I can’t sleep. It’s incredibly warm out, and to boot, there are Northern Lights. I’m still sloshing with this set of large and terrifyingly positive feelings: hope, joy, anticipation, contentment, gratitude. I’m no good at holding them. I have to write.
My normal (I just walked out my door and rounded the back of the house, causing my dog to woof sleepily at my lurking shape in her window-view) is amazing. I sometimes get that. I am somewhat aware that tourists pay a lot of money for the chance to see our Aurora Borealis, whereas I often elect to sleep through the show. Even the stars, courtesy of living far from so many light sources, are brighter and spread out for a large swath of “view,” given that there are no mountains (or skyscrapers!) in the way. The Milky Way often pours overhead, a frothy spectacle of the great migration of suns and galaxies, incomprehensibly far and vast and old.
I worry about so many details. This is happening all around me. Coyotes are yipping now, way to the west and south. This semi-wild forest we live within is full to the brim with nuts and flowers and berries and birds, grasses, shrubs, trees, and standing burnt wood, deadfall, and innumerable old fence posts, scattered randomly to our current gridded pattern of trails, roads, and highways. There are paths upon paths, of rabbits, mice, birds, snakes, deer, elk, and moose. The bear scat is everywhere. Badgers, lynx, otters, and wolves are shyer, but still in evidence. Foxes, geese and frogs seem to be seasonally comfortable in our yard. Porcupines, skunks, and coyotes are less welcome visitors.
It’s hard to focus solely on the various irritations and adversity if I can just remember to look at the sky. Even in winter we have more cloudless blue days than not, at least normally. When we do get a few days running of cloud, everyone is grouchy. Seems unfair, and we all get testy and morose. The sun comes out, and we’re back to being polite, reserved, and more or less ready to complain, cheerfully, about the cold.
There are layers of perception, always. I don’t always notice the natural surroundings, and even when I do, I don’t always notice them as wonderful and beautiful and a gift. Lots of times I forget the privilege of clean air, silent nights, trails for miles just out my door, and a flowing river I can watch whenever I have half an hour (tops!) to walk there, with a friend.
If only…there’s the problem with sharing one’s story with others. Someone listening (say, me) could take your story and insert myself into it, badly. If only I had his advantages, her setting, their family. If only I (as myself, firmly rooted in my here and now) could be suddenly transplanted to there and then, as if that would solve anything at all.
No, my home is within my soul’s space. I believe that now, more than ever. And while I definitely do have hard limits, strong adversarial forces, and my fair share of chaotic environmental factors, my home does have access to tremendous sources of wealth. I need to remember that the magic is everywhere, hiding in plain sight, waiting for me to stop fixating on the mundane, the temporary, the non-essential aspects, and just look.
Strength, wisdom, grace, and truth are precious, possibly a little more precious than money, which can buy a lot, but not necessarily those pillars. Where else can I find them, I wonder, besides in an online vendor’s storefront?
the ground in its solidity
the wind in its range and variability
the diversity of plant life; so resilient, flexible, irrepressible
the rhythm of seasons; always the same, yet with just those little variations
the grass below, the stars above; both uncountable and yet so “small”
the way eyes tell us so much
the way touch feels to my heart, to my soul, and to my body
how time settles my mind down like a weighted blanket settles restless legs
how stories gather and condense truth, handing it to me like a bowl of blueberries, tart and strong and bursting with flavour
how some people make a skill look easy, when it’s taken a lifetime to learn
the way music resonates in our sternum, in our “gut,” and can literally lift our spirits
how some connections reach across space, so we are right together, without any geographical physical proximity
how forgiveness (the real thing, not the many sad copies of this so strong drink) offers humanity to a human who has lost hope
how lovely it is to find out I was wrong
There are more windows, doors, and trapdoors, I think. I have mine, and you have yours. Reading other people’s poetry, or memoirs, or anecdotes, or jokes, gives me startling images of what other people see out their front door, or when they look straight up. Or down. The point is, there is more to see, more to find, more to notice, more to seek and try and understand and ask and do.
My access to the achingly beautiful is very specific. Partly, it is so very beautiful just now because of our harsh climate, and the always approaching winter, with its many barriers to sight and feel and participation (not totally impassable, but difficult). However, this access is limited to what I have figured out and chosen to pay attention to; so much still remains unknown, and therefore unenjoyed, by me.
In seeking to welcome others into my home, in a bountiful, abundant, and grace-filled way, I could perhaps remember that sharing access to the portals I have normalized and even trivialized, could be for others a very tangible and appreciated gift. I’m not sure, and of course, it’s not my call what others (you, even?) want or like or even care about, but I do have these various known contacts with magic. I could definitely at least show them to others, to you, as a gesture of invitation to enjoy what I do enjoy, but also forget to enjoy, so often.
I do believe that this sort of generosity is within my capability, at the moment. Feels a bit like cheating, simply showing you what’s here and there, scattered like gold in a river, but common, and therefore…well, no less gold. Help yourself. I have all I need. There’s always more.
My sense of my own poverty has diminished, quite a bit, writing this post. That in itself is a quality of magic - how it enriches as one gives it away. I feel so full and content and yet more able to handle this largeness inside, possibly just through sharing it, here, with you.
Well, that’s my Monday sort of magic today. I’m curious what your Monday magic is like? Where do you gather up grace and truth and strength for the day? And can you share it? Without losing anything in the giving?
That’s how you know it’s magic.
Beautifully written. The aurora started coming as far south as England last year. The new solar system kicked off such strong activity that the lights poured over our gardens. I never thought I’d see that.