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July 11, 2008


Leah Anderson

Magic is what feeds my soul...
It's what sets reality apart from what is real. I choose to believe in the magic of the Universe instead of what we all see and hear day to day to day. I want to be inside this magic, this power that drives our hearts to love, to experience that which is new and scary. It's magic that moves me to dance, to feel the energy inside the music, it moves my body to a rhythm all my own. It's creation at its purest form. It's the shadow of your loved ones that have moved on but still keep watch over you. It's the safety in that, that you know you are loved. It's the urge to cry when you feel joy, the strength that gets you through the depths of hell, on this road of life.

Magic tears at my bleeding heart and it begs me not to shut down and build the wall back up. It sweetly speaks into my ears all the reasons why I have been chosen to come here. It lifts me from the foggy corners of my mind and sets me upon the truth of who I am. There is magic inside of everything, if you believe.

Gwendolen Gross

Thank you for posting, Leah! I'm SO with you today!


Magic lived in my soul when I believed fairies lived in the top of the tall live oak tree outside my second story bedroom window. I never saw them, but I thought they fanned my little sweaty face on hot summer South-Texas nights while I slept. I never told anyone about them for two reasons: one, I felt people would think me crazy and two, I thought telling might make the fairies mad.

Magic eased my aching heart when we left my warm fortress behind to live in a tiny single story home during the sloppy, gray, Arkansas winter. At night, I would close my eyes and fly back to my real home. Dark and empty, it stood alone, awash in the southeastern gulf breeze with the palm, the oak and the citrus trees talking to one another across the carpet of grass. I walked up to the porch and into the darkened doorway. From there I went across the cold terazzo of the living room floor, up the warm wooden staircase to my room where I cranked the window open. There was no furniture anywhere. Just a quiet, empty house that wrapped itself around my yearning spirit and stayed with me until I fell asleep.

Magic visits me now and then in the form of children's laughter. I wouldn't remember it at all but for those musical giggles and shrieks bouncing through the house. At least I can still recognize magic, even if it doesn't recognize me.

Gwendolen Gross

lovely, Donna, lovely!

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