When I was little, I grew up with no Magic, no Tales, no Rituals, no Ceremonies.
At home, we did not know Magic. At home, we did not practice anything. No Ceremonies. No Rituals. Nothing was Spiritual. These concepts simply did not exist. At home, we did not talk about poetry or nature, about energy or supernatural forces, about life or death. My father was too busy working, my parents were too busy fighting, my mother was too busy complaining. Following science and facts as the only God, eventually the stories dried out, and everything was reduced to words, work and clocks.
But Magic happened when my parents (finally) divorced and I moved to Greece with my mother and my sister.
Magic happened when I had to grow up in a few hours and become an adult.
Magic happened because I finally had imaginary friends and I would talk to them. And they would talk back to me!
But one day, something more than Magic happened.
One evening, my mum went out with friends. She did not call on a baby sitter (we never had one); she just put us to bed, kissing us goodnight, waited until we be asleep, and sneaked out like a teenager. I knew because I heard the door open and close and then there was silence. I knew because I was awake. I pretended I was asleep. I was only 10 but pretty grown up already. This one, plus some other traumatic events, before and after, (small and bigger) made me grow - brutally and consciously. I just needed to be the “adult” in the house. I needed to be in control while the ones who should be, were losing it. I did not fell asleep; I was scared and anxious but I had to remember I was an adult! I watched over my little sister, sleeping tight, breathing smoothly. To sooth myself and make time pass faster, I decided to create a game. A game that could be organized any time, any night, exactly when I wanted. No need for material. No need for any set up. It would happen on a safe new territory: the ceiling of my room. I would follow some lines of paint (or was it paper?) and with a help of an imaginary roller-coaster I would travel all around the wide wide universe. I would meet magic creatures - I would visit amazing gardens - there I would create magic just with me. To protect me. To sooth me. I could spend hours playing like that. My new playground….Sometimes I would even get dizzy. Until probably I would fall asleep, exhausted, or was it until I would finally hear the door open?
Until recently, I refrained thinking about what was happening up there on the ceiling of my room. Was it an illusion, a child’s imagination, a sort of game of communication with the non-human world? Of course, it was but I knew it was real. I knew it happened, but I repressed it as in a foggy dream. Until one day, exactly that, a foggy dream came to remind me what was really happening on these nights. I was having what is called an out-of-body experience1 The nights of intense fright, the only way to save myself was to “dissociate”. It is the way it is described in the medical literature…At least one of the more (rational) ways (if we need one) to understand the phenomenon. I have to admit, I don´t know so much about it. I just know now that this I was doing.
Seeking ways to understand the events of my life, making sense of them, using the right tools, knowledges and practices even long time after, helps me root myself in place, in time and in story. I am now able to walk into the liminal hours of dawn, holding a dialogue with the little girl I was, engaging with her heart, hands and soul. Remembering my story, my fears and honoring them. The Dreams and Myths and Tales are not just fabrications ; they are not inferior nor immature. They are magnificent. They are magic!
In this (essential) work on ourselves, recalling the stories makes it possible to bring to light unbearable secrets, hidden injustices, openly express family troubles and resentments, honor all our toxic relationships and their effects on the body and the mind. We live on top of the remains of lost and dead stories, the ancient ones, the magic ones, the forgotten ones. The narratives that keep us humble in a more than human world. The stories that give us meaning. The tales that declare pain and death as part of creation, regeneration, and life itself.
Every human creature on this planet is born with an archaic, beautiful and intact intelligence embedded in their cells, blood and bones. Though our minds (and our spirit) are super distracted by modernity (smart phones, social medias, rigid algorithms, hard science, hard facts and hard data), our physical being when entering into a forest or slipping into the sea, or walking bare foot on the sand, still instinctively recognises the patterns of stone, fur and feather, the touch and smell of wind or rain, the warmth of the sun or the caress of salt water on our body.
It is fascinating how spirit enters into relation with everything, with exquisite forces, perceiving and understanding them.
It is fascinating how human beings are so much more than the material that manifests itself.
It is fascinating how human beings can be so much more than what they are.
Out-of-body Experience = OBE. During an OBE, it is said that the viewer is able to literally float out of their body and witness something from above that they could not have otherwise seen. But what really goes on during an OBE? Does your consciousness actually leave your body?