A Little Cosmic Magic

August 26, 2023

A hurricane. An earthquake. A double rainbow fit for the record books. Happenstance, coincidence, or mischievous magic at work? The very air feels sparkly with possibilities. Is it just my mood, or are the cosmic magicians sprinkling stardust upon us?

*****

I’m starting to understand the meaning of lighten up. It’s not an obligatory happiness because things are good, I ought to be happy. It can materialize when prompted by outward influences, true, but most often it’s the product of contentment, even joy, bubbling over from an inner wellspring. Either way, it’s spontaneous and organic and wholly welcome. 

I’ve noticed a gradual shift, perhaps since the Lion’s Gate, toward lightening up, despite a setback or two. Last Saturday (August 19) it felt like an ancient dense/dark energy was stretching toward me from its crypt, where it is soon to be permanently interred. Sunday was a bit edgy, Hurricane Hilary creeping up the coast toward Santa Barbara. Then, a small jolt that humans and cats all noticed, of the “Was that an earthquake?” variety. (It was, in Ojai.)

And to top off the day, a spectacular double rainbow on the cusp of evening, bringing half the neighborhood outdoors, gawking and taking pictures. 

Just one weather phenomenon in my small suburban world would be worth noting. Three in one day felt beyond coincidence. The cosmic magicians put on a show, and I silently applauded and mouthed huzzah, huzzah.

*****

I vacillate between feeling too complacent, and knowing beyond doubt that I’m doing exactly what I’m supposed to be doing. I’m okay with mostly minding my own business and finding contentment in my own demesne. Sending positive energy or providing modest tangible support is about as far as my service-to-others practice extends at the moment. This leaves me puttering about in an insularity that doesn’t feel lonely or useless, despite how it might appear (to myself as well as to others).

For some reason, I’m suddenly thinking of soap bubbles. Maybe I’ll see if the kids across the street have an old-style soap bottle with a wand, the kind that gave us endless giggles back in the day. Or I can MacGyver one from coat hanger wire and duct tape and a bowl of dish soap, and trot down the street toward the park, waving madly, luminous spheres trailing behind me and rising irrepressibly toward the sky.