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On Magic and Books

Sometimes I forget just how magical I am. I really forget. I don't know why. Because it's just a fact of my existence. I am magical. Not unlike the mythical unicorns and faeries of old tales. I'm not convinced that they are tales anyway but that's a whole other thing. But then I'm reminded of it. Like I'll have a thought in some place and forget about it, I'll wish a wish, like a whimsical passing sigh-inducing kind of feeling that passes on, and I move on. And then somehow some way I'll end up back in that spot I made that wish, I felt that feeling, and lo and behold it has manifested into something magical, real, and tangible. It's like I'm this magical gardener who plants with thoughts and consumes with her senses the forms those thoughts have brought to life.

I like it. I like it a whole lot. I have it in my heart to keep writing about that.

I'm also reading a lot. I don't know what brought it on. And not like the non-fiction laborious philosophical mind bending stuff I've been reading for a decade. For over a decade that's all I ever did. I was constantly in deep thought annoyed by the everyday stuff of ordinary thought and enamored with the abstract spaces of consciousness. And then suddenly I walked into the world of fiction. It's a different world. A world of stories, a world of total and utter escapism where you live moments experiencing feelings and living realities you never experienced in your own everyday manifestation of life. Wow. The world of fiction within fiction within fiction is extraordinary, making you yield yourself to the power and color and feelings of worlds that weren't a part of your everyday experience. I've let myself get lost in so many stories that they're blending into this giant blur of an adventure. I'm allowing it. I feel like I'm reliving a childhood of play and wonder all over again in a completely new way.

I'll get back to the metaphysics, to the philosophy, and the deep undoing of everything I currently hold to be true. That will always be a way of being. And this? This world of fiction? That will be the elevator I ride from one magical moment of my own to the next. Somewhere along the way I have fallen in love, even more deeply, with the power and adventure of words.


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