I find it interesting, while watching the full lunar eclipse of 02/20/2008, I found myself thinking of all that which I have experienced in my life which, up until now, I know not if I truely understood that which I was looking at. And it was this thought which was quickly followed by the realization that, yes, I understand what it is that is happening. Science has told me what it is and how it happens, but I don't understand what it is that I am looking at. not truely, not absolutely. It was at that time that I found myself ten years old again, watching my first lunar eclipse from my bedroom wondering how and why the moon was red, and remembering all the old stories and legends about the blood moon which I had heard and read.
And I remembered traveling with my mother and father to disneyland, and the whole way there we were chasing Hail Bop, and all the way home, he followed us as we drove from Southern Saskatchewan to California. And I think of how in my lifetime I may well see Hailey's comet twice.
It is these moments when I remember that there is still magic left in this world, however small amount it is, and it dwells not in the arts of spells and conjuring, nor in prayer or the wisdom of the ancients. It dwells in the laughter and dreams of children, in the witnessing of that which is truely magestic to behold and reminds us that no matter how dark it is before the dawn, no matter how terrable the storm, no matter the fury of the war, there is and will always be some measure of good in this world, so long as we hold that simple element, that pure childish wonder in our hearts, and we never let go of it.

Too often I forget these things. I watch as day by day the unicorns are captured in logical nets and the dragons slain by mechanical improvements of themselves. Magic lives in the heart and soul of every one of us, there is true magic yet left in this world, if we dare to look for it, within the universe, within ourselves.
It is these moments more than any others, that I find myself reduced to my knees in tears and all I can do is whisper my thanks to all that which keeps me here among the city streets and the sky scrapers, amongst the filth and the dark waters, hope that we are not doomed to suffer this for all eternity. that it will change, that there are others out there, somewhere, watching, listening, working, fighting and changing to turn back what has been done, and return things to their rightful way.

What is the right way though? Are these not just the romantic hopeful ideas of a young person dismayed by the world, and longing to recapture that youth and innocence which all the world held...once.
And what is all this talk of magic anyway? Magic lives in the heart. My mother told me years ago that magic is just prayer without religion. I should think that magic is more than that, seems like more than that, feels like more than that to me.