#27 Real Magic

If We Refuse To Imagine It, How Can We Create It?

A reader left a crank comment on my last post. (No–don’t go looking for–it was not publishable! Anyway, I’m pretty sure he was a drive-by, maybe even a spammer that outwitted the spam filter; certainly not one of my wonderful subscribers.) He said how could I be so stupid as to believe the world is a whimsical place while coincidence is a much better explanation for what is happening when my writing occasionally “comes true.” “Magical thinking,” he sneered. All of which forces me to think further about my so-called bias.

Fortunately, I remember I am in the middle of an experiment that involves believing, make-believing, suspending disbelief and so forth; therefore, if I had thoughtlessly gone with the premise of coincidence, I would have spoiled the experiment of whether I can indeed write my future. And since magic is the future I am writing, I simply have to believe in it for now. Or, at minimum, suspend my disbelief. So I decide to embrace the world view of magical thinking in order to create “real” magic, which, I note in passing, is a most delicious oxymoron.

While I revel in my own open-mindedness, Renee is still not ready to let go of realistic thinking after her outburst about “not getting” the lived spirituality of various Potluck characters:

Everyone looked astonished.  “But of course you get it,” Abel soothed. “All of the opposites need to be present, the paradoxes if you will, before you can experience Truth. No, before we can all recognize the truth. What happened when everyone began to promote their own agendas a few minutes ago? You and I started having fun eating, and one-by-one people recognized the Truth.  None of us here are totally spiritually evolved. We are all learning. And the best way to find Truth is to live our answers, or as some wise person once said, live the questions. There is no one here who is not willing to acknowledge when the emperor has no clothes. That’s what makes us spiritually distinct.”

Renee looked across the table at Dee. “I am sorry I called you a hooker.”

“I guess I could be offended and insist that you pretty it up by saying I am the Goddess, the Sacred Prostitute, Mary Magdalene– but you are right, I’m a hooker. I used to seduce people to indulge in what is sweet in life, and now I hook men into paying me money in exchange for an experience of the Feminine. It’s my job and I don’t apologize for doing my job. Excess and sensuality both have their places.”

“And I don’t apologize for pointing out that worldly wealth is a mighty handy thing,” Fuller added without a trace of malice in his tone. “It makes me happy to bring $300 an-ounce caviar to a party.”

Ada looked pensive. “I eat my vegetables every day of the week, so when I come here, I look forward to some fancy sweets and a little junk food. I’m so glad there are people here willing to feed that need.”

“As far as Joe is concerned, he’s is not one to mince words,” Reese explained. “He has learned that talk is cheap and the boldest statement is to walk away. People aren’t used to it, you know, so they pay attention.”


Hey! If I am more enlightened than Renee, how is she my future? Oh dear!

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