Ordinary Magic
Do you recognize magic when you see it or feel it? Do you see magic in the ordinary? Emotions are a powerful and mysterious force, ordinary magic that can fuel transformation.
I recently ended my semester asking the college juniors and seniors to name something they are grateful for. It’s a way to bring closure at the end of a 4-month process of practicing writing, of learning to pay attention to the simplest things right in front of you, so close they are hard to bring into focus. I started our exercise by saying I am grateful for my kidneys, not something I had ever felt before that morning, during my morning meditation. How quirky, to suddenly become aware that I have never had a single problem with, my kidneys, my entire 55 years of life. That struck me as an extraordinary gift from my body, from life, and I was truly grateful. It came from my heart, not from my head. I could see from the students’ body language and their eyes that they could feel the truth of my gratitude as I was sharing, that it reached their hearts. And they shared their truth, what they felt true gratitude for in that moment. No one rushed. I stood with my hand on my heart and sometimes closed my eyes briefly or focused on one long slow breath. They always waited for me to say “thank you” before the next student shared. Their answers were moving. Many of them were grateful for their parents, their family, their friends, especially for helping them get through college and through the COVID lockdown. No one fidgeted. None were overwhelmed or unwilling to experience these emotions. It was deeply moving and left us feeling connected to our own humanity and to our loved ones.
Big 10 state university classroom, full of true magic. I continue to be deeply moved when I recall these students sharing from their truth.
It takes courage to feel what you feel and be with it. I was afraid I would choke up or tear up and make everyone uncomfortable — I had done that in prior semesters and it’s just as likely to close hearts as open them. Fortunately, when I was walking to my first class that day, I saw a colleague and called out, “How’s it going, Bob?” and he sang back, “I’m going to miss my students.” A simple admission that gave me permission to feel what I was feeling. His words brought me into community, into sacred connection.
So I started class as usual, inviting students to write, but instead of joining them in the writing, I turned my bow into the crashing waves of my emotions. I sat and looked at them, really looked at them while they wrote, and I felt the fullness of loss, the tenderness of my caring, the precious uniqueness of this fleeting experience. I took into my heart what I/we had created in these classes — I took it in with the awareness that it is passing. I held it in my arms, knowing it is finite, ending, dying. I took it in, knowing it matters immensely, and it doesn’t matter at all — paradox, both equally true.
I’ve practiced a long time to develop this capacity, being able to feel the feelings without having to discharge my emotions through tears or talking, through getting busy, eating, self-attack. The energy flowed through my heart, and I breathed. It was really difficult to trust myself, that I could let the intense emotions flow through the river of my nervous system without it shredding me, drowning me, or burying me.
The emotions that I thought might overwhelm me ended up fueling my system, fueling my self-trust and courage to create a situation where they could also feel their feelings without being overwhelmed, naming their private gratitude in public where it was amplified by the group. That is the ordinary magic we need to fuel ourselves with, while our burning phoenix world continues to transform.
