when i think magic


when i think magic
i don’t go in for old spellbooks
for warlocks with wands and witches on brooms
no. i don’t go in for voodoo dolls either

magic to me is serendipity, synchronicity
meaningful coincidence
the hidden connectedness of things

and you know where else i find magic:
in the healing power of time

let me tell you

it was not magic when i lost my mind
felt my soul shred and leak out
until i believed i had none

but it was magic when
in time, in time
my soul came to feel whole and wholly in me again

yes. it’s like in Bukowski’s poem about cats
or about how people are blind these days or
about arguing with a woman…
whatever he was on about, he wrote of something
“adjusting to the space of itself”
and that’s what’s happened to me
that’s my magic


One comment

  1. thanks for playing the writing prompt this week 🙂

    I like how you’ve interpreted this – how you talk about magic, and the bits and pieces so often associated with it – and yet, how so often, it’s not about anything as tangible and precise as this – it’s about something more elemental, an essence, a thread that weaves itself – and how often it can’t be named. And time – well, time is part of the magic. I appreciate how you’ve noted that even if the depths of the worst – madness, losing sense of self – feeling soul-lost – eventually, the mystery works itself out – and you discover the magic – as it presents itself – in unexpected ways.


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