Idealism

Words will evade me if I try to capture this in a linear, sensical rhythm. Instead I give you this, perhaps it makes no sense. But perhaps you will find some truth in it.

Magic is all around you. It is the black dog bounding in the snow. The same bird, reappearing, and appearing again, bobbing on riverbanks and low tide beaches. The swan, trumpeting as it flies overhead, in that particular opening in the trees where are you standing. Insisting upon your pause, awareness. Noticing.

This bit is spiked with anger, or passion, or just some formless emotion. Indignance perhaps.

We are blind if we choose not to see the magic that lies in the wake of all things. The ether-tipped feathers of the spirit that fly through and over and around all of this earthly stuff, living and non... we often ignore it. Choose not to see. Too afraid, or paralyzed by logic to believe in it. Burying our souls in the quicksand of duty, or expectation and rule bound 'reality'. Too cowardly to do what is truly right or be accountable to ourselves and what it is our heart sees and desires. To not even be able to see it. To remember the flow of truth and not be lured back into the safety of illusion.

Wake the sleeper. The job here is not to pay attention to the rules and facts, but to sometimes ignore them, willfully seeing the shimmer of the mystical that pervades this world. Honour love however fleeting it may seem. Trust Impulse but don't lose yourself in it. Let it awaken you to possibility, and choice, but don't fall into it simply because it arises. Impulse came for a reason, but it may not be the one that you think.

It takes courage, to step off the beaten path of what is known. I dare you, and I dare myself to do it. There is magic on all sides. Light a fire on this mountain, even when it seems no one is there to see the light or feel the heat of it.