Sunday, after three rounds of sanding, I brushed a spoon with a soft cloth and found imperfections my hands couldn’t feel. That moment stopped me. I wasn’t crafting a utensil for human perception; I was crafting something softer than touch, something that would hold intention long after I’d set it down. The wood knew. The future spells stirred with this spoon would know. The universe would know.
Good Enough for Me
What is Good enough when it comes to witchcraft? “Good enough” isn’t a universal standard in witchcraft. It’s personal, and it evolves.
A spell or ritual that took every ounce of effort when I was a baby witch would be considered “calling it in” for me now. Back then, everything was new; every spell an experiment, every tool a first attempt. That level of effort was sincere. It was everything I had.
But growth changes the baseline. For comparison, what earns you an A in primary school won’t get you through your university classes. As witches, our standards should rise with us. Not out of perfectionism, but out of respect for the craft. So, “Good enough” for me is a moving target… and it should be.
Effort Should Deepen, Not Inflate
However, there’s a trap many witches fall into: the belief that more elaborate rituals create more powerful magick. But complexity isn’t the same as depth.
Time spent preparing and steps involved are not the gauges of a good spell. If I spend so long preparing for a spell that I never end up actually doing it, that’s not devotion, that’s avoidance. And if I do 20 steps during the ritual, but they feel like a check list, I’ve lost the plot.
So, I use a simple test:
Can I accomplish this spell within one lunar cycle? If the answer is no, then I have to consider the fact that I might be more focused on the ritual than the intention. Preparation should empower the spell, not delay it or make it feel less personal.
The Universe Follows Your Lead
So, what word can I use to explain intention: caring. And you can’t expect the universe to care more about your spell than you do. Your effort sets the tone. Your intention sets the direction. The universe listens to that intention.
If I treat my materials with care, they remember. If I rush, they remember that too. Wood, oil, wax… they all hold the imprint of how they were handled, the care, the intention. Invisible labour isn’t invisible at all. It becomes the energetic signature of the tool.
When you walk into a metaphysical shop, you can feel the energy of the space, even if you don’t know what was done to create that energy. Tools are the same. You may not know a spoon was sanded three times by hand, oiled with high‑end Canadian cutting board oil, and waxed with that same level of care… but you know something is different.
Contribution Over Control
Here’s the part that matters most to me: I don’t make these spoons because I want someone to feel a certain way when they pick them up. Their emotions, their rituals, their craft… that’s for them to shape, not me. What I’m responsible for is the intention I put into the tool.
My job is to contribute to their practice in the best way I can, through care, effort, and integrity. The spoon carries my devotion, not my expectations. After that, it belongs to the witch who stirs with it. So, whether it be a spoon that I am engraving for sale, a personal ritual, or how I live my life, I really only have one guiding principle… I care. That is why I am a witch.
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