We tend to think of magic as something that, in times of doubt or lostness, might intervene upon us. We listen for its clarion call, an oracular declaration, the prophetic dream, the jungle medicine that, like a tsunami, sweeps us out of the stuckness of our lives.
But if we take a more rigorous look, we find at the core of this yearning is the belief that something knows better than we do what our vocation is, what our direction should be, where our people live, and so on.
Certainly there are times in everyone’s life when something greater pushes you in the direction of your destiny, but these things can’t exactly be sought out. They must be invited to reach us in their own time. If we want magic to come alive in our lives, we must tend to our everyday relationship with it.
One of my favourite lines in a David Whyte poem is, “Alertness is the hidden discipline of familiarity.” In other words, there is a practice we can engage in which brings us down in the subtle world where magic waits and dwells. For me, this practice is dreamwork. Dreams provide a wellspring of normiracles in the form of symbolic guidance which strengthens our instinctual response; the key to our sense of location in the family of things.
But once we receive the dream, we must take symbolic steps towards that which knows our true name. This can be as simple as keeping a daily list of those beautiful things which conspire in your favour, recognising the tiny triumphs that are keeping you from downspiraling, or exalting in some physically symbolic way the life you are calling towards you.
Magic is a relationship forged in the ordinary. It is our endurance through the unknown, unyielding times. It is faith in the as yet unmanifest. It is the invocation of the large, but while praising the small. Magic is the redoubling of our vow when disappointment befalls us, a shoulder to the wheel of our intent.
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