Skip to main content

Magic!

Photo by Lyn

Mostly playful moments redecorating!

Letting Jane Roberts speak for me tonight:

You are magic. You charm the air so that it thickens into your body wherever you are. When you want to move, you think the air ahead of you into becoming your body, and the air behind you then stops being your body....all very magical indeed...Your life is charmed. And there is a secret, a very simple one. Really, it's not a secret. But you have to remember that your life is charmed. People who forget can't use their magic nearly as well as they did before, and they have a tendency to get angry at those who can. So, often they pretend that no magic exists at all. Then they evolve great philosophies to prove it, which is itself magical, of course. But they can't see that, because they're so convinced that magic doesn't exist...magic happens by itself, because that's what magic is...Everything happens by itself. You happen by yourself, so does the world. And the principle behind it all is magic. And magic is the beingness within and behind all things.
Labels:

Comments

  1. lynOctober 1, 2009 at 8:51 AM

    Magic is key to life, without magic, living is only existing and pure joy and bliss can not truly be possible. Excellent!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

♥ Thank you for taking the time connect with me here. ♥

Popular posts from this blog

Here With You

Photo by Daria Obymaha on Pexels.com Sinking lips into your tiny round cheeks, I'm home. Holding your tiny head to my heart, caressing my chin to your downy baby 'chicken fluff' we'll come to call it later, I'm home. Taking in your baby magic scent, I'm home. Pressing nose to nose, forehead to forehead, staring wide-eyed into each other's eyes, I'm home. Toting little bum and dangling legs around my middle, I'm home. Filled with purpose as you point where to go, what you see, I'm home. Your eyes, new windows to a world I thought I knew, I'm home. Holding you with fever, picking you up when you fall, I'm home. Navigating the years between, boxes of your firsts, every paint brush and pen stroke a miracle, I'm home. Saving pottery penguins, turtles, shiny red roses, a burrito with all the fixings immortalized in clay, I'm home. Kid sister fruit and craft stand on the corner, change clinking in coin purse, mag
2 comments
Read more

Storyholder

Photo by Ben Herbert on Pexels.com I’m standing on a cliff overlooking the water’s edge. The sky is present, hanging there in its vastness, holding this moment with symphonic strains of gray and electric buzz. Watching, suspended, sensing. I see to both sides of me vast white cliffs carved out by relentless grasping of the ocean extending down the coastline. The earth where I am standing up above gives just the right yield and welcome, with its soft grass and dainty yellow flowers, falsely giving the impression of delicacy, when anyone can see that they are hardy to withstand the harshness of forces here. There is an undeniable tightness of gravity here, pinning me down, tugging at me, slowing down my step. I feel as if this force could just sweep me away with the littlest of a flick, like an ant off the table. It screams danger while it beckons. My life had been recently taking on new grander design dimensions when this place and I met. Dating a new man, after being a singl
1 comment
Read more

Partaking of the Fruit

Photo by Anya Vasilieva on Pexels.com What I most struggle with in creative writing is that there are some ideas that just feel like they belong in the ether, in the natural born clouds. They aren’t meant to be pinned down, and every time I try to pin them down into a practical form on a page, I wound them a little bit, and must throw them back up into the ether for repair, to restore their more nebulous characteristics. This content isn’t supposed to have legs and weight, and to make noise when it walks, or to have such things as a name and defining characteristics. Rather, just whiffs of possibility that hint at an undercurrent of parallel worlds so vast and amazing as to put any Tolkien or Rowling to shame. Its just supposed to hang there, ripe for plucking, but the plucker beware. The fruit bruises easily. And yet, there are those books that seem to pin down something that doesn’t maim the central cast of characters, and in fact broadens the material into something that change
2 comments
Read more