the Magic

Stories of Magic: Part 1

I know you’re laughing right now.

There’s no way you can prove it.

I don’t have to. That’s the magic of being born on the same day.

The Little One — as I call him for purposes of this blog, but only sometimes in real life when I’m trying to annoy him — was my saving grace this week. Via instant messaging.

After the ideas conversation and the conversation we had about me buying a home, we had another awesome conversation last night.

He told me to relax. We we working together. (I do contract work, and I subcontracted some of it to him.) We were on the last draft, just ironing out the little problems.

And when he sent me his final version, he said that then I should relax. That’s not the part that made me laugh–that came earlier. But it made me think about the “magic” as he called it earlier in the conversation.

It IS the magic of being born on the same day. He’s got the other part of my soul.

Stories of Magic: Part 2

I had to do a little research on the Lakota Indians last year (why is a story for another time), but a belief is that there are four parts to each person’s soul. So, when you die one goes to “heaven” and the other three remain and are make up one of the portions of another person.

So, the way I figure it, each of the portions of my soul have three other portions out there. So there are a total of twelve pieces of souls floating around this world that are directly connected to mine.

The Little One was correct when he said “magic” because that’s exactly what it is. After all magic, is simply the unexplainable — as are our souls.

I know who holds four of the portions of my soul. And I think at 28 years old, that’s pretty good progress.

I don’t know how to explain how I know so that’s why I was so excited last night when my little brother called it magic. That’s a good way of explaining it, and maybe that is exactly how I know it. Magic.

Stories of Magic: Part 3

I had to run — emphasis on run — out to get coffee this afternoon. In the store, I overheard a mom explaining to her daughter (she had to be 3 or so) that there’s no such thing as magic.

How sad, I thought.

There’s magic all around us, I wanted to tell her. I should have now that I look back. But “magic” is what makes life worth living. It’s just a word. Something that explains connections, I believe. Divinity. Why and how.

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