” of breeding, nesting, working, and entertaining that imprisons that still small voice until it screams for release.
This spell has a history. It started long ago, and was crafted by sorcerers of the highest order to keep the soul asleep, the inner child trapped, and the human being dependent, and the ancestral mind wiped clean.
No incantation was whispered. No candles flickered in a hidden chamber. This spell needed no wand, no rite, no overt declaration. It arrived wrapped in the soft fabric of the everyday. It came in the form of expectations. Routines. Apps. Smiles that didn’t reach the eyes. School bells. Commutes. Promotions. Bank accounts. Everything that promised security but left you strangely hollow.
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It came early—when your awe was still intact—and it spoke to you through adults who had long forgotten they were under the same enchantment. That’s how the Spell of the Ordinary is passed on: not with malicious intent, but through generations of souls who never questioned the dream they were told was real.
The Spell is Systemic
The spell works through repetition. The same hallway. The same alarm. The same chair. The same script. At first, you resist. You imagine a different life. You speak to the wild thing inside you, the untamed pulse that beats to a rhythm no one else seems to hear. But over time, you’re trained to silence it. Not through punishment—but reward. Applause for compliance. Smiles for predictability. Security for suppression. And if you're really good, you might even be called “successful”—the final seal of the spell.
This is where the Lords of Chaos can liberate the chela from the fishbowl prison. (more on this topic in Wizzan Temple (coming soon).
Success inside the dream isn’t necessarily freedom. Sometimes, it’s the crown of the prison but we’re terrified of the house of cards tumbling down. Alignment comes from living inside-out, rooted in presence, engaged with the ebb and flow of life. The point isn’t to escape the chaos or cling to order, but to recognize that the entire spectrum—light and dark, rise and fall—is our evolution. Penetrating reality is the key.
The soul does not die under this spell. It recedes. It waits. It learns to whisper instead of roar. It turns up as a strange emptiness in the middle of a celebration. As a flicker of dread at the peak of your productivity. As a quiet revolt beneath your smiles. It waits until the illusion starts to crack, until you can no longer explain away the dissonance between your outer performance and your inner drought. That’s when the spell begins to loosen. That’s when the soul starts to speak again. Not in words, but in unrest.
Portal of the Inner Path
Modern life is saturated with noise, but hollow in meaning. Our devices pull at our attention like digital sirens, promising connection while stealing presence. The ritual of scrolling is the new prayer, the screen the new altar. We check our reflections not in water, but in curated feeds and algorithmic mirrors.
And all the while, the deeper Self—the one who remembers the stars, the breath, the pulse of the Earth—waits in the shadows of your inner world, hoping you will turn around.
Maybe you don’t. Not yet. There are meetings, deadlines, notifications. You tell yourself it’s just a season. Just a job. Just a phase. The spell feeds on just. That there’s time to return. That one day, when things settle, you’ll finally face the gnawing silence.
I’ve told myself the same. I know the shape of that silence—the way it waits between weekend gatherings, nightclub escapes, toxic relationships, religious routines, and the desperate surf for some hit of success. But beneath it all, the busyness isn’t just distraction. It’s ritual. A mask over old wounds. A trance that keeps the inner child buried beneath a performance I never consented to, but learned to carry.
Sleep Seeker Sleep
The spell is clever. It wears the mask of normalcy. It convinces you that everything painful inside you is a personal flaw, not a cultural disease. It hides in routines that steal your time but reward your obedience. It is not broken by rebellion alone, but by remembrance. By stepping out of the trance and into your body. Into the real. Into the breath that lives beneath the performance.
You break the spell every time you stop and feel the strange weight in your chest instead of distracting from it. Every time you walk into the forest without a purpose. Every time you hold eye contact longer than is comfortable. Every time you resist the demand to explain yourself and instead listen to the silence within. Every time you allow your discontent to be sacred instead of shameful.
This is not self-help. This is soul retrieval.
The Inner Path. The Only Path
The Wizzan Path was not created. It returned. It is another name for the inner path. It is older than civilization and symbol. It is not a religion or a belief system. It is a remembering. A disruption. A wound that refuses to scar over. It does not offer easy answers or comforting illusions. It offers confrontation. Awakening. Not enlightenment as escape, but as embodiment. It calls to the one inside you that never truly bowed.
The Wizzan Way is living from the inside out consciously rather than the outside in blindly. It is a radical realization of “where” we live “from” and a willingness to live truly committed to our inner tuning.
There is a reason the system needs you numb. You are easier to manage when you forget your wildness. Easier to profit from when you believe your worth is external. Easier to control when your energy is fragmented across ten thousand distractions. But when you remember—when you feel—you become dangerous. Not violent. Not chaotic. But sovereign. And sovereignty is poison to every mechanism of control.
The Way of the Wizzan, or the Inner Path that resonates with you most, begins here—not with answers, but with the refusal to sleepwalk through a life that was designed to keep you sedated.
It’s not necessary to burn your life down, but simply see it clearly. To feel what it’s costing you. The soft death of wonder. The dull ache of performative living. The grief of a Self exiled.
Once you see it, you can’t unsee it.
The spell was never yours to carry. But it is yours to break.
— Zzenn