Feel The Magic ...

There's a lot of talk about magic, but what is magic really? No, I'm not talking about the slight of hand type of magic, where the magician makes a rabbit pop out of a top hat. This magic is a delicious sense, a deep and pervading feeling that something is right and working out perfectly for us.

Let me give you a couple of examples and I think you'll understand. How about when you're in a hurry to be somewhere and you have to stop at the grocery for something first. Doesn't it feel like magic when there's a parking spot right near the door? What about when you need an appointment and you know it's always busy there, but just when you call, they have a sudden, uncharacteristic cancellation and can fit you in immediately? I can almost see you nodding your head as you read this. Well, that's magic ...

Here's another example. My significant other, Robert, planned a multi-class reunion which was held last September. It took two years to pull it all together and, at times, in spite of negativism. He often spoke of feeling the magic as he was planning it. Things just seemed to fall into place along the way, against all odds, as thought they were supposed to. He called it a feeling that what was coming together was something very special. He felt, more than knew, that it would not only bring people together, some who had not seen each other for decades, but it would also open hearts to the very same magic he had been experiencing for two years. Having been in attendance at the reunion, I can vouch for the magic. I believe everyone who was there could feel it.

As a writer, there have been times when the writing came so easily, almost as though it was coming from somewhere else, somewhere outside of me. One time in particular, I was in that place where the energy flowed through me and the writing just came, like magic. When I read what I had written, the theme was so unlike what I normally write -- this poem was about a child looking down from heaven and talking to her parents. Even though it was different, I had a feeling and included it in my first book.

Three years later, I did a school visit in Circleville, Ohio. Seven schools were bussed in to one school over a three-day period and I did about five presentations each day. It went very well and I formed many wonderful friendships with the teachers and the librarian there. (To this day, Circleville remains as one of my favorite school visits ever).

A few weeks later, I got an email from the librarian at the main school. She had very sad news. One of the students, a second grade girl, had been killed in an auto accident riding with her mother and little brother. The librarian wanted me to know that this little girl had loved the poem about the child in heaven. She carried the book everywhere and read the poem over and over to everyone -- teachers, students, parents, and even grandparents. She referred to herself as the angel in the poem, saying she wasn't afraid to die.

After reading the email, I called and talked with the librarian. She shared so much more with me. At the funeral home, her parents had copies of the poem and they handed them out to everyone who attended.

I finally knew why, three years earlier, I was shown the words to write the poem. There was a purpose, a reason, and I was not privy to it at that time. That was the magic.

I wrote to the little girl's parents and grandparents. I wanted them to know how deeply I felt their grief and loss. I also needed them to know that nothing had ever touched me so personally. Then the magic continued ... her mother called me. She asked my permission for the family to have the poem etched on her monument. I have never felt so humbled as I did at that moment.

This is when I first began to feel how the universe works. We are all connected and an energy flows through us like a river. There is always a higher purpose to everything, even though we don't always know what that purpose is at the time; however, we are aware of and have a sense that everything is exactly as it should be. We must feel the energy, allow it to guide us, and have only to allow it to flow through us. This is ... the magic.