I don’t believe in God, but I do believe there are small acts of magic in the world. Unfortunately not the kind you’ll find in Harry Potter; but subtle sparkling threads of manifestation and enchantment that weave together and bring you something you knew you needed but never thought you would get.
Little messages sent from the sky that remind you of the power of magic and love. When white feathers swirl in the breeze outside my window I think of my mother and grandma, no longer here but making their presence known in my life.
For a while after my mum passed I was visited by a sparrow. She would perch on the handle of the garden door, peeking inside to watch. Or sit outside my bedroom window whilst I straightened my hair, always flittering in the background of my life.
I have always sought magic, whether it was fairies and making magic potions with my grandma when I was small, spells and crystals in my teenage years or magic realism pouring from the pages of a Sarah Addison Allen book.
Hocus Pocus and witchcraft are woven into my soul.
It’s exciting that we can tap in and harness an energy that cannot be seen nor sometimes felt, and little hopes and wishes we have been storing will begin to come true. I’m not out here believing that a brief bibbidy-bobbidy-boo will be turning my Halloween pumpkins into glittering carriages though, sigh. The magic I believe in is so little you may have missed it, or called it a coincidence.
Closing my eyes for a few seconds when travelling to imaging us being enveloped by white and gold bright sparkling light, for protection, is not all that different to saying a blessing over someone. It is just a different belief system.
I’ll admit that growing up in Brighton surrounded by women that believed in something akin to witchcraft may have skewed my views. But we have all been left bewildered by some life event or another. My mother had a premonition about the death of her grandfather, my grandma could see and speak to spirits even though she didn’t believe in ghosts and I’ve had my magical moments too.
It’s been a while since I have written anything for my blog and I wasn’t entirely sure where this post was going, I just know that it keeps leading me back to Christopher.
I believe that my mother was the one that led him to me. When the black fearsome smoke of grief was still trying to suffocate me, a handsome bearded man stepped through the smog and began trying to fan it away from me. He was from the only place in the world that I felt I could breathe properly, and that’s exactly what he helped me to do.
Now, three years on, we are engaged to be married. I am so excited about our spellbound life together. Not having my reigning Supreme to help guide me through it though is tough. She is the person I want to tell everything to before I realise that I cannot, not empirically anyhow. However, I think she’s out there somewhere amongst the trees and the breeze sprinkling a little enchantment over my life.