Where's the Magic?

I have another blog. It's secret, I won't share, and I haven't posted there in several years. It's a place where my soul writes love letters to me. I'd forgotten it existed. I rediscovered it this morning, and I read this:

"Hello, loved one. How are you? No, I mean underneath the annoyances of the day. How are you?

You're wondering where I came from. Why am I talking to you now? I'm the voice inside your head. Not that one, not the one that tells you that you didn't/can't/shouldn't have/better not/how could you. I'm the other voice, the quiet one.

I'm here now because I heard you. On Monday. You had just turned off the freeway onto Trimble, headed for your office, and I heard what you said. "Where's the magic? There has to be magic. If there's no magic in life, then I don't want to play anymore."

You didn't know those words were in you, did you loved one, until you heard them come from your mouth? And they rocked your soul. I heard you gasp at the truth of those words.

So here I am. I came to show you magic.

With deep and abiding love,
The Crone"

Months after I wrote that post I was living in Central California in a yurt, in a magical community populated with people who took magic for granted.

And next week I am leaving that place. I will officially become a member of the unemployed.

I don't know what I will do next. I don't know where I will work, or even if I can find work in these difficult times. I may become homeless, penniless. I don't care. As long as there's magic.