Magic is Real

Magic is real, but it's a practice.  It is found only by searching.  By holding still in the moments and really BEING there.  

Magic is

A breath caught in the throat

The shattered heart

A leaf falling gently to the earth

Frigid air that bites the skin

The last rose on the vine before winter

A screaming child reaching for his mother

Spiked heels stomping away from the boots of a lover

Golden light shining through a champagne glass as the bubbles float to the top and burst into the atmosphere

Someone crying in the rain

Magic is choosing to live with your heart outside of your body.  It's seeing all of the moments and honoring them before they pass.

One day as a teenager, I skipped school and instead drove north to my grandmother's ranch in rural Washington.  It's hours from any city and when I got there I was alone.  It was May and summer was just about to begin.  I stepped out of the car and wandered into the forest and laid down under a birch tree in the middle of the pines for hours.  I thought, "I am the only person who will ever see this tree from this angle, in this season, in this light, with the wind just so.  I wonder if I sit here long enough if I will always remember it."

The tree felt like a gift from God to me.  I don't believe in God anymore.  The sacred memory of the tree was a gift from me.  I don't know where life came from, but I know that I am here.  That other life is here.  I just want to stay open and remember.