If we only ever read what is written for us, by our contemporaries, we risk living in an echo chamber. To build a magical practice that is resilient, dynamic, and informed, we must venture into history, folklore, language, and literature — connecting with the deeper roots of the traditions we honor.

An altar is only alive when it’s tended. Left to gather dust, it becomes a hollow space — a place of resentment rather than reverence. My lunar routine isn’t about worshiping the moon, but about keeping time: a rhythm of tending, charging, stripping, and cleansing that keeps my practice — and my spirits — fed.

When I set out to reconstruct my family’s magical tradition, I quickly realised that English-language resources were scarce—and often unreliable. Translations carried biases, academic sources simplified complex traditions, and folklore lost its richness when stripped of its original linguistic and cultural context. Learning the languages of my practice wasn’t just about expanding my research; it became essential to preserving the integrity of my craft. By engaging with primary sources directly, I uncovered layers of meaning, symbolism, and nuance that would have otherwise been lost. In doing so, I not only deepened my connection to my ancestors and their magic but also ensured that my practice was built on authenticity rather than assumption.