This is one of the posts recovered after a botched website move in 2013. It was originally written and published on November 9, 2012.
When I was a little girl, my imagination was limitless when it came to the possibility of magic. After all, how could magic not exist in a world that featured Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, the Snow Queen, Cinderella’s fairy godmother, Peter Pan and Tinkerbell?
It was effortless to believe in magic, until it wasn’t. Then, like little Jackie Paper, “one gray night it happened”; magic came no more. Overnight, I grew up.
“Real” life took over. I believed in getting good grades, in getting a good job, in fulfilling wish lists powered by dollars with no thought given to sense. Or to magic.
Magic began to creep back into my life when I was forced to reconsider my grown-up perception of Christmas.
With an extremely limited budget, I couldn’t spend hundreds of dollars on gifts; didn’t want or have credit cards to max out in order to arrive at festivities laden with brightly-wrapped gifts.
As forced as it was, the shift was powerful in its complex subtlety. I began to notice things I had blocked out for over two decades. The shift started around Christmas of 2001, and continued long after that before it stalled, but, remained, simmering just below the surface of my consciousness.
The simmering became a gentle boil in August of 2003 during a trip to Prince Edward Island with my Ya-Yas. Magic, in the form of serendipity after serendipity, abounded.
The experience was compounded when, upon crossing the Confederation Bridge as we left PEI, the island was swallowed up by mist and disappeared from view, much like the fabled Brigadoon.
It was back to a simmer, and I fell into one of the darkest periods of my life.
Movement resumed in mid-December of 2007, following the death of a beloved friend who was a true believer in magic. Her death was incredibly painful to witness, but immediately after she drew her last breath, a shooting star was spotted in the sky.
Later that night, alone in my bedroom, I heard Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” – her favorite piece of music – playing as though it was coming from a stereo. There was no stereo in my bedroom.
The lid with which I had quelled magic was blown off in August of 2009.
In the process of pursuing a healing method that I was called to integrate into my life, I was given a glimpse of magic, and was reminded of my former belief in it.
Reiki healed me in a deeply profound way. It reminded me of the existence of something that lives beside our physical selves and yet remains largely unseen. And yet…
Even then, I wasn’t ready to fully accept it, blessed as I am with a brain that is equal parts right and left in its ability and capacity. Belief and acceptance were matched, point for point, with analysis and skepticism.
Now, over three years later, the belief and acceptance outweigh the analysis and skepticism. The former are still tempered by the latter, and yet I like to think it’s healthy.
It keeps me grounded when I’m in the throes of magic so powerful I could easily be swept away by it.
I welcomed magic back in. I welcome it today. I allow myself to see and experience it.
✨ when I place my hands on someone in need;
✨ when I send my light and love-filled intentions into a blocked and darkened space;
✨ when I am comforted by an unseen presence;
✨ when an incoming phone call or email is from a person I was just then thinking of;
✨ when I hear the gentle chant of jingle bells on the frosty air and can’t identify the source…
I believe in magic. Do you?