Two magical things happened yesterday. One, my car wouldn't start (not the magic part). If you know me, then you know I love my car, but we've had a rough old year together. So, of course, I assumed the worst.
Well, then, wasn't it the most magical gift to hear that it was merely a corroded connection, and that the grand total for the repair was under 50 dollars? It was one of the highlights of my year, I tell you.
The second magical thing happened in the middle of the night--the power went out (again, not the magical part). All I could think about (after hoping it wasn't an accident and, if it was, that everyone was okay) was how this new thing would change my routine, how I have to hustle differently, and then (of course) I lay awake for hours, trying to read myself back to sleep.
And then I slept and I dreamed the power came on (as you do). When I woke up, I reminded myself not to get my hopes up, but then there it was--the streetlamp (the one I complain about being too bright--never...
Now is the time to invite in magic. The spring equinox, for me, is the true new year--and after this particularly long winter, I say we write our own rules. I say we dictate what can and cannot be our reality. I'm sick to death of fear and of cowering before each day, before it's even begun.
When did we get to be so frightened? When did we decide that we weren't made for a happy life? I don't know, but I'm worn to the bone, and I could use a new year and a little magic.
I rarely pay attention to the sun, but most of us probably don't, do we? It's more or less unchanging and far too distant to do much good as deity or timepiece. Plus all that heat, that light, that (traditionally) masculine energy has always left me, at least, a bit uneasy.
But the moon--dark, cold, changeable, and so close as to affect our blood, our mood, the tides, the sowing, the harvest... I don't know what that means; I don't know of its deeper significance, but in a world with little material left for faith, for optimism, for selflessness, well. I think this particular celestial being, so close as to have seen all the centuries of our cruelties, our weaknesses, our selfishness, and our power-grabs serves as a good sounding board, carrying our frustration and heartbreak with her, turning her face from us as she does whatever dark magic necessary to preserve our own survival.
At this point, I just have to remember to believe in magic. It's not too difficult once you graciously (and gratefully) forget everything you've been taught and remember everything you've learned, inherited, and intuited in that space between awake and asleep.
In my second-to-most-recent move, I moved house after living in the same place for four years (the longest I've lived anywhere, I think). Not a sentimental person by nature, I was not ready to come across something I had assumed lost, long ago, long before the most recent version of home needed packing up, shipping out.
Too, I am not one gifted with an easy memory, but this time, I sat for days (so it seemed), while pieces came back--the ones I wanted to keep. The thread, the hemp, the body of the necklace had long gone and perhaps that's the loss I'd not known I'd been mourning. But that's merely organic connection, bound to decay. These stones were here for the long-haul, and all this time, they'd sat waiting, somehow unearthed a thousand miles from where they'd begun, found in a small cardboard box in the back of a linen closet, in the middle of the country.
I believe in magic; I hope for magic. I just can't seem to muster up faith in magic. But I keep thinking, if I clap my hands, get into the woods and bang my drums, wave my chimes loudly enough and with all the cheer and joy I can muster (throwing in a few never-to-be-seen dance steps), then I can't go wrong.
Can we invent joy*, invent magic, simply by being willfully joyful? I think we can.
Well. Either way, I'll keep collecting pretty stones, bells that remind me of a time at sea I've never seen, and drums that resonate and salt my blood with the sand of deserts I'll never visit.
Magic is welcome here.
*Note--joy is different than happiness or gratitude. The latter two can, I think, be forced or faked. The former is nothing but a spontaneous eruption of a hodgepodge of blissy happiness we're lucky enough to experience from time to time.