Happy Midweek Firefans.
I’m going to be honest. Sometimes I have no idea what I’m going to post, and so I think I just won’t. It’s that moment of succumbing that inspiration strikes, and I end up writing something that I really love.
That’s what happened today. I woke up thinking about the terrible tragedy that happened 12 years ago to the day, combined with the little miracles that happen in the bounty of our time on Earth. And this came out. Whether it’s good or not is really subjective, and beside the point. These words felt meaningful, passing through the shadows of my mind and out of my feeble fingertips.
So it speaks something to me…
I decided to treat it like poetry and leave it largely unedited, so forgive me for errors. Also- if you’re musically inclined- I was listening to this song as I wrote.
Hope you enjoy and find some Magic in the rest of your day.
Magic is art, it is color. It is words.
It is purpose.
Magic is finding secrets in song lyrics, hope in half-written poems.
It’s the luminescent warmth of light in a newborn baby’s eyes. It is the pure and shrill song of a young girl singing of snowflakes in July.
It is the voice of an angel that whispers me awake, both summoned and disguised by the quiet rustling of leaves outside my window.
Magic is being kissed into consciousness. It is falling asleep in the solace of the arms of one who loves without condition. It is sitting next to another and knowing Love without words.
Magic is a child learning to read.
Magic is the quiet knowledge gained in watching the eruption of sparks in the soul of a bonfire.
It lives inside the heart of the wanderlust dreamer who believes that men should fly, and then makes it so.
It is humans that dive into the sea and breathe inside of water, and fish that use their fins to push themselves onto the barrier of sand and sea.
It is the witnessing of Earth’s evolution in the bud of a new oak leaf. It is proof of God’s great Love in the burning colors of Autumn descending across a mountain slope.
It is knowing and not knowing.
It is the mysterious solace in winter’s first snow.
Magic is ideas.
Magic is exquisite hope.
Magic is love.
Without Magic, life is bleak. It is tragic. It is gray.
It is hindered by thick, suffocating clouds of indifference.
It is decay.
It is shards of broken mirror in a dirty gutter. It is freeways that snake through polluted cities, haunted by greed.
Life without Magic is paraplegic forests with thirsty skin and veins that run dry. It is mountainside wastelands disfigured from careless fire.
It is scars left by silence, wounds made from words.
It is a child too young to have experienced life and yet certain there is no reason to live it.
It is blood-stained and bruised and afraid.
It is a woman covering her cheeks in layers of counterfeit color to hide her own private war. It is her child sitting alone on the cold, concrete porch steps. It is despair.
Life without Magic is a young man in his prime, crushed by the belief that he has no right to claim Love.
It is prejudice. It is children weeping at the feet of their ancestors because the world has denied their existence.
It is Nazi Germany. It is refugees killed in crossfire.
It is ignorance. It is fury.
It is men driven by hate who steer planes into towers of innocent people. It is the putrid black smoke that arises from those towers, streaming pennants of malice and destruction.
Without magic we are stagnant. We are sterile.
We are lost.
Magic is the human condition;
We must pursue it and claim it.
We must live and breathe and love inside of it.
Without Magic, we will cease to exist.