quote du jour ~gaiman

May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art—write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself.

~Neil Gaiman

 

black holes and stepping into the unknown

I don’t have a lot of brain power left tonight. Like millions of other procrastinators, I’ve been working on my taxes most of the day. But I was determined to post something (anything!) tonight before I went to bed, so here goes.

The last six months or so have been marked by many blessings and some unexpected challenges. If you’d told me 18 months ago that I’d be where I am, doing what I’m doing, I wouldn’t have believed you. The thing is, I have a pretty strong feeling that 18 months from now, I’m going to be surprised at where I’ll be then, too. Don’t ask me why. It’s one of those feelings. I’ve had them before, and (at least when I’ve paid attention and recognized them for what they are) they’ve usually been pretty right on.

Mind you, these feelings are pretty vague—not anything you can really hang your hat on. Which makes it a little hard to talk about them to most folks. When my husband and I split up, for example, I pretty much fell into a black hole when it came to knowing what to do next. It was the first time in my life that I didn’t know what was next. Up until then, I had always known what was next. Not that I had a plan or anything; the next thing just showed up (this is another story entirely).

But back to the black hole. Continue reading

quote du jour ~lamott – what a mess we are…

What a mess we are, I thought. But this is usually where any hope of improvement begins, acknowledging the mess. When I am well, I know not to mess with mess right away; I try to let silence and time work their magic.

~Anne Lamott, Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith

quote du jour ~hartmann

Just because you don’t know how on Earth something might be achieved doesn’t mean you shouldn’t allow yourself to really, really want it. That’s the essence of a dream, the realms of magic and of miracles.

~Silvia Hartmann

excerpt du jour ~mccammon

You know, I do believe in magic. I was born and raised in a magic time, in a magic town, among magicians. Oh, most everybody else didn’t realize we lived in that web of magic, connected by silver filaments of chance and circumstance. But I knew it all along. When I was twelve years old, the world was my magic lantern, and by its green spirit glow I saw the past, the present and into the future. You probably did too; you just don’t recall it. See, this is my opinion: we all start out knowing magic. We are born with whirlwinds, forest fires, and comets inside us. We are born able to sing to birds and read the clouds and see our destiny in grains of sand. But then we get the magic educated right out of our souls. We get it churched out, spanked out, washed out, and combed out. We get put on the straight and narrow and told to be responsible. Told to act our age. Told to grow up, for God’s sake. And you know why we were told that? Because the people doing the telling were afraid of our wildness and youth, and because the magic we knew made them ashamed and sad of what they’d allowed to wither in themselves.

After you go so far away from it, though, you can’t really get it back. You can have seconds of it. Just seconds of knowing and remembering. When people get weepy at movies, it’s because in that dark theater the golden pool of magic is touched, just briefly. Then they come out into the hard sun of logic and reason again and it dries up, and they’re left feeling a little heartsad and not knowing why. When a song stirs a memory, when motes of dust turning in a shaft of light takes your attention from the world, when you listen to a train passing on a track at night in the distance and wonder where it might be going, you step beyond who you are and where you are. For the briefest of instants, you have stepped into the magic realm.

That’s what I believe.

The truth of life is that every year we get farther away from the essence that is born within us. We get shouldered with burdens, some of them good, some of them not so good. Things happen to us. Loved ones die. People get in wrecks and get crippled. People lose their way, for one reason or another. It’s not hard to do, in this world of crazy mazes. Life itself does its best to take that memory of magic away from us. You don’t know it’s happening until one day you feel you’ve lost something but you’re not sure what it is. It’s like smiling at a pretty girl and she calls you “sir.” It just happens.

These memories of who I was and where I lived are important to me. They make up a large part of who I’m going to be when my journey winds down. I need the memory of magic if I am ever going to conjure magic again. I need to know and remember, and I want to tell you.

~Robert R. McCammon, Boy’s Life

quote du jour ~de lint

I do believe in an everyday sort of magic — the inexplicable connectedness we sometimes experience with places, people, works of art and the like; the eerie appropriateness of moments of synchronicity; the whispered voice, the hidden presence, when we think we’re alone.

~Charles de Lint