the magic i speak of

The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.
— w.b. yeats

My friend commented on last night's post, "Soooo, what exactly do you mean by "magic"? I breathe in, trying to rein in my wandering thoughts. The idea of magic is so real and expansive in my soul. Dare I try to define it? 

My first thought goes back to a conversation I had with another friend last week over tea and coffee. When someone said to her, "I see you are an artist. So tell me about that." She thought, "How do you explain this to a muggle?" It sounds elitist to say that and I don't mean that I won't try to explain it but it feels near to impossible. I wonder if either you know magic or you don't. I wonder if those who are enrolled in The Magic School already know. I don't have to wonder that ... I am sure of it. Honestly, I think we all know the magic. We just may have forgotten. 

Magic is believing in possibility. It is taking one thing and transforming it into another. Magic makes things disappear and reappear in another place. Magic allows me to see a hurting world and retreat to my thoughts, my dreams, my easel and paints, my books and I create the world in which I want to live. 

Magic is looking at something but seeing another thing. It is denying the commonplace existence because we live in the kingdom of our choosing. What kingdom do you choose? What will you call your castle? What are you secret magical powers?

I am a rule breaker. I have magic running through my blood. As long as I can remember, I created worlds in which to live. I told myself stories about the life that I live. I don't play by the rules of society or at least, I twist them in my own beautiful way. I refuse to be bound. 

I ask the deep and wonderful questions. I poke and I prod at convention and idols. I build my home from what is left standing for that is the only thing of value. 

I speak the language of poetic metaphor, transforming thoughts into trails of whimsy and wisdom. 

What is this magic I speak of? Is it casting spells? Is it calling forth that which is not? If that is the definition then every prayer I have ever said has been a form of magic. Prayers are incantations. Incantations are prayers. 

I say that I long for a small magic, the tiny shifting of my thoughts that leads to believing again in the good and the wonderful. I also long for the deeper magic. I want the rituals and seeing through the darker things. I want the alchemy, the magic potions, the spell book. 

Choosing magic and waking up to all the magical things in the world is a matter of survival. It is more than that as well. This is how I live, how I breathe, how I thrive. I need magic to wake up each morning. I need the treasure hunt through out the day. I need the whisper of dreams and lands that exist beyond the second star to the right. 

That's the magic I speak of.