Magic

Magic. That’s what this new template reminded me of. Magic.

Magic has played an important role in my life. How ironic, something that doesn’t exist being so important to me, a being that I know exists, and as Descartes might tell me, I’m the only thing of which I’m sure exists, other than God, and yet something that is accepted by everyone, almost, over the age of twelve as being something completely not real is, for me, something that still plays an active role in my life. Even Harry Potter’s creator would admit that this world needs imagination and not magic, but I say that the world is full of magic, we just don’t realize it.

I’d like to invite you into a little portion of my brain. It’s beautiful there, this small portion. Imagine yourself on an average parking lot. Nothing really that spectacular about the lot, just a gentle downward slope to the north. The lot is adjacent to a beautiful old building made out of red brick. The lawn of the building is always kept green, except in early spring when it is airated and little children take turns believing the clots of dirt are first dog poo and then grenades, to be thrown at any and all enemies whenever you come in contact with them.

It’s a pleasant scene, but it’s not the place I remember as magical, the place that is still magical to me. Just north of the parking lot, there is a deep gulley, cut out by the constant eroding of a determined stream. With sides that are steep, the gulley is more like a small valley, creating it’s own atmosphere, it’s own feeling, so different from that of only a few feet up and to the south. One descends a mere ten feet to find all outside sounds have been cut off, and the only sound is the omnipresent bubbling of the stream about twenty feet below. The sides of the gulley are covered in lush undergrowth, and trees that appeared dwarfish from the parking lot suddenly become towering giants, seeming to hide tree-elves, those scheming tricksters who wait to play trick on the unwary travelers. If you listen closely, you might just hear a raccoon playing in the stream, or washing his food in preparation for the family supper. Thick foliage and trees effectively block houses from view, and it’s like stepping back in time, to when knights feared of demons and dragons, where elves walked freely and talked with men, and hobbits, though skittish, could be convinced to trust their noisy cousins.

I always thought I would find something unusual there. Wake up one day (after camping) to find a small dragon looking through my things, or perhaps that I should find that I had woken up in midst of a real forest, somewhere I could wander around forever, only to come out and find myself in a strange world, a strange place where anything was possible.

Each day I felt that way, I’d wake up in the same gulley. The morning there was always breathtaking. The stream combined with the steep sides made for chilly mornings, where the cold was trapped there, so waking up there was always a lot of dew around. For a few precious moments when the sun came up, high enough to be seen from the gulley floor, everything glittered, like a thousand diamond drops on each leaf. It was beautiful.

However, there is a dilemma: I still believe in the possibility of a lot of those things. I am not that odd in this belief. I find things like dragons, impressive animals and talking beasts to be a lot more believable than many of the fantasies regarding relationships that are thrown at me from modern entertainment. Perhaps this betrays a small amount of jadedness on my part, but so I see it. Magic, then, happens all the time, but in different ways.

And so, my friends, look! See the magic. There’s little things all the time that speak of beauty, of fairy dust falling, of potion dipped arrows, of greatness. Feel the magic. No, I don’t want you to go to Disneyland.