✨ Right Time, Right People: Magic in Human Form

Witches talk a lot about divine timing — when the stars align, when the door opens, when the spell works just so. But no one really warns you about divine people. The ones who find you, not when you’re “ready,” but when you’re real. Raw. Ragged around the edges.

There was the festival — you know the one. I was wet, exhausted, out of dry socks and functioning on spite and burnt sage alone. Everything I owned was damp. My boots squelched. My patience had long since floated downstream. And there I was, sitting on a rock that may or may not have been a very unfriendly toad.

And then she sat down.

Didn’t ask. Didn’t hover. Just handed me warm frybread taco like some benevolent chaos goddess and said, “You holding it together, or just pretending really well?”

It cracked something open. We talked about all things magic — familiars, failed spells, midnight rituals, and that one time someone accidentally invoked Dionysus at a Denny’s. Before she left, I was laughing. Actually laughing. She was gone before the dawn, but left a note on my altar.

“You’re not alone. You never were. Now go eat something green and take a nap.”

That was magic.

But magic doesn’t just show up barefoot at a drum circle.

Sometimes she’s online. In pixels and pings. In DMs and shared links.

Sometimes she’s someone who stumbles across your blog or your weird TikTok where you're ranting about road cone divination. She laughs, she comments, she shares it with a friend. And suddenly — boom — your inbox is full of people saying thank you, or me too, or I thought I was the only one.

That’s how magic grows. Not in some perfect, polished spell. But in the mess. In the moments when you’re real and someone sees you anyway — maybe even because of it.

Sometimes she’s online. In pixels and pings. In DMs and shared links.

I remember scrolling through a witchy thread one night, way past a decent bedtime, tired in my bones. I’d just posted something sarcastic and half-serious about finding other elder witches who weren’t into toxic positivity or teal glitter cauldrons. Someone replied with a simple, “Hey. I see you. Come sit with us.”

That someone became a friend. Then a collaborator. Then a compass.

She introduced me to others — old-school witches with smoke-stained fingers and hearts big enough to hold an entire community. Folks who’d been quietly practicing, waiting for someone to speak their language again. She cracked the algorithm open like a seed pod, and suddenly, the internet wasn’t a void — it was a gathering place.

I started getting invited into conversations. Into circles. Into spaces that didn’t ask me to perform or shrink.

That’s the power of being seen.

And if you’re reading this, maybe this is happening to you too.

So, my darling magical weirdos, don’t underestimate what happens when you show up. Whether it’s in a mud-soaked field at Beltane or in the comment section of a half-baked blog post. You are somebody’s divine timing.

✨ Be the magic. Be the moment. Be the frybread. ✨

And if you’re reading this, maybe this is happening to you too.