The Magic of Us

I always know when I've hit on the right thing to write about for the week when I feel the itch in my brain that says it's time to get down to work. When I try to do other things, because there are always other things to do, and I keep feeling drawn back to the thing I'm avoiding putting down in words. I don't know what it is in me that shies away from the work, that finds a thing I want to tackle and then repeatedly wanders in other directions. Impostor syndrome, maybe. The belief that I'm not the right person to say what I feel called to say, that I don't have the required skill to say it clearly or effectively, that other people have already said it better than I ever could. That's why I quote so many other writings in these.

Anyway, this week I want to talk about magic. Witchcraft. The sincere, un-ironic belief in my ability to shape things, to effect the trajectory of the universe, with nothing more than my own will and a few objects imbued with the power I give them. Magic as survival, magic as comfort, magic as care for the self and for the community. Some of you will find this uncomfortable, and that's fine. You can view it as fiction if that helps. I don't mind.