By Lady Hawkwind
A firelit night. The glow of the burning logs dancing off the walls of the room, as the lady stroked her cat gently. The cat purred with calm peace, and I could swear I saw it smile, as the Cheshire cat of Lewis Carol's tale of old.
"Magick," she said, softly, her hair gleaming, her eyes shining in the fire's dance. "We all have Magick. But in some folk it runs closer to the surface, and with it we weave the old rhythms. The voice of the Earth Mother sings in our ears. We sense the horned presence, peering, sunlit through the trees. We feel the Lady's grace in the night wind, in the glow of the Moon."
"Magick," she shook her head. "Magick is the tease, power is a drawing card. But, once the path is taken, true hearts learn the wisdom of the inner ways, the many paths to the center. There is no greater Magick than to find the source of all creation within yourself. It is not spells and enchantments, potions and powders, graveyards and batwings."
"Magick," at that, the fire rose up like a bonfire, the embers popping. Then, as suddenly as it arose, it died down again. "The whole world is Magick is you know how to look at it. The way the Sun goes down when you are tired - comes up when you want to be on the move; that is real Magick. The way a leaf grows, the song of the birds, the way the desert looks at night with the Moon embracing it. That is true Magick."
"Everytime you watch a rainbow and feel wonder in your heart, everytime you pick up a handful of dust, and see not the dust, but a Mystery, a marvel there in your hand, everytime you stop and think, 'I am alive! And being alive is fantastic!' Everytime such a thing happens, you are a part of Magick, and it, a part of you."
"Magick." and her cat stirred, purred, green eyes wide and ancient as her lady's. "True Magick is the balance of the soul. It lies within us all. And the way is open."
© 2001 by Lady Hawkwind.