Of Magic

Of Magic:

sometimes I write of magic, subtle forces beyond my understanding, and this is often taken as a belief in otherworldly affairs, fantasy, or a delusional way of thinking. I don’t argue my point, there is no sense for me to debate my writing, it’s inspired by my own early morning listening, secrets that the hours well before dawn holds and whispers to me if I’m patient, quiet…willing to suspend belief and simply listen to the morning.

there’s magic to these hours.

often, writing of magic, there comes a demand of proof, and yet there’s nothing for me to provide — this is my own enchantment, for myself alone and only meant to share by words and inspiration. It’s the mystery of receiving words from absolutely nowhere, sudden, ideas arriving already formed and ready for expression. My proof is my writing itself, joyful hours of silence intermixed with words, the very last hours of dark parting to the light of dawn and that it all arrives with such ease, nature in its own magical course.

holy hours indeed.

yes, I believe in angels, devas, elementals, nature spirits, things that exist beyond our common understanding. Perhaps they belong only to my imagination and I’m quite alright with that, as these are my hours, magical, and only meant to be shared by occasional writing. Everyone should find their own magic, to allow…