Focus on the powerful, euphoric, magical, synchronistic, beautiful parts of life, and the universe will keep giving them to you.
Her tiny hand clutched mine, as she whispered through her dummy.
âLook, magicâ her high pitched voice examined, looking at the light above.
Maybe sheâs referring to the dust fairies in the light. Maybe sheâs thinking, like I once did, that the strands of light radiating off that globe are magic. Or perhaps, sheâs actually seeing magic, because society hasnât yet told her sheâs wrong.
âYes beautiful.â I take my gaze from the light back to her. âThereâs magic. Youâre magic too.â
âNo, Iâm Chloe. Iâm real.â
Magic, to me, is very real - out there in the form of synchronistic events and chance meetings. The interconnectedness of life, the appropriateness of all those woven webs; hidden whispers that penetrate through the silence.
The presence that always was, infinitely is, and forever will be.
âYeah, you are real. And so is magic. Youâre real. And youâre magic.â
We shared that trundle bed again that last night together; this time swapping mattresses, as she fell into slumber amongst the turquoise sheets I usually lay, almost as if she knew I was leaving.
It broke my heart to say goodbye⌠it always does.
Seven continents, forty-four countries; six cities Iâve called my home these past twenty three years.
I can give it to you by figures; but how does one explain the crumbling of the heart with each goodbye?
It never got easier; I just got used to it.
The pieces fall apart each time, but they always come back together. In ways that fit better after each spurt of growth. The cracks are where the light comes in. The cracks are where the magic comes alive.
