TOO MUCH MAGIC
by Toni Kief
I have pages of false starts, searching for an example, a definition for magic. I was confusing miracles with the sleight of hand that makes up my modern day life. I laid on the floor in a sunbeam searching for the hook to start on my writing. I was frustrated, flogging my mind for the first desperate word. Hours later I reached out knowing the answer did not exist in my private closed world. I walked on a late summer day, to meet a like-minded struggling writer, to contemplate and discuss the questions magic posed.
We wandered through an art gallery, missing the magic when I suddenly realized that talent and inspiration are miracles. Sculptures of Joy, and the simple colors shaping sunflowers, light the day and my thoughts. It dawned on me that the freedom and discipline of dance and the personal soul searching of literature are also magic. The thought that Shakespeare didn’t have a computer almost stopped my reverie. As the day ended and I drove north on the interstate I hoped I had the key.
I slept, asking for a dream, an angle, an answer, but when I awakened the question still nagged. As I walked through my home there are stacks of books, paintings on every wall and music playing on the radio. The realization that magic is in every moment of my existence blindsided me, like a downhill locomotive. I already live with magic; the only change was the need to describe it. So as the sun rose and the darkness crept to the corners of my office, I sat, still in pajamas wrapped in my writer’s sweater wrestling with a spark of recognition. It is a miracle I want to write, but it is the magic I try to place on the page.
The lesson continued when I realized that eggs are miracles and egg salad is magic, as I make my breakfast with two cups of tea. My semi-domesticated cat that chose to live in my home is magic, that she uses the litter box is a miracle, and I clean it with new appreciation. Ducks flying through the sky and resting on a city lake is a miracle, curly haired toddlers feeding them popcorn is poetry, another word for magic.
Miracles are unexplainable magnificent gifts from the Universe. Magic-well sometimes it’s a trick, other times an illusion but mostly it is an inspired step outside of reason. There was too much magic but now my eyes have opened. I am dazzled by the spectacular show, and will never be the same as I rethink my gratitude. Now I will go to take a shower; the fact that I have hot, clean water shooting from the wall is an amazing deception, but it is magic to me.