Dorothy was right – sometimes you don’t need to look further than your own back yard to find wonderful things to inspire you. Who needs a trip to Oz when our magical world is where we wake up?
I’ve always had this sense of wonder about the natural world. It’s often simple things like the beautiful symmetry inside of a purple onion, or the star shape of seeds when you cut the apple sideways. I’ve had friendships with trees (very good listeners) and connections with rocks, which I bring home from practically any walk outside of pavement. In some ways, I’m always on the lookout for treasure from nature, a hole in a tree that could be a fairy door, or a sunbeam that stirs that part of my imagination that longs for connection and magic.
This has led me to become a Wiccan, to take photos and turn them into art, to fill shelves with birch bark, seed pods, seashells, feathers, crystals, fossils, bones.
I’m fascinated by this idea that things out of stories and fairy tales are all around us, here in the real world, if you only know where to look. You have to be sensitive to it, like a psychic channeling spirits, awake to the possibilities. It’s almost the opposite of cynicism, embodying the belief that the real world already is inspiring, fascinating, beautiful, peaceful, connected, magical.
Do not disturb the spidersfrosted winter lacepath through the woodswhat’s beyond the bridge?bicycle to freedom
A lot of what I blog about is the art of seeing, and I hope we can gather real things, people, and places that fulfill the dream of seeing our magical world is real.
One Thing Clear
The spider watched the fog catching in her web, each bright bead another dying breath of the misty September morning. Frankly, she preferred dragonflies, but at least it made one thing clear: sometimes you cannot admire your creation until you stop working.
As a writer, you could say I have always wanted to make my own magic. My mother used to say I’ve been writing stories since I could hold a crayon and before that, I was dictating. I dream in stories, songs, poems. The idea of conjuring up images, people, or whole worlds that don’t exist, with just the right words, with intriguing journeys and satisfying endings, is a kind of magic in itself, isn’t it?
My photography, too, is like that, taking pictures because something strikes me as beautiful or meaningful and then tweaking/contrasting/recoloring/pixel-sculpting until the image matches my vision. Somewhere between fantasy and reality. The crossroad of image and vision. Artifacts from the world in my head.
Sometimes I mean “magic” to mean wonderful transformative experiences that make you feel good to be alive. Other times I mean recognizing how amazing the real world is already. It certainly can be a unicorn holiday your daughter invented or an artist creating whimsical teapots that are straight out of fairy tales. Fantasy inspiration definitely counts, for me. So do pagan paths to the divine in life all around us. It also includes mind-blowing science about our brains, music that gives you goosebumps, or methods for finding your perfect scent.
It’s part of my quest, a lot of why I started this blog, and central to my creations. There are myriad ways you can make it part of your journey, too.
Related Posts
Delve deeper into making your own magic with these blog posts.
Ella on Etsy – Downloadable Digital Art and Signed Books
This week I’ve opened my store on Etsy! For a long time, I debated whether the effort to open one would be worth it, since I have other venues where my art and book are sold, but it answered two important needs I’d been pondering for a while. Plus like most things, it wasn’t as……
I haven’t been writing as much as I intended on this blog dedicated to finding magic and wonder when life is hard. I keep having ideas and then rejecting them as not inspired enough. Feels like everything on the internet must be Pinterest-worthy these days. I realized I’ve been thinking about it wrong. It’s not……
My toes curled over the pier and gripped the underside of the platform. The wind rippled along my dorsal fin. This was it. If I retrieved the Pearl of Onakai from the Cave of Tears, I would be queen. Assuming I survived the Gauntlet of Terrors first. My knees wobbled. My fingers gripped my mother’s……
“They say that every snowflake is different. If that were true, how could the world go on? How could we ever get up off our knees? How could we ever recover from the wonder of it?”
When the world becomes very small — because of illness, grief, or, just spit-balling here, the isolation of a lockdown of global proportions and the existential terror of possibly dying because someone breathed on you in the grocery store — it can be very useful to focus on what’s in front of you in great detail.
I’ve always had an inclination to notice beauty in unusual places: the tiny bubbles inside the flesh of a green pepper, the gossamer strand of a spider web that picks up the light, that moment when your turn signal syncs up with the car in front of yours. Sometimes it’s big things like chasing rainbows so you can see them a little bit longer, or staying at that amazing concert through all the encores to soak up just a little more sonic vibration in your skin and heart. But besides those big moments, you’ve got myriad small ones that can fill your cup just as much.
It takes work. It takes effort. The word that comes to mind is vigilance. That alertness to the awe and wonder and everyday beauty requires us to be mindful of those things that give us the “wow” of being alive. This is one of the ways I bring a feeling of wonder into my daily life, by seeking out the magic in the mindfulness.
Chasing Lake Glimmer
I moved from Montana to Wisconsin for a lot of reasons. Family, money, friends, culture, the familiarity of the Midwest where I grew up. One of those reasons was big water. My favorite place to be is on a beach, preferably Great Lake or ocean where the horizon is flat and blue, but the four lakes around Madison still fit the bill. Looking out on big water, my shoulders relax and somewhere deep inside, my tangled heartstrings unfurl and drop free. I feel timeless. I forget myself. I get lost in the blues and grays and the sparks of light glimmering on the tiniest of waves.
I drive to work in downtown Madison (called the Isthmus because it’s between the two largest lakes), and for many months drove the most efficient route by the capital building. Nice enough in a cityscape kind of way, but eventually I realized if I took an early turn, I could jog over to the road that runs right up against Lake Monona, the second largest lake in Madison. It didn’t add significant time to my commute, and then for a few precious minutes, I could see the lake, take in the blue, wink back at the glimmer winking at me. Even when the lake freezes over and the profusion of sparks becomes a slow cold gleam, I relish the chance to say hello to the lake.
The lake view is free. The feeling I get from the lake view is priceless.
Even with the smudges on my car window, this view makes me happy.
There is magic in the kind of mindfulness I’m talking about. This is the kind of vigilance I try to practice, finding ways to enjoy and marvel at the world even when moving through mundane tasks like chopping vegetables and driving to work.
“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.”
Take a moment each day and find something that will make it brighter for you. I try to make it something real, but if a funny animal video is all you can manage, hey, I’m not gonna judge. Find something that delights or amazes you. You can spare a few minutes. If you are juggling kids and herding cats, bring them along. Show them the wonder, too.
And teach them to practice seeking out the wow of being alive, every day.
I’ll add the other ways and hows I go on my quest for magic in the mindfulness below. What else would you add to the list? What precious focus brings you gratitude and joy? Help me grow my list and share with other seekers by commenting below.
Snow on the ground this morning, the first of the season. And not a little snow – 2 or 3 inches. An impressive amount for October in southern Wisconsin. I’d gone to bed in a foul mood after an up and down day. I got the first proof copies of my book, The Flight of……
