"this is a magical beast that holds the secret of light & shadow in a safe place in her heart & when it has been too long grey, she starts to dance & laugh & cry & sing & the sunlight fills her up & spills in wild abandon back into the world again" ~storypeople
Of this I am sure, magic exists. and that it exists in me I have no doubt. It's in the moments where time ceases to move forward and the world about me is still that I recognize its quiet tug to take me deeper.
My home is a magical place. The forest about my cozy little country cottage is bustling with life in the simplest of ways. existence out there is not complicated for it does not move past the base of innate instinct and survival. The gentle doe outside my kitchen window can attest to that, as can the tonic breeze that spurs the towering pines into dance. I can't explain it really, the feeling of wild that seizes every part of me when I wander amidst the fallen needles and untouched earth. It's so familiar and yet it seems in that same moment as if I will never and could never attain even a glimpse of its true identity. It's as if all understanding is at my fingertips through unspoken language (the breath of cold December air, the tender stroke of a midnight rainfall) and in that split second when I feel to be one with it, I know nothing.
Time seems nonexistent as I stand gazing across the icy, morning-light soaked, land.
I've only begun to recognize (again) glimpses here and there of the beautiful stirring that I know is within me. The last nine months have found me walking in practicality and structure in which I found no time to nurture the spark of mystery within me, but here...at home I begin to see the reawakening of awareness in myself.
I could go on about how I believe this wild spirit is within all of us but I find that unless you have seen or touched or tasted it you will have no grid for my going on's. I can only speak to what I know, and that is of thankfulness for this place, my home, in which I can always be sure will bring me back to a place of beginnings. raw interaction with the magic that is within, the place from which all things (call it creativity, or the painting of emotion [or thought?]) are born out of me into reality.
This place is beautiful, sacred if you will, and now, in this new dawn, in the quiet humming of my thankful soul for gentle rains and the melody of nature, I find myself alive.