Satyajett

Stop Pretending You Are Not Magical

The world is busy giving you feedback.

Verbal and non-verbal.

Through this feedback, you learned early how to look “acceptable.”

Pretty, polished, palatable.

I was stuck in that cycle for a while.
I sanitized everything — even my spirituality.

I restricted myself from doing and saying things that were not deemed spiritual.
This was the outcome of living with masters of various disciplines.

Until I realized something simple and dangerous:

Spirituality is not about dropping yourself only to pick up something else.
It is about becoming more of who you already are.

The edges grew back.

You tried to belong to one world — the visible one.
Measured by productivity.
Measured by applause.
Measured by how well you behaved inside the moral court your mind created where everyone is watching and no one truly exists.

You almost forgot:
Artists live in two worlds — the seen and the unseen.

The seen is polished.
The unseen is raw.

The polished side invites people to look into you like a mirror.
Your rawness keeps you close to yourself.

But do you just want to look pretty?

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You don’t want to look pretty.
You want to look otherworldly and vaguely threatening.

Pretty is defined by others.
Otherworldly is defined by your aliveness.

Spreading your magic.

You want to stop shrinking your magic because people with no magic feel uncomfortable around it.
You want to stop explaining your strangeness to those who have never met their own depths.
You want to create something that doesn’t impress readers —
but saves the writer.

And that is where the rain begins.

It rained in your brain for months.
Not dramatic rain — just slow, internal weather.
The kind no one applauds.

Rest became rebellion.
Silence became discipline.
Confusion became apprenticeship.

You thought you were falling behind.
But you were being initiated.

God enters through the wound.

The world said: be consistent.
The wound said: be honest.

You were one bad decision away from ruining your life —
and two bad decisions away from a life of dreams.

The first became forty years of apprenticeship.
The second became devotion.

There is no magic, they said.
You keep going.
You stay weird.
Eventually they call it ART.

You don’t need to prove you are magical.
You only need to stop pretending you are not.

Maybe you are done belonging anywhere
because you are the bridge between worlds.

The polished world pays you.
The unseen world feeds you.

You are the artist.
You are the art.

And maybe this is the real secret:

Your art does not need to save the world.
It only needs to save your soul.

“Your heart and my heart are very, very old friends.” – Hafiz

So let yourself fall if you must fall.
The one you will become will catch you.

Everything will come to you —
not when you chase,
but when you are calm enough to receive.

Little by little.
Day by day.

What is yours
will find its way.