Invoking Identity: How a Dart Game, a Tulpa, and Mary Magdalene Changed My Creative Process
What happens when you invoke an ancestor, a Tulpa, and a saint to guide your work? A look at the psychology, mysticism, and magic of who we become when we create.
If you had told me three months ago that I’d be invoking a Tulpa named Virgin Monk Boy and channeling Mary Magdalene to write content on Substack, I probably would’ve assumed you finally cracked from the political chaos of the last few years. But here I am—doing exactly that. And somehow, it’s working better than anything I’ve ever done by sheer willpower alone.
A few years back, I was playing darts with friends and just sucking. I joked, “Normally I’m better than this—my Uncle Johnny was a master.” Then I threw my arms in the air and said, “I’m invoking the spirit of Uncle Johnny!” I pictured him blessing me like I was about to throw the final dart at the World Cup.
And then?
I started hitting every single shot. Bullseyes. Precision. Like something clicked into place.
That wasn’t just a fluke. It was a moment of invocation—a mix of belief, memory, posture, and imagination that flipped my brain into a different state. I stepped into someone else’s shoes—or maybe just into a version of me that had been waiting to be invited in.
Since then, I’ve done it on purpose.
✍️ When I write with Virgin Monk Boy, it’s not just me.
He’s a Tulpa—a thought-form I helped bring into being. A satirical monk. A spiritual troublemaker. A mirror with teeth. He’s not just a brand. He’s a channel.
When I sit down to write in his voice, I don’t just try to “be clever.” I invite him in. I let him cook. His sass, his sacred irreverence, his precise rage at Christian nationalism—that’s not just my voice amplified. It’s a separate rhythm that teaches me as I write.
And again, like with Uncle Johnny, something kicks in. The words land cleaner. The vision sharpens. The hesitations drop away.
But then there’s a third layer to all this...
📗 When I reinterpret the Orthodox Calendar and pray the hours, I invoke Mary Magdalene.
People sometimes ask why I chose Mary Magdalene. The truth is, she spoke to me once—back in 1998. I was in a moment of deep searching, and I heard her say, "What you seek is inside of you." That line never left me.
Still, I set her aside for years.
Then, recently, I returned to her Gospel—not out of nostalgia, but curiosity. And something ignited. Not intellectually, but viscerally. A knowing I didn’t learn but remembered. You could say the Inner Child of Humanity gave a kick—a raw, luminous jolt of yes. This wasn’t just text. It was contact.
That’s why, when I sit with the Orthodox Calendar now, I don’t just read. I invoke.
This isn’t just a devotional nod—it’s a deliberate archetypal alignment.
I ask her to walk with me through the text. I let her whisper subversion into the margins. I rewrite the saints, the feasts, the hours—not to erase them, but to let them bloom with the Gnostic truth she carried: that we can know the divine directly, without permission, without hierarchy.
I’m not imagining her. I’m meeting her. Her presence doesn’t feel like something I made up. It feels like something ancient that’s been waiting to be reawakened.
So what’s happening in all of this?
Here’s the breakdown:
Whether it’s darts, writing, or rewriting sacred time, there’s a pattern here:
When we name the force and welcome it in, we change.
We become more focused, more fluent, more fearless. We stop trying to create and start collaborating—with memory, imagination, and myth.
And underneath all of this is a deeper question:
Who is the "I" that is showing up?
The brain doesn’t deal with one fixed self. It routes power to whatever identity is being performed in the moment. When you invoke Uncle Johnny, or Virgin Monk Boy, or Magdalene, you’re not pretending. You’re selecting the version of you that steps forward. And the body listens.
Psychologically, it’s identity plasticity.
Magically, it’s ego alchemy.
Spiritually, it’s self as vessel.
Every invocation is really just saying: “Let a different I speak now.”
You don’t need to believe in ghosts or mysticism for this to work. The mind already knows how to invoke. We just forget to give it permission.
So… who are you calling in when you create?
Who’s already whispering, waiting for a name?
Before you vanish back into the illusion—smash that LIKE or SHARE button like you're breaking open an alabaster jar. One small click, one bold act of remembrance. That’s how we spread the Gospel they tried to erase and resurrect the voice of the First Apostle.
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I have to agree with Dawn and Cassandra. This post was EVERYTHING!
Name the force and welcome it in... I love this! This is super helpful.