Yielding to Magic

It’s happening, I’m finally doing it. I’m crossing over into the realm of full-blown magic. WHAT!? Yes, that’s right, I’m ready to completely abandon any ideas about this world being anything but magical.

First, a bit of background. I grew up in a non-religious and non-spiritual setting. Everything in the world was exactly as it appeared to the senses. God was a fictional man in the sky. Anything non-physical was pure imagination. Things happened for practical reasons and within well-defined limits. Science explained existence, PERIOD. And what couldn’t be explained was fanciful thought not worthy of consideration. This was the foundation of my beliefs for several decades.

But it was a very worrisome world. Chance was real, so life and death teetered on the edge of random circumstance. Might I survive another day? Who knows. Might I get sick and die or suffer an accident at any moment? Sure. Might I fulfill a goal? Only if conditions are just right and no limitations block my path. Might I one day achieve success? Such rarities are like winning the lottery, so don’t bother. What a wicked place to persist within.

Almost two decades ago I met my friend — it was a full moon. She believed in the reality of wishes and magic. For many years I attempted to convince her that her worldview was completely unrealistic and wrong. I thought of myself as a savior rescuing her from childish ignorance. “What!? You can’t do that! That’s impossible! How dare you not think about the horrible consequences that might befall you every-time we leave the house!” Ultimately she didn’t believe me and still believes in magic.

Yet I noticed something. My friend seemed much more at ease with life. She seemed as though she was actually having a good time! She was having fun!? Ha! How is that possible in such a precarious, anxiety-inducing place!? That poor simple child, if only she knew the harsh realities of life, then she wouldn’t be so happy. I tried informing her but she kept on smiling. It was strange, an almost willful ignorance towards life’s grittiness. She seemed unable to understand how horrible everything was.

Then I had a son — he was born on my birthday. I was not pleased with the way in which my parents fulfilled their role, so I took a long hard look at myself to make sure I’d be the best dad I could be. I needed my son to be happy. One must lead by example, so I needed to be happy. One day, while he was still an infant, I happened to be upset over something. I sat in quiet meditation for quite awhile in the afternoon. It was at that time I vowed to become happy, to establish the necessary discipline no matter what it took.

My friend served as my example. Over the past few years I’ve been shedding my old worldview and adopting hers. Of course it was alien and unnatural not to worry, but I persisted. My son needs to see my smile, not my scaredy-ness. But for life to be joyous, he needs to know hope — so I’ve been adjusting my perspective to allow for optimism. We both need to know that wishes come true. My die-hard pessimism had to go.

My friend is an optimist whose wishes come true. As a realist, I would dutifully dismiss such nonsense and accuse her of stretching the truth. But no more. This is a magical world and she is a powerful wielder of wishes. She finds 4-leaf clovers. She receives mental messages from her family with real-world consequences. She effortlessly wins games-of-chance. She finds money when needed. As part of an experiment, I even saw her read the contents of cards without ever looking at them.

But even if her magic wasn’t real, she’s still a happy-go-lucky person. If happiness is my goal, I might as well model someone capable of having fun. When I think of life right now, in this moment, I see it as a love story. I see the ever growing affection I have for my friend. I see the doting father attempting to ensure delight in his little boy’s life. And I see a once sad little man smiling at his tiny family. I like that image, and if I must believe in magic to see it, then so be it — magic it is.

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