June 4 Daily Entry - Magic People

Part of this magic of connection is being able to see the magic people around us. They are not who you think they are.

I am lucky enough to live in New York City, a vibrant community filled with a diverse cast of characters. Not everyone speaks or behaves or dresses as I would, but it is in this diversity where magic happens.

There are many beautiful and talented and powerful people here. People who have succeeded and become everything we all want to be. They have money and fame and admiration, and they possess these things as a fact of their lives. These are not the magic people.

I spend much of my time at the park, and THIS is where the magic people are. The rich and successful and talented don't spend their time here. They have places to be and things to do. They are time poor.

The magic people are those who sit in this park and enjoy the sun. They dress how they want--in brightly patterned robes, in top hats and t-shirts, in suits made of balloons, in tattooed sleeves. I don't know where they sleep at night or who their families are or what possessions they have, but I know they hold the minutes of their lives in their hands like precious gems, and they see each one in its entirety before they watch it slip through their fingers

The magic people are time rich. They enjoy the peace of the park. They feel the liquid honey warmth of the sun. They wave at children, who see them because the children have not yet learned to not see strangers.

Magic people see things in a way that others don't. I can't begin to tell you about their worlds, because their worlds are visible only to them.

Some may see things in the trees and the birds and the air that the rest of us do not. The things they see may be terrible or beautiful. I will never discredit their experience. What they see is real to them and I respect them for the fortitude it takes to live in a world that only they can see. I sympathize with the isolation they must feel, and I hope they also feel peace.

For others the separation between worlds may not be as stark. Some of the magic people are simply those who take the time to notice. They see babies whose mothers are distracted with phone calls, and they show them how to chase after the pigeons. They watch those same pigeons fight over crumbs and perform mating rituals. They notice the ants crawling on a dropped waffle. They notice the rats that come out of vine-covered beds, their ears twitching and eyes shining. They listen to the people around them talking about money, love, pain, and pleasure. They have a wealth of knowledge that few will ever even bother to ask about.

Others see things as they could be. They work to make the world around the transform from mundane to miraculous, using only tricks of their imagination. I see an old man with a book and a construction paper fan in the shape of a flame, and imagine that he has seen much and carries with him the wisdom of the gods. Suddenly he is not a man, but an imp who lives in the bushes sending sparks of insight to passersby. When the men in suits across the street become careless with their hoards of gold, and all across the land money vanishes before people's eyes, perhaps it was the imp at work.

I see the woman wearing three hats and layers of scarves, pushing her belongings in a cart, and imagine that she has journeyed far and has many stories she could tell. I imagine the demons she has battled, both corporeal and spiritual, and I marvel at her will to survive. I imagine the light within her that will not be extinguished, and am grateful for the spirit that she adds to the collective spirit uniting us all.

It would be inaccurate and unfair of me to romanticize the lives of the magic people. Some undoubtedly face hardship, hunger, addiction, depression, loneliness and all manner of demons. Many have been through the fiery pits of hell, and may be there even as I see them feed the pigeons or watch a game of chess. They may be surrounded by angels, demons, spirits, ancestors, and gods at any moment.

I, myself, have sat in that park with my demons beside me. Sensations of physical pain, of crushing loneliness, of grief, of hopelessness and despair. It is not always beautiful to be a magic person.

To the magical people, I thank you for your persistence. I wish you the best in your journeys and your battles. I hope that one day your full stories will be known and appreciated.

The world may never know what you have accomplished, but I see you, and I am thankful that you see me.