a dark, quiet magic
I have known the mystery of a dark, quiet magic. The poetic wonder, ugly beauty, and vague fear when some parallel universe comes into a blurred half-focus, and the aura of what is possible brushes lightly against the cheek of what is real and here and now.
When Juliette’s character, in the movie, hears a mother upstairs screaming, just when I hear my upstairs neighbor’s boyfriend shouting her down.
When the broken but functional umbrella protects the precious head of my broken, soldiering-on son, and I am overcome with a winsome gladness that God’s rainbow fulfilled its promise.
When it’s a rainy Monday and all the news is bad and I have to go to work, but my love sends me a message and our song comes on the car radio.
The dark magic is playful, and fear can sometimes be a friend.
What is is not all there is.
What is felt is seldom seen.
What the hippies longed for in Eden, Mr. Spock (of all people!), desperately longed for as well.
The third eye does not just see what it wants to see. It also sees what it must, and must not deny.
—Mark Nielsen, 5-5-15, in honor of Cinco de Mayo and my fellow Magical Realists all over the world