Sometimes Magic

Sometimes Magic

A world that I think I have to be able to explain sci­en­tif­i­cally or that I think I want to explain, is bor­ing. Or maybe what I mean is this: If I have to go through the rig­ors of expla­na­tion for my expe­ri­ence of life, that is bor­ing. Life and all its amaz­ing mov­ing parts has an expla­na­tion, a the­ory. Maybe my expe­ri­ence does too, but I don‘t care. I don‘t have time.

If I reduce the con­nect­ed­ness I feel in the world to rushes of chem­i­cals in my brain, I will be bored and wrong. I know I will be wrong because we don‘t know what we think we know about much of any­thing in sci­ence. I have earned my right to say this because I work in a very applied sci­ence. All the time I encounter the unex­pected. It is not magic in those moments, it is that my scope is too nar­row, pointed in the wrong direc­tion or clouded by my expec­ta­tions, pre­tense, ego. Life is sur­pris­ing, erratic.

Sci­ence often does not want to incor­po­rate the chaotic ele­ments in the the­ory because the math gets com­plex very quickly. But chaos is what I see all the time. Our breath is not reg­u­lar and that is a good thing. We need to sigh and yawn to open up all the lit­tle air­ways at the very end of the lung. Some­times the appen­dix is on the left side instead of the right, and even though I can explain it, I can‘t pre­dict it and don‘t want to.

All this to say that I am in Hana, Maui. The mist rolls down ver­dant hills at the base of of Haleakala. It is seven in the morn­ing. The light is golden here. The arc of Hamoa Bay ends in a per­fect dark sand beach. The scent of plume­ria swirls around us. Plume­ria are highly unlikely flow­ers that grow at the end of leaf­less branches on trees that oth­er­wise look dead. They might be the most beau­ti­ful, fra­grant flow­ers I have seen. Beau­ti­ful local peo­ple sat with me in the grass of a church here and told me their sto­ries and lis­tened to my own for two hours in the evening yes­ter­day, hugged me like I was one of their own. I was. I am.

Maybe you would say these are all just things I have not seen and new­ness makes us believe in magic. It is igno­rance that starts that process toward magic and then expe­ri­ence tem­pers us and allows truth in. Maybe. Being tem­pered means to be hard­ened. I don‘t want to be hard­ened. I want to stay sup­ple, open. I want the sur­prise to raise the ques­tion over and over in me, like the waves rolling in to Hamoa Bay in magical Hana.

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2 Responses to Sometimes Magic

  1. Barbara says:

    how beautiful and welcoming…..

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