~See, this is my opinion: we all start out knowing magic. We are born with whirlwinds, forest fires, and comets inside us. We are born able to sing to birds and read the clouds and see our destiny in grains of sand. But then we get the magic educated right out of our souls. We get it churched out, spanked out, washed out, and combed out. We get put on the straight and narrow and told to be responsible. Told to act our age. Told to grow up, for God's sake. And you know why we were told that? Because the people doing the telling were afraid of our wildness and youth, and because the magic we knew made them ashamed and sad of what they'd allowed to wither in themselves.
After you go so far away from it, though, you can't really get it back. You can have seconds of it. Just seconds of knowing and remembering. When people get weepy at movies, it's because in that dark theater the golden pool of magic is touched, just briefly. Then they come out into the hard sun of logic and reason again and it dries up, and they're left feeling a little heartsad and not knowing why. When a song stirs a memory, when motes of dust turning in a shaft of light takes your attention from the world, when you listen to a train passing on a track at night in the distance and wonder where it might be going, you step beyond who you are and where you are. For the briefest of instants, you have stepped into the magic realm.
That's what I believe.~
"This was an excerpt from one of my favorite books of all time (which I recently reread), "Boy's Life", by Robert McCammon. I'm sharing this as it reminds me of all the people along the way who feel the need to tell you that your dreams are only dreams and you have to join the 'real' world and learn to make your way in a responsible manner. You can't have your head in the clouds and expect to be successful, and therefore, ultimately content. Art is like this. It seems to strike everyone in a different manner, either loving to embrace, create, or view those magical bits pulled from someone's inner wealth of imagination...or brushed aside as something not important, not relevant, not logical, not holding any meaning in the grand scheme of things. For those with the latter opinion, I feel sad that some slice of their soul, that inner child, has gone missing along the way."