We are the souls who live in magic.
We dance, we hug and when the sky drops rain, we go for a walk.
It is not that we are contrary; we are not boastful in our dance or proud in our step. We do not aim to make others feel bad about themselves or somehow less-than.
We only say, “I am here to celebrate and there is room for everybody.”
We know that happiness is not something one just happens upon—it is not naive or accidental. Rather, happiness is the almost sheer stubbornness in waking up each day and looking into the mirror and calling the work of being human “play.”
Happiness is taking responsibility for everything we find inside of us, and it is the ability to do that with kindness.
These are not our secrets—we are not some exclusive club (Club Divine or perhaps Enlightenment Seekers) taking tickets at the door and shuffling people to their assigned rooms.
Not only are these not our secrets, this is not knowledge at all—it is not that we know more than other people or that our lives are somehow better—that is not for us to say.
We are not here to create dividing lines between people—the haves and the have-nots; the smart and the stupid; the rich and the poor; the racially superior and the racially inferior. We are here to draw a circle on the ground with chalk and step inside to walk around the edges of it, feeling the speed of the circumference, and then traipse to the center to feel what it feels like when the fractal begins. And as the crowd gathers around just to see what we are doing with this circle on the ground, we look around and smile and say, “don’t let this line keep you out; come play if you want.”
We know that just because we are kind does not mean that others are, and we somehow find a way to release others of our expectation that they be just like us.
Because who are we to say that we are right and they are wrong? That doesn’t feel good and it doesn’t feel kind.
Somehow we know we have to let other people be exactly the way that they are. This doesn’t mean that we have to become best friends or lovers or confidants with everyone—we can still discern what is good for us. But we know the value in letting other people go–releasing them from our mental grip of who we think they should be and what they should be thinking about and how they should behave.
And in the letting go we find only one thing: freedom.
We are here to let them free. And when we do that, we keep a smile to ourselves because we realize that freedom for others is really freedom for ourselves.
It is not that we do not feel fear: we feel it in probably the same quantities that everyone else feels it. It is only that we are not afraid to look at our fears—fears of what will happen in ten years; fears of how we’re fucking it all up right now; fears that we are too thin or fat or ugly or stupid or uninteresting or hairy in the wrong places.
But if we have the choice between fear and love, we will choose love every time.
And in our magic souls, we create magic love—love that is both unique to us as individuals and paradoxically the collective love from which the universe sprang forth and to which the universe will return.
We use this love to hold our lovers, hug our friends and tell our tummy—flesh that it too is loved.
We are only here to figure out how we want to spend our time. We have air and earth and tree and wind and fire and water, and with those things we will build tree-houses, secret forts, woven shrines, beaded pelts, feather wands and water slides.
When the sun comes up each morning, we are grateful, and even more than gratitude for the sun, we are grateful to just feel grateful for something—anything at all—because the feeling of giving thanks makes us feel alive.
And maybe we greet the morning sun on our bed, or on our lover’s bed, or perhaps on a patch of grass or maybe a sleeping bag in a tent. And the night has been good to us because the last thought we had before we fell asleep was the assurance that there is absolutely nothing wrong us or anyone at all.
So it does not matter if we find ourselves in the day or in the night; in the arms of someone else or wrapped in our own solitude; in a mansion on the hill or a flower bed under a bridge—we feel love and happiness and gratitude alike.
And even in the days and nights where we don’t feel those things (because those days and nights will happen), we still know that there is nothing wrong with us.
There is nothing wrong with us because as we live, we call it magic.
And that makes all the difference.
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