Everyday Magic

Found on a walk at the Oregon coast. Tule elk, maybe? I’m a city boy, and I don’t know these things.

I’m heading back to the coast for a writing retreat tomorrow. I’m feeling the usual mix of feels: Thrill; expansiveness; a little dose of fear (will I squander my time? will I fail to get it right?).

I recently turned in my manuscript to a trusted guide for an edit, and I’m grateful: It was a real gift to receive an unvarnished, clear-eyed read on the project I’ve now spent five years on. It’s the bird’s-eye view; what I’m asking for now is the god’s/goddess’-eye view.

We’re all Spirit, yes? We have everything we need. So: How do we drop into the indivisible part of ourselves, the part that can’t get it wrong, the part that’s guided every step of the way?

Here’s what I’ll be asking for on my retreat: The Everyday Magic of co-creation. Of stepping into the story, recognizing that the work of writing this book—of allowing it to write me—is taking over. Knowing that it need not be neat, clean, or easy. That everything that has carried me this far—Spirit, Guides, luck, whatever you want to call it—is always there.

And knowing that sometimes, a gentle reminder—like stumbling onto the startling beauty of a sun-bleached skull in the woods—is all you need.

If that’s not Spirit at work, I don’t know what is.