Be Magical

There was an advertisement poster on the train for Disney bracelets. The bracelet is a series of different charms to be strung around the wrist and custom-made. One of the silvery heart-like charms had the words, “Be Magical” engraved with a tiny Mickey Mouse emblem and diamond-like chips sparkled in its background.

This is what I remember about Disney:

Little girl looked up at the stage to watch the lights beam while the curtain opened and her eyes sort of glistened in the reflection of the greatest show on earth.
She stared in complete amazement—watching magic perform in front of her. And to the little girl, this was whole new world of amazement. This is a world or purity and truth; this is a world of imagination that comes with princes and princesses. It comes with kingdoms and all we can dream of.
To the little girl, this was the embodiment of wonder. But to me, the father of that little girl, a tear formed because I never knew anything could be this beautiful.

Be Magical . . .

There are different forms of magic. Take you for example and the magic you have over me when you simply the room.

To explain to everyone else . . .
She is the kind of beautiful that stops you—this is the kind of beauty that makes you stand still and you stare. You stare because you can’t move when she passes. You stare because you don’t want to blink, because blinking could lead to a millisecond of lost time, and even a millisecond of distraction is way too long. You stare because when she passes you can literally do nothing else but watch as she moves by.
And when she is gone, you wish you spoke, or smiled, or did anything so she would have stayed longer and the room could have remained a little brighter.

She is the kind of beautiful that when she leaves the room, you wish you could see her again. You wish you could hear her speak just one more time, because when she speaks, her voice somehow vibrates inside of you. And it’s good . . .

That’s magic.

However, I keep thinking about those words, “Be Magical.”

I say there is magic in the sunrise. And I depend on this magic. I look through the living room window of my home, which faces south, and I watch the sun arrive above the homes in my Long Island town. I look at my friend, The Old Tree, which stands in front of a lawn across the street from my house.

That tree has been here for decades. It has been here before me or any of the other homeowners on my block. And though it is not esthetically perfect; its limbs are broken, and its branches are mostly empty, The Old Tree has remained and survived whatever the seasons decided to offer.
The Old Tree survived storms and hurricanes. Whereas younger trees, or seemingly prettier and esthetically healthier trees have fallen to storms, The Old Tree refused to give way. Its deep roots hold strong and symbolize the magic of endurance.

I love that tree.

But there is more to say on the subject of magic—because magic is real.

Don’t believe me? Then I suggest you do research on a man named, Felix Baumgartner. Felix held the record for the highest skydive. He jumped from the edge of space, just above the atmosphere, at some 128,000 miles above the earth.

As he stepped outside of the small, balloon-risen capsule, he hovered above our planet where oxygen ends and the vacuum of space begins. He stared down at the vastness of Earth while suited in his spacesuit with only ten minutes of breathable air. Then he spoke to Ground Control and said, “I’m heading home.”


He said, “The whole world is watching me now. I wish they could see what I could see.” His breath was heavy as he said, “Sometimes . . . you have to get up really high to understand how small you are.” Then Baumgartner saluted. He said, “I’m coming home now,” and in a leap, Baumgartner dove from space and defied the speed of sound while freefalling at 729mph to the ground.

His breathing remained heavy as Ground Control reported his speed. At first, Baumgartner struggled for control. He tumbled and nearly lost consciousness; however, he overcame the spin and Baumgartner regained control of his jump.
When his chute deployed, Baumgartner swooped down from the sky. He simply floated down and landed on the ground. He jumped from 128,000 miles above the world, falling at a top speed of 729mph, and he landed on both feet as if he jumped from a stoop.

The charm says, “Be Magical.”

I may not be ready to dive from 128,000 miles above the earth, and I’m not sure I could handle a free-fall of 729mph, but I do know what it means to want to live out loud.
I know what it means to want slash the throat of the midnight sky and rage until the first moments of dawn. I know what it means to create. I know what it means to live, to build, and to dream.
I know what it means to dare, to love, and to give with all I have.

And that, in and of itself, is magical.

The dictionary defines magic as: The art of producing a desired effect or results through the use of various techniques that presumably assume human control of supernatural agencies or the forces of nature.

But I say it’s more.

Don’t you?

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