Magic is might.

The return from vacation is always a happiness-threatening, energy-draining, optimism-killing drag. The return from your #1 Destination – a whole world that you first created in your 11 year old mind via the powerful words of an author, then readjusted and protested in your mind when 8 movies depicting it were released, then were enamored by after finally walking the streets – is possibly the most odd and frustrating feeling I have ever felt. I am unfamiliar with this sensation. Wanderlust always head butts me in the face and drags me out of the house as it pleases; but the 3-day venture into the Wizarding World at Universal Studios was head butting me backwards into the theme park and nearly convincing me to drop my life and become a Universal employee.

It’s not every day that your lifelong obsession becomes tangibly, physically real. It was unlike any other trip I’ve taken because my dreams and loves and wishes came alive before me, so briefly and so strikingly perfect. I could look at the same visions of buildings and objects for hours at a time because they formerly lived only in my mind. Even the amusement park rides were amazing.

I could have filled a Butterbeer goblet with the tears of joy shed from start to finish.

Pictures and stories to come!

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Magic is might.

Strands

At the sight of a small, dark strand of

Curly hair 

In my shower

On my soap

—I felt sheer joy.

I even laughed at how moved I was

By something that would elicit 

Nothing but total repulsion

From anyone else.

I was so thrilled to see that tiny 

Hair on my soap

Because it reminded me that 

You were here so recently.

Grinning from ear to ear

—A remnant of you!

With difficulty I let it wash away,

Because, in time

You will use my shower again.

Some days,

Those lonely reminders motivate me the most.

Strands

In many shamani…

In many shamanic societies, if you came to a medicine person complaining of being disheartened, dispirited, or depressed, they would ask one of four questions: “When did you stop dancing? When did you stop singing? When did you stop being enchanted by stories? When did you stop being comforted by the sweet territory of silence?

Gabrielle Roth

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