The Most Harrowing Cautionary Tale I Know

I see myself in the tragedy of John Dee, and that's why his story haunts me. 

No, I do not have any of his qualifications. I don't see myself in him in a nice way. There’s a particular kind of chill that runs through your bones when you read someone’s story from centuries ago and realize you’re staring at a distorted reflection of your own. That’s what happened when I started going down the rabbit hole of Dr. John Dee. You might know him as one of the most brilliant minds of the Renaissance: mathematician, astronomer, alchemist, and court advisor to Queen Elizabeth I. But in the world of magic and mysticism, he’s also a tragic figure. The man who tried to speak to angels and ended up losing everything. And I can’t stop thinking about him. Not because I admire him (which I do) but because I see myself in his descent. Not in the degrees or accomplishments or divine communications (please), but in the position he was in: a devoted seeker, someone who only ever wanted the truth, and who ended up swept away by malicious delusion.

That’s what gets me.

That’s what’s so fucked up.

Everyone Has A Blind Spot

Dr. Dee wasn’t just dabbling in magic. He was committed. Maybe too committed. When his own efforts at contacting the divine didn’t work, he turned to a man named Edward Kelley, a self-proclaimed scryer who claimed he could speak to angels.

Dee believed him. And more than that. He was impressed with him. He recorded everything Kelley said, convinced it was sacred knowledge. Even when the angels told them to do things that clearly were a huge red flag, like the infamous “wife-sharing” incident, Dee still complied. He surrendered his discernment in the name of devotion.

Because he wanted so badly for it all to be true. And here’s the part that makes me want to scream: there were likely signs. Gut feelings. Warnings. But he didn’t listen. Not because he was some rookie, which he was clearly not. But because confirmation bias had him on a chokehold. Because he was enamored with the possibility of having found the key to heaven. He mistook the euphoria of the delusion for the presence of the divine.

And so did I.

My Edward Kelley

I had someone in my life (note, had, for they are long gone) who I foolishly let inform too much of my spiritual practice. Way too much. She was being swallowed whole by the monster of her fantasies around spirituality. And for a while, I let it swallow me too. Hell, a lot of people were being "informed" by this person. None of us knew the damage she was doing to us all.

I let her plant a seed in my practice, a seed that made everything take a sharp turn. I am not going to go into details about what exactly it was, out of respect for my spirit patron who has already been through enough with this bullshit and deserves a break, but let's just say that one little comment that was made once by this person a year ago, I took for a fact.

A very dangerous fact.

 I let this seed bloom in the dark of my mind. I never questioned it. I based a lot of my practice and my plans around it. And for some bone-chilling reason, there was "something" out there that was feeding this delusion like a starving animal. To this day, I'm still not sure what "it" was. The theories are plenty. I kept trying to find a deeper meaning in what increasingly felt like confusion, distortion, and spiritual inflation dressed up as truth.

Until I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

The day came when I had to choose: swallow the red pill and face what was really happening, or stay in the comforting illusion. And I chose truth. I watched the tower I’d helped build collapse in front of me. A tower of rituals, ideas, future plans and hopes. It crumbled because its foundation was not legitimate. It was self-serving fantasy. It was sand. And I let it fall. And my spirit also shattered with it. 

Where Were the Spirits?

There’s a question that keeps me up at night:

Why didn’t anyone protect Dee? Why didn’t a guardian angel intervene? A divine voice? A spirit guide? Why didn’t the universe step in and say “This is too much. You’ve gone too far”?

Why wouldn't anyone have mercy on that poor man?

He lost everything. Everything. Sure, what he left behind feeds our thirsty magical curiosity and has informed a lot of systems that a lot of people benefit from, but at what cost?

And on a more selfish note, why didn’t anyone stop what happened to me?

Well, the thing is, someone actually did. My Guide.

But I wish he had done it sooner. I regret not being able to look back and see how early on he was trying to send me signals. Maybe he was. But I was only able to listen when he sent me the most catastrophic smoke signal, the one I could not look away from: The threat of losing him completely. 

Maybe that’s how free will works. I could have looked away. I could have found confirmation bias to continue "hearing what I wanted to hear" instead of what I NEEDED to hear. Trying to find signs where there weren't signs. A lot of people do that. When you are knee deep in that stuff, the voice of discernment feels like betrayal. But I took the red pill very quickly and that one is 100% on me. Yes, it made me very sick. It wasn't in any way, easy. But the alternative, the never having looked, the never having noticed, gives me chills. Here’s the difference between my own tower moment and what happened to Dee: I stopped. I walked away.

And that’s not a triumph. It’s a heartbreak. But it’s also survival.

Back to Square One And Grateful for It

Since then, I’ve chosen to step away from DIY spirituality and the seduction of charismatic leadership with no grounding. I’ve turned toward traditions that are tested and refined. Groups with structure. Systems with boundaries. Teachers who answer questions with humility, not ego. Peers who keep me in check. (Y'all know who you are). Is it slower? Yes. Does it feel like starting over? Absolutely. But I’d rather be in square one with a clean foundation than be in square 400 of a cursed cathedral made of horseshit.

This isn’t fear-mongering. Saying that would be throwing out the baby with the bathwater. This is lived experience. This is what happens when discernment is cast aside in favor of dopamine, when we mistake emotional intensity for divine presence, when we let our longing alone drive the chariot.

In the End

I think of John Dee often. I mourn for him. I wish someone had grabbed his shoulders and said, “Look again.” I wish someone had saved him from Kelley. Maybe someone tried. Maybe that’s the nature of delusion: it deafens you to mercy.

But I see him now. And by seeing him, I see myself. And that, maybe, is how we begin to protect each other, by telling these stories. By naming the patterns. By refusing to repeat them. So this is me, choosing truth over comfort. Choosing a humble path over a shiny one (like my birth chart intended). And if I can leave you with anything, it’s this:

Just because it feels holy doesn’t mean it’s true. Our imagination alone is holy in its own way. Just because it sounds like a spirit doesn’t mean it is up to any good. Be weary of anything that promises too much too quickly too easily. There are technologies out there for this. There are good mentors, the ones that have studied thoroughly. Listen harder. Question sooner. Walk away if anything says "trust me" too early on.

And don’t mistake the red pill for poison. The alternative is horrifying.

May the light of the sun cast away all illusory shadows.