When I was little, there was a troll that lived under the bridge near my Nan’s caravan. My hair was made of spun gold and I felt magic coursing through the long grass, as I played at the beach. Every rainbow held a secret message for me. Every leaf of clover was lucky. I tiptoed through life in wonder, absorbing the simple pleasure of connection to the moment; of drizzling honey onto warm bread and catching shrimp in a bucket. When I learned to draw, everything was worthy of a sketch: my school uniform, the record player cleaner, the china fruit bowl. Still life was still alive.
As I grew older, that connection dulled, and it dulled until I almost lost it. I remember returning to the beach and feeling that palpable loss, realising that magic had never existed and that it was silly to have ever felt that way. Adulthood had no room for such fantasy. I turned my attentions to my work and my mortgage.
Two months ago, here in Switzerland, I lost the job that I’d lived and breathed for three and a half years. From this point on I have been in a whirlwind of travelling, adventure, universal divinity and friendship. I’ve witnessed the edges of the shamanic realm and the final moments of shooting stars in a sky so speckled with stars, I almost lost myself. I’ve made friends with the universe, together with a few more lovely human beings that are part of it. I’ve watched the earth’s shadow move across the moon and the moon obliterate the sun.
Now I’m acutely aware that most people would just take some gardening leave and that I might have overdone it a bit. But I followed what my heart was saying and it led me in that direction. I am so very grateful and I will never stop listening to it again.
And today, as I cook Sunday lunch, listening to Foreigner’s Greatest Hits, in a little Swiss place I call home, I know that whatever happens next will be just as incredible.
Magic is truly everywhere, we just need to look for it.