The Body Electric (thebodyelectric) wrote,
The Body Electric

Unabashed: 7 year olds and magic

I think the big question is: what would your seven year old self think of you now?

I know what I wanted magic to be when I left the Catholic church. Tired of conforming to others old standards, I wanted magic to adapt my standards as guidance. I explored for a bit, learning a little about stones/crystals, rituals, and beliefs. It still seemed inauthentic - belief in someone else's words, meanings and interpretations without my rooted gut being included.

I suppose my definition of faith shines through here, but I don't consider myself to have much of it. I prefer not having faith in the words of people I don't know, but I pretend often enough. I suppose faith would be a reliance on something greater, a common truth, or an underlying rhythm. I don't know that I see any of those all that often.

When I was younger, a child, living in many realities through books, I loved faeries and changelings. Even mean ones. I still didn't trust wizards. Even good ones. I read my way into places with new rules, different habits, and magical, special, chosen main characters. Human-ish, but surrounded by less special, rarely-chosen, faceless others.

Eventually, as a nerdling in school, I started to realize I wasn't one of the chosen. Not in THAT way. The story is really about the pretty, charming, blond girl in the front of the classroom.

Magic, now, is ordinary.

In my daily life, it appears in trying to see through immediate things. Keeping afloat and mildly positive on my plywood and 2x4 raft as I float through the swamp. I'm dirty from wading in, pulling my boat together, and capsizing, but for now it is dry dirt.

The balance between whatever is happening now and what could happen later. Sometimes, magic feels like waiting. I get impatient, tap my food, and try not to scowl. I have to remind myself that there are always important events about to happen. That listening is a virtue even better than patience. The magic is being distracted from the passage of time by love.

I'm on a raft that leaks, I get bored, and I'm drifting with no real say in direction. Maybe I'm scowling, cranky at the mud. Magic is when you first hear a frog, notice a beam of sunlight, or see someone else on a raft who is also looking out.
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