Where the Magic Is
This is where the magic is made,
where the magic is real.
It doesn’t come from wands or spells, but from
strings and
chords and
threads of melodies sewn together
by the rat-a-tat-tat of the snare that
ensnares your soul and glazes over your eyes
so you lose sight of the world outside of
here,
outside of this room,
this one fleeting moment in a history
of moments,
none of which are as magical and
enchanting as this.
No, you can’t see it, don’t see it
– or don’t want to? –
but here is where you can hear. Where
you hear.
Hear the passion,
the hope,
the sheer joie de vivre.
This.
This is perfection,
this is simplicity,
complexity,
cacophony,
free flow,
and harmony.
Harmony.
Harmony because here is where there are
no individuals,
no competition between or among envious souls
trying to prove superiority over one another.
No, here is where there is only a one,
not an I or a me or a you or a my or a him or
a her.
No, here is a one, an us, a we,
a home constructed of notes as fine as
the lines on which they are written.
Written in the way in which we write of
these small moments,
these little bits of precious jewels
that will soar
along on our coattails far after this
enchantment breaks and we depart for the evening.
But I’m not going to think about the
inevitable pop of this silk-thin soap bubble.
No, I’m here,
here right now,
and I am alive,
living for this moment,
living
in this moment,
in this magic,
this music,
these soul-bearing stories we share
through song and rhyme,
through rhythm and little reason.
This.
This is where the magic happens,
and it is in our hearts,
our
memories,
our ears,
to remember,
to listen to on repeat in our minds,
to never forget.
Never forget.
Magic is real, and it lives and lies here, in
each of us right now.
The magic is real, so hold on to it and don’t
forget.
Don’t forget the magic,
the
peace,
the harmony,
the love,
the us.
Because here, here is where the real magic is.
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