Weaving Gold

Mokosha, Anastasia Sophia, and Me, Natalia . . . while the books are written

Just a Little Bit of Magic Pulls Me Through

The magician has delivered my miracle-maker kit: a chalice, a wand, a sword and a pentacle. I am grateful for each item, but I’ve been on The Journey long enough to know that it is I who am the miracle-maker, or not. Tools can be useful, but they are inert. I must determine how and when to wield them.

In this life alone, my journey has been exhilarating and eviscerating, blissful and busy, wearying and mind-numbingly dull. Yesterday, I embarked on a particularly perilous section of the road: the journey from head the heart. The beginning was only cognition. The downward spiral, begins today.

Oh, yes. I already know the path is a spiral. If the trajectory were simple and uncomplicated, I would have reached Destination Heart long ago. This is not my first attempt at the plummet.

Welcome to ground zero: My Head. As I stand here, I realize that I think a lot — too much perhaps — thoughts popping in and out, and churning around — yet, I have not spent much time contemplating this summit of my body. A skin and face covered cranium contains my brain, receiver for Mind. Here I stand, surrounded by folds of grey matter. Every way I turn, I see a tunnel that could be the beginning of the way out and down, if I only I knew which way to go.

The tool I need is a map, a schematic of my brain. The tools I have been given are chalice, wand, sword, and pentacle. It is fortunate that I’ve read and watched Harry Potter so many times. I choose the wand and say, “Lumos.” And there is light.

Brightness does not yield elucidation. I am surprised to see that I am in a cavernous, empty room. I drop to hands and knees and search the floor for an opening. I want to go, down into my heart, but I see and feel only smooth surfaces. A map would have been useless after all. I cannot escape the first chamber.

I contemplate my tools, again. I consider using the sword to cut a hole into the floor, but quickly discard the idea. I won’t damage my own brain, even to open a passage to my heart. I would die before reaching my target.

I do not know the purpose of the pentacle, but I remove it from the sack and hold it in my palm. The star radiates heat and glows. You are safe, I hear or sense or feel from its pulsing. I relax on the floor and feel my body ease into the yielding surface. My perception swings between panic at being swallowed by my brain, and fervent hope that I am moving toward my heart.

The calm and uncertainty evaporates. I am attacked by specters and phantoms. I swing my sword in circles, overhead and before me, as I spin, turn, and tumble. I thud onto a new surface. I have reached my heart. Choirs of angels sing. Soft colors swirl around me. Sweet nectar collects in my cup. I drink. I have arrived and accepted the call. I shall learn to hear and follow the urgings of my heart.

Inspired by Lyn Thruman‘s October Writing Challenge: Writing the Wisdom of the Soul

Prompt for October 2: The Magician brings the tools to write the story. He’s the magic mojo man —with faith and the right mix of elements, anything is possible.

Write about the miracles you want or need to manifest with your miracle-maker kit.  What’s going to make your journey sweeter?

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