This past Imbolc weekend was
illuminating for me in many ways. It was appropriate, of course, since
Imbolc is about illumination and the increasing light of the solar
fire. What I gleaned most was how drastically my pace differs from
the pace of the human world and just how much that pace has shifted
in the years of my search for the mysteries that surround us.
In the dark, hidden secret of each
moment, there is a silence. It exists between breaths; between beats
of the heart. There in that liminal space, we can soar soulward. Only
in that stillness; that soundless choir, have I found true communion
with the land. It is this stillness and silence, found even in the
midst of all activity, that can open us to a kind of magic.
We, in the modernist world rush to our
doom. In the frantic pace of goal oriented experience, and our
attachment to reason, we omit ourselves from life. This pace,
advocated by commercial doings and the surrendering of our will to
those that exploit, removes us from the voices of our ancestors, from
the song of the earth. It cuts off the wordless singing that
surrounds us and calls longingly for our reunion.
Rather than relate the experiences
that led me to a particular realization, I thought it would be best
to simply relate the insight I had. To do else would be to cast a
shadow upon some that are caught in that pace, and hold them
accountable for what they did not create. Most of us participate
unwittingly, captured by the world we were born into, unaware that
there is another pace we can find.
This then, is the magic that flows out from me. I have learned, by methods certainly far older than I, to sink into a different rhythm; to deepen my experience into the moment and in so doing, pull back a shroud heaped upon the senses by civilization. It is this magic, that we so desperately need, that has found me, enchanted my senses and taken me deep into the underworld of our shared earthly experience.
This then, is the magic that flows out from me. I have learned, by methods certainly far older than I, to sink into a different rhythm; to deepen my experience into the moment and in so doing, pull back a shroud heaped upon the senses by civilization. It is this magic, that we so desperately need, that has found me, enchanted my senses and taken me deep into the underworld of our shared earthly experience.
This isn't just some fancy wording for
feeling, or seeing more clearly, though it is certainly that. This is
an honest sinking into a world of being that interpenetrates us and
all that we can see, hear, feel, taste or smell. This is a magic
older than any, and it surrounds us, waiting to be rebirthed into the
consciousness of humankind.
So often people look for magic in some
nebulous “out there,” when in fact it's “in here,” in this
moment that we are experiencing. But, our pace won't let us see it.
Our pace is a predatory looking, a hungry ghost seeking, to fill the
emptiness that commercial interests have enchanted us to believe is
our lot. And we have danced to that glamor for too long; so long that
most who remember something different have either passed from us or
have walked away into that real world, leaving us to our folly and
illusion. This pace, so hard in winning, is the pace of the earth,
the trees, the wind and the river. This, then, is the magic we must reclaim; the magic of a new rhythm, an old rhythm, the
rhythm of our souls.