When magic happens…
February 5, 2012. No comments.
This is a picture of me off to holiday in Narnia….
As a child I used to think that if I willed it hard enough I’d get through my bedroom wardrobe to that magical place. If. I. Just. Willed. It. Hard. Enough.
But of course I didn’t. (Later I heard there were drugs that could do that, but I digress…)
Still, I have no doubt that there are ways of seeing that make everything appear more magical.
Like the way a small child delights at the sight of freshly fallen snow.
Or when you fall spine-tinglely, heart bouncingly, and most gloriously in love.
Or the thrill when your baby smiles at you for the very first time.
Or when someone close to you sheds their mortal coil.
You see that’s the thing, it dosn’t seem to necessarily need to be a happy event. I’ve noticed that both innocence and authentic grief have a soft openness to them that pulls in the grace and everyday blessings we ordinarily miss. Saying goodbye at the end of a life, or even a love affair, can sometimes be unexpectedly poignant and beautiful. I think there’s something about letting go, really letting go, that often does it. Like when it snows in this country and we all give in to the fact that our plans will change and start to go with the flow.
The word ‘ordinarily’ might also be key here. Hence the poets and the artists living lives of extra-ordinary moments…and flirting with disaster. The trouble is it’s quite wearing living like a love-struck teenager or a misunderstood novelist. And the mess builds up. The bills don’t get paid, the bathroom dosn’t get cleaned, the rubbish dosn’t get put out.
An old friend of mine once said “I love your life Jen. I wouldn’t want to live it myself, but it’s never boring!” True enough, and for all the magic I have stumbled across I wouldn’t mind a little more consistency. A small holiday on the island of peace and tranquility. A gap year that was a bit less of a (dare I say it) merry-go-round and more of a.. well maybe a graceful glide around a frozen lake.
But how do we keep the magic there? By reading less of the world news and more poetry? Going to the theatre instead of Tesco Espress, again? Developing ridiculous crushes on ridiculous people? Pursuing wildly improbable goals? Refusing to become cynical no matter HOW many times it turns out the same, damn, disappointing way?
I don’t know. Perhaps the magic is just an arbitrary state that comes and goes of it’s own will. Unexplainable, unfathomable, unforgettable.
Sometimes I love my home and sometimes it really annoys me. The same can be said of the cat. And anyone with a husband has told me they often find this to be the case with one of those as well.
So how do we keep those fires burning? how do we keep our sense of wonder? and the spell unbroken on that rickety old stage for one more night? and that pause in-between those last 2 notes electrifying when we play it again… for the hundred-and-twentieth-time?
It’s a bit of a mystery.
And one that I suspect does not want to be solved (and we would not want to solve even if we could.)
And that (may I tentatively suggest) is the beauty of it.
Now, where did I put my ice skates….