And I have learned I still believe in magic.

Through the dark fairytale quality of my life,
The haze and the maze and all the things
(As I am wont to say),
I have learned that the clouds are all around me
And breaking
And I am not awake
Though the storm rages all around me --
I am sleeping through it.

I am the one in the boat who is asleep.

I am not aware of what I am doing.

I am walking through my daze (days) with
molasses steps.

I am longing for the magic
For the silver and the gold
For the emerald and the amethyst
And the shots of mithril and truth and rose.

I am looking for the quartz that hangs around my neck by a wire.

But everything is dim and light is hard to come by.

But I have learned --
I still believe in magic, 


I saw it today in the way the wind swept through the branches above my head.
I heard it in the laughter and shrieking of the little girls playing soccer in the park.
I heard it in the way the dad-coach spoke to them.
I tasted it on my tongue in the form of eggs hard-boiled -- but just soft enough
to where the yolk melted on my tongue in creamy glory.

I have learned that magic is found in the way God turns over in our everyday lives.
Page by page, stroke by stroke, step by step, bit by bit.
Art is found in the daily acts,
in doing the same thing over and over and over again
Like a ritual,
Like the Liturgy.
It's a dance, it's a painting, it's a Story, it's a Song.

And you can see the ribbons the dancers weave throughout the poem.
You can see the silver and the gold and the emerald in the way the painter moves his brush.
The words they sound familiar,
And the song is one you know.

It's been singing to you all your life.

You know the taste of magic,

And though we are old,
We still believe in it,
Because when we believe in it,
We are ourselves again.