by E. R. S.

Created on: December 20, 2008

Magic was a seemingly constant presence in my childhood. I absolutely adored unicorns, and believed they not only existed but had magical properties. I didn't have an imaginary friend, I had imaginary unicorns. A whole orphanage of them in fact, to the point where I wanted to design my own unicorn figurines. At seven years old however, this wasn't a possibility.

As I aged, I grew out of unicorns and slowly grew into following certain types of "magic" the older types ascribed to. Superstition was one. I held my breath when we drove past a graveyard, I looked for four leaf clovers, I did my best not to break mirrors. I believed in omens and I thought "coincidences" were occurrences planned by some omnipotent force beyond my comprehension.

As I got into my early teens, and my mother wanted me to become confirmed (in the Roman Catholic Church) I protested, as I was more interested in even more variations on magic. I had begun meditating. I had begun trying to astral project, reach a new plane of consciousness, become an enlightened being. I researched alternative religions, discovered practices of pagans and Wiccans and Buddhists, even the different sects of Satanism. I took to informing myself on these, and got to the point where I was disappointed in people around me who were so misinformed about the practices of these religions.

At 18 now, I feel these aspirations are almost entirely gone. I don't believe in magic anymore, or higher planes of consciousness or omnipotent forces. Why? I've become too distracted by the real world, which is what happens to most adults and draws them away from magic. Practical things like higher education, bills, and family obligations give us responsibility, and responsibility can hardly be responded to with the magic of our youth. Unicorns will not pay my student loans, superstition won't protect my grandfather from the flu. Omens won't tell me what to research for my term paper.

I do, though, think that there's a way to balance our earthly responsibilities with our magical aspirations. Though our parents telling us Santa isn't real might be the root of some of our disbelief, mostly I think it's due to a lack of attention. We divert our attention to magic towards what we believe to be reality. Why shouldn't we treat our fantasies as real? If they give us comfort and make us feel safe I think they're due as much attention as any daily chore. So I urge you, next time you sit down to pay the bills - maybe imagine your pen is a magic wand. It won't lessen the pain of a lighter wallet much, but at least it might make the experience a little more amusing.

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