Monday, April 12, 2010
The hand of One
I saw the sparkle well before I saw the what-looked-about-like-a-second-grade girl float onto the bus steps. The early-morning sun caught her jelly shoes just right, transforming her into a fairy princess ascending her coach. The way she danced up to the vehicle as the sun glowed orb-like around her let me know the shoes were new and her present pride and joy. They were magick.
Minutes later, I watched mystical little bubbles, as if something ethereal and effervescent coursed through them, encircle my arms after they cut from midair into the wet surface during my lap swim. They were there as I initiated the workout, easily stroking end to end. And still, as my heart beat faster and faster and I pushed myself mid workout. And, yet again, as I slowed and cooled. They never left me. Magick.
Yesterday, Autumn pointed that word out to me in a title at a bookstore: magick she said is different from magic and what our beloved nine-year-old friend Caleb says he practices. He's always listened to trees, chanted, come from another place and lived like no one else I know. Magick.
I don't know what the actual definition is, but I believe it has a lot to do with mysticism, belief, trust, faith, awareness and openness. Those times when the veil between physical and other worlds thins.
Perhaps it's always there, we just have to be in the right frame to experience or notice it.
I wonder why I was privy this morning. Possibly because I had spent all of the previous afternoon and evening digging in my garden, planting lettuce and spinach cuttings and 11 trees alongside Autumn. I was happily dirty and grounded. Or maybe that it was Sunday and I had deeply entered worship to that place that's almost sleep, but not quite. Where I feel loved, cared for, nurtured and totally safe. Entranced, yet still aware of my surroundings, though they don't distract me. Where I can feel only love. Nothing more, nothing less.
Conceivably the ineffable lunch I'd had Friday with spiritual friends sorting out some difficulties, peppered with laughter, tears and extremely open hearts. Spirit took the extra chair. Or Saturday's dinner lovingly prepared by my sister of choice and all she required was my presence, not a thing more.
As I recount these imagined reasons, I see what gifts I have been given just since Friday. Deep gifts. Precious gifts. Unconditional gifts. All from One hand through others open to be used.
I think that's the same hand that parts the veil, on occasion, just so we know what lay beyond.
• When have I experienced the veil parting?
• What, exactly, did I experience?
• What prepared me or preceded it?
• What kind of space does that create in me?
• Am I able to merge even a piece of it into myself?
swirls onto the bus
all of the recent
of the open
and the hand