centre of the universe - the dreaming

Hey.

There's this fellow. I love him; always have. He's having it out with the Shite, and I'd like to ask you to send good mojo along. He needs this. And I need him to be okay.

So, if you don't mind; if you've some spare shards at the bottom of your Pandora's box; if you've spells or prayers or...or what have you, would you mind terribly sending it his way?

It means a lot.

10-Q

Labels: magic

I have seen things today, in the flickering shadows of dusk; in the cast-askew glance into the middle distance. The first, as I approached our home, a tiny black bird, or perhaps a bat, darting over me, just past my right ear. When I looked back, there was no bird, nor bat, nor butterfly. A trick of the light, perhaps. Or a mysterious flickering thing.

The next I saw as I walked past the window. A flash of white; a ghostly figure gliding out of view just outside. Steam, maybe, or someone outside looking in, someone from some other time, some other where, peeking in my windows, wondering who I am, and why my spectral image is wandering past the window, trespassing so close to their place, and without so much as a tiny piece of bread dipped in honey.

There are others, of course. The sigh of starched cotton, a disembodied giggle. Sometimes, things that go missing turn up again in odd places. Why, for instance, would I have put my car keys on top of the door frame? I wouldn't, of course, because I can't even reach the top of the door frame. His Nibs could, but he's such a terrible liar.

Labels: ghosts, hippies, Intrigue, magic, weird

Let me tell you about Albert.

Albert is a magician. You might not believe in magic. You might desperately wish you *could* believe in magic, but maybe your mind is solidly mired in things you can only see, touch, smell, hear, and/or taste. Maybe you're the kind of folk who doesn't want to believe in magic because you think it's silly (if that's the case, I do feel badly for you). But magic *does* exist, all around us. It is everywhere and in everything, although not everyone can sense it.

But Albert, he has harnessed that magic. In each of his eight fingertips, he holds secrets. And in his thumbs, great power. When I talk to Albert, he asks me how I'm doing. You wouldn't know to look at him that he is a magician. He looks like he might be an investment banker, or possibly a sales associate for a radio station. He is tallish, with grey at his temples and salting his beard. He's fit, although a little cushiony around the middle...but only a very little. His eyes are kind and his voice is deep and soft. He says, "How are you today?"

And I tell him, "I am well. Except for some tings and aches, but that's to be expected, I suppose."

"No one should expect pain," he says. "I can fix that, you know. I can make it perfect."

The first time he told me this, I lifted an eyebrow in a kind of challenge. "Really." I said. It wasn't a question.

"Absolutely," he answered. "It's what I do."

I didn't believe him. But it's true. Albert has the sage touch of a healer. Thank you, Albert. I always believed in magic, and it's folks like you who strengthen my resolve.

Labels: Albert, magic