Don’t you want to live mythically?
Expanding the borders of your creative practice
I don’t feel motivated to show up to things that don’t feel like a microcosmic fractal mirror of the rest of my life, my Will, and my Purpose. If it doesn’t feel all-consuming, I don’t want it. I guess that’s the real reason I started doing magick. Because I can’t get myself to brush my teeth unless I’m codifying it as a spell to clarify my personal expression and speak my desires into existence. I can’t show up to clean my apartment unless I imagine it as clearing space to welcome new ideas, energies, and spirits into my home.
I can’t get myself to do anything unless I’m clear on how it fits into the bigger picture of what I value and what I want to achieve.
So, of course, I can’t sweep my creative practice into a neat little corner of my life and expect it to get done. I can’t compartmentalize it like that. I have to view my creative expression as a spell of self-creation, a ritual of worldbuilding. And I have to fix the greater reality in my mind—that every act of my life is an act of creative expression.
In every moment that I connect with my own agentic power—with every decision that I make—I am creating art that some might call a life.
And every moment that I am not present to consume that life, to live it fully, to sink my teeth into the very flesh of it, I am missing out on the most exciting, inspiring, nourishing fruits of my existence.
This is why I do hypersigil work—sometimes called narrative work. This is why I take every opportunity to delve deeply into my inner world and recreate it outside of me.
Narrative work is about authoring your own mythos.
And I say ‘authoring’ here because a hypersigil doesn’t have to be created in writing—it can be painted or drawn, performed as an act of ritual, acted-out as a divine play, spoken into a mirror.
What makes something a sigil is simply its ability to symbolically reflect a larger truth. And what makes something a hypersigil is when you iterate that symbolic content over and over again across time and space—across creative mediums, across the various theaters of your life.
Every moment you remember you are creating your Self and your life and decide what sort of spell you’re casting with each individual action, you are engaging in narrative work.
Every moment you use these tiny choices to express your individual Will and enact your desires, you are engaging in narrative work.
When you take yourself on a little coffee shop date for the express purpose of embodying your Godself in a public space with witnesses, imagining your aura expanding to draw in fresh adventures, friends, and potentially gasp foes, you are engaging in narrative work.
When you whisper new meaning into an old habit—turning empty routine into a magick spell—you are engaging in narrative work.
You are not a singular, linear hero’s journey, you are a mythopoetic saga.
You don’t have to know where your life is going or organize your Purpose into some kind of unified mission statement to create your hypersigil. You simply have to make contact with what feels most scrumptiously enlivening and exciting to you in any given moment. Let yourself try on lots of different hats. Let yourself assemble a collection of motivations and modus operandi. Let yourself be a new character every day.
Personally, I’m an intergalactic space pirate, frenetic fairy, wizard of the misty mountaintop, roadside purveyor of pernicious goods, and digital high priestess depending on the day!
My operational directives and interests are always changing. I’m not here to do one thing on this planet and one thing only, I’m accepting new missions from Spirit everyday. But the more I pay attention to the overarching themes in my emergent desires, the more a pattern begins to assert itself and the more grounded my earthly pursuits feel. A certain narrative of who I am and what I do arises and I begin crafting that story more intentionally.
And the more clarity I feel on the story I’m authoring, the more aligned opportunities are magnetized into my life. I can begin building an architecture that supports what I want flowing into my field and what I want flowing out.
Narrative work allows us to recreate the internal in the external—to choose what we want to experience more of and direct our focus to expand it.
Moving through a materialist society, we’ve been given a disconnected, disenfranchised, traumatized worldview—one where we’re taught to react to the external rather than respond from the internal. Narrative work is about reversing this orientation and reclaiming our agency to create the reality we choose.
Instead of absorbing everything life throws at us and spitting out pre-programmed responses, we get to decide which information to take in and how to integrate it—anchoring ourselves in what feels good and valuable to us as individuals and using that awareness to form a creative response. Narrative work allows us to turn toward what is generative and re-shape what is obstructive, to use the beacon of our attention and the magnifying glass of our reality filter to choose how we want to relate to the things that happen to us.
The beauty of our first person perspective is that nothing outside of our individual perception can truly be verified. If we’re fixated on finding objective truth, that reality can be debilitating. But if we’re focused on accommodating many truths, it can be tremendously empowering. It frees us up to find the beliefs and interpretations that make us feel most sane, productive, and personally aligned.
This sort of augmentation isn’t a rejection of consensus reality, it’s a yes-and, it’s a playpen of possibility—it’s an experimentation zone. We don’t have to commit to one perspective and surgically implant it, we’d just be recreating the original problem! Instead we can volley various viewpoints back and forth and see which ones serve us best.
We can find what helps us feel more of what we want and less of what we don’t.
Narrative work shouldn’t be a practice of forcing something on yourself that creates friction with your external reality—it should work in concert with your embodied reality.
Living as your Godself isn’t about crafting some idealized main character so you can trade one mask for another. It isn’t about forcing or faking it. Multiple realities exist within you and creativity is what allows them to coexist. Instead of designing a worldview where you are either empowered or disempowered, broken or healed, victor or victim, you weave those stories together to reflect the truth that you are all of them—intermittently and in tandem.
This is how you gradually change what stories are most accessible so you can choose more useful ones. Over time, as your reality filter turns up confirmation in the form of oft-overlooked information, your chosen narrative becomes more salient.
Your embodied reality begins to change.
What used to feel scary and threatening now feels safe and supportive.
You begin making different choices and getting different results.
Changing what you notice in your inner world changes how you behave in your outer world, and soon the two begin to reflect each other.
The truth is that your life is already a hypersigil, an epic story. You’ve just forgotten you’re the one writing it.
Don’t worry, we all forget every now and then. It would be too energetically taxing to be conscious and intentional, awake and aware, at all times! But when life starts to feel boring and draining, when we feel lost and listless, that’s when taking up narrative work comes in to shock us back to life.
That’s when expanding the borders of our creative practice and turning our whole existence into art becomes an imperative, a survival strategy.
So ask yourself: What can I do to feel more creatively expressed and practice embodying my Godself right now? How can I re-center myself in my own epic story?
And if you need help designing experiments to help you answer that question, schedule a coaching call.
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