Trees are magic…
trees are magic
their roots
touch the pulse of life
they see everything
they are the guardians
of Nature
the oxygen
the keepers
of wisdom
we ignore that
at our own risk
Photo: Jeremy Bishop
Unsplash
Archive for the ‘magic/magick’ Category
We will never forget…
to generation
we pass down
our lore
pass down
our stories
pass down our
magic
we exist
and we won’t
ever forget
how men
BURNED
US
Photo: Vadim Sadovski
Unsplash
You know this picture is all about magic…A poem
a witch lives with me
we work together
in harmony
as it should be
what we do
is for the
good of all
and the harm of none
and you may well ask
how we know
what is good for all
well that’s easy
what we do is
loving and kind
life affirming
in a world
that is determined
to do the exact
opposite
I’m happy to be a
familiar
and she’s happy
to be my witch
merry meet
and merry part
and merry meet
again
blessed be
Photo: Xue Guangjian
Pexels
Magick…A very short story
People don’t understand me, they just know I’m different, so they stay away. Late at night I let my Magick out to sparkle under the moonlight. I close my eyes and feel the energy flow through me.
My mother always told me to keep my Magick hidden, since people are afraid of those who aren’t the same as they are. Human minds are fearful and fragile things, she said, and prejudice runs deep.
She told me about my father and his Magick. She met him one night, when she was walking home from work. He was beautiful, she said. More beautiful than anyone she had ever seen. He told her he was different and that if she went with him, a daughter would be born, and I would be like both of them. I would be a connection between both worlds.
She said she took his hand and loved him so deeply, that she never noticed another man. She said she wouldn’t change a thing. But she hoped that I would be happy, in spite of what my life was like. He told her there would be more children like me, and when the time came, we would know what to do.
I’m not a child any longer. But I hear the trees talking to each other. They talk about the weather, the coming seasons, and the birds nesting in their branches. I hear the explosions on our star and I know when She’s angry. I hear nature and understand how I am connected to all living things, and I see the poison that has infected the minds of human beings. The poison that stops them from knowing those things as well.
I don’t know what’s coming, or when. I just know that I’ll be ready to do whatever is necessary, when it arrives.
My name is Blue Diamond, and I’m not like everyone else. If you’re reading this, neither are you.
Photo: Maria Eduarda Tavares
Pexels
Magic…books
after midnight
in bookstores
everywhere
magic happens
books come
alive
and
ideas
fly
through the air
dancing
mixing
and
growing
until dawn
arrives
and the words
return to their
assigned pages
to wait for the right person
to come along
and take them
home
Photo: Valentin Antonini
Unsplash
How they met…
“Can you teach me to do that?” she asked, walking up to him.
“Do what?”
“Make smoke come out of my hand,” she said. “I want to be able to do that.”
“Just hold up your hand and think of smoke,” he said. “It’s easy. You just…do it.”
She did what he said, but nothing happened. She tried sitting next to him, standing farther away and turning backward, but nothing she did, made the smoke appear.
“It’s not working,” she sighed, leaning against the wall. “Maybe I’m doing it wrong.”
“Did you turn on your magic?”
“Turn on my magic?” she asked. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you have to turn on the switch, or you’ll never be able to do anything.”
“Where’s the switch?” she asked, excitedly. “I didn’t even know I had one.”
“I think most people have one,” he snickered.
“Tell me where it is, please.”
“It’s here,” he said, tapping on the side of his head.
“On my face?”
“No,” he laughed, “in your mind.”
“Oh,” she said flatly.
“What?” he asked, frowning. “You can do it.”
“I don’t think I can. I think you have magic and I don’t.”
“Are you just going to give up?”
“I don’t want to give up,” she said, truthfully. “I just don’t believe I can do it.”
“But belief is the switch.”
She laughed. “No. It’s not. That’s just something people tell you. They say that if you believe it you can do it. It’s not true. I’ve believed a million things and I can’t do any of them and it’s not because I believed the wrong way, or didn’t believe enough, either.”
“You want to be magic?” he asked.
“Doesn’t everyone?” she laughed, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “Is that silly?”
“Of course not,” he said. “How old are you?”
“Ten.”
“Then you can still do it,” he said. “When people get older, they forget about magic and all the things they believed in as children. You probably still look for the little folk too, right?”
She nodded and felt her face turn pink.
“They’re there you know. I bet they see you.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Yes. Do you give them gifts?”
“I leave food and treasures for them in the park.”
“Then they know you’re a friend.”
She beamed at him. “Really.”
“I’m sure of it,” he said. “Now, about the smoke.”
“Yes?”
He handed her a silver cylinder. “Hold this above your head and touch this switch.”
She did and smoke came out of the small canister. It looked just like his smoke.
“But…”
“Before you say anything,” he said, holding up his hand. “This is still magic. Magic is knowing how to do things and get the results you are looking for. It doesn’t matter if the smoke comes from you, or from the canister, it’s still smoke. It’s still beautiful and it’s still coming out of your hand. The one thing you have to learn, if you want to be happy, is that your imagination is the magic. As long as you know that, magic will be with you everyday of your life. Do you believe me?”
She nodded.
“Then open your hand.”
She opened her hand and there was no canister. She turned to say something, but he was gone. She was alone on the street, with smoke coming directly out of her hand.
Photo: Sylvain Gllm
Unsplash
Magick…
Magick
has always been
in the world
it has always been
inside of us
but the farther
we get from
our connection
with the land
and other living
things
the more
we cut ourselves off
from our true
nature
the WILD places
where
Magick
dwells
so that
our
sparks are
buried
under
glass and steel
under dots
and dashes
numbers and codes
under
clocks
emails
and
exhaust
dispair
and
never ending
work
until we are
disconnected
from those things
that are
important
for
Magick
and
life
to be felt
and the things
we make
don’t last
but nature
while constantly
changing
will go on
until the
very end
and the
Magick
will still
be there
alive
waiting
for those
who remembers
how to use
it
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