On the morning that Fennica was scheduled to leave port, just one day after our ritual, I returned to join kayaktivists in a final attempt to stop the oil expedition. To our incredible surprise, Greenpeace activists now dangled from the very bridge we spellcast on the day before—a human blockade jamming the ship’s exit route. We shouted and cheered with ecstatic joy and solidarity. Those of us who’d been part of the ritual glanced around at each other with that what the actual fuck look in our eyes. Did our spell work? Were they here because of our magic? 

The ritual, the bridge danglers, the tension sizzling in the air—all of it had me buzzing and peaking. Any fear, any uncertainty I’d felt about getting on the water had washed downstream. I smiled and jogged over to the launch point. Throwing on a helmet and lifejacket, I hopped into a kayak and paddled out into the middle of the river where I joined the growing group of kayaktivists. 

Fennica barreled down on us, her silhouette consuming more and more of the morning sky with every inch she gained. I was scared shitless, but I was ready. We were ready. Police boats charged at us, trying to punch a hole in the ranks wide enough for the ship to fit through. But the combined efforts of bridge danglers and kayaktivists held that ship in port all day and all night. It wasn’t until the next evening that police arrested those on the bridge and the coast guard escorted the ship through the faltering phalanx of kayaks and other small boats.

At the time, I didn’t believe our spellwork manifested the belayed drape of climate change activists. I still don’t. They started planning their action well before we performed our ritual. But that fact didn’t matter. What mattered was the shift in my own consciousness, and that a group of people came together with a common purpose, sharing a connection and a spiritual moment in service of a greater good. 

My spirituality always comes with healthy doses of skepticism. I don’t carry active beliefs about gods, spirits, and magic with me throughout my day. My spirituality is rooted here on Earth. It’s about connecting with nature and other beings in this world, in this life. Some people practice religion and spiritual traditions to earn favors in an afterlife. But for me, it’s about coming together with others to build meaningful communities and to create a better world we can be proud to leave behind for future generations. No doubt, this is why my spirituality has always involved social justice and political activism.

As editor-in-chief of Solarpunk Magazine, a publisher of science-fiction and fantasy, I’m familiar with the magic of stories. Fictional magic is tangible and flashy and speaks to the unique richness of the human imagination. Magic in real-world witchcraft doesn’t produce sparks, swirling winds, or flying islands, but its role in our lives can be just as fantastic. 

I don’t believe gods listen to our prayers and grant our desires like in traditional religions. Nor do I have beliefs about pulling things from a spiritual realm and manifesting them here in the physical world, a common belief among New Age pagans and witchcraft practitioners. For me, belief is irrelevant. Magic is a method of prayer, a meditation that helps me set a harmonious frame of mind and build confidence within myself as I prepare and go into the world to accomplish my goals.

This type of practical magic, spirituality rooted in the here and now, is a tool rather than a belief system. For that reason, I always tell people who ask me about magic (whether they want a spell to conjure love, success, healing, or an end to racism and fossil fuel use) that we can’t just wave a wand or chant some words and sit back waiting for our prayers to manifest before our eyes. All the magic or prayer you can muster isn’t worth bothering with if you aren’t also taking action to make your desires real.

We live in an increasingly dystopian world. Depression, despair, and climate anxiety are widespread. Spirituality, prayer, and magical practices are woven into the fabric of our cultures—elixirs of hope for trying times. They’re by no means the only option we have, but there’s no denying that for many humans, they’re important tools that’ve been passed down by friends, teachers, and ancestors. For this reason, I’ve always mixed my spiritual and magical practices into the cauldron of activism. The magical rituals I perform build the drive, confidence, and conviction I need to engage in direct action, to kayak into the path of Shell’s 8,000-ton icebreaker, to put my life and freedom at risk. 

Ultimately, Fennica embarked her oil expedition a day after our protest. We may not have stopped the icebreaker from leaving port, but our effort can’t be called a total failure either. To me, mixed results notwithstanding, our ritual worked its magic. The trench war against climate change won’t be decided by one momentous victory or defeat. It will be one step forward, two steps back. If witchcraft can spark the momentum to secure little victories, to endure in the face of defeat, then for those of us practicing it, it’s worth every breath and incantation.