I strive for magic, I strive and strive, but when it happens, magic slips in unnoticed.
Striving never gets me there, but when I am not there, I want to get there and strive for it. But striving never works and magic has its own mind, and I don't even let it in, magic is not in my gift, but gifted itself to me. And I am eternally grateful.
I do notice though that I see magic in shapes rather than words, and the world is full of shapes. I can see I live in a magical world, I simper, I grin, I bubble, surrounded by beauty. I balk, I need to withdraw and rest, but I want to keep a finger on magic so I can return when I am rested.
I am excited magic has found me, but I don't want to get carried away, I want to savour the moment I move from the everyday to magic. I want to move back and forth enjoying magic with every step. Like a small child I explore away from mother, and like a small child I run back when things become a bit much for me.
Both are delicious: exploring the world from mother - going out and coming home.