A wise and extremely handsome professor of mine (at Hopkins!) complained that the problem with our generation is that we've stopped believing in magic. This professor smiles dreamily at the sight of dying leaves clinging to aching branches at the end of autumn, bracing for the onslaught of winter, because through his color-blind eyes, he sees the crumbling brown leaves in flaming hues of red and orange.
That's magical to me. It's enough for me to fall in love with him (from afar, of course). Love is magical, too, isn't it?
When jaded citizens of the human race proclaim their disbelief in magic, it's like saying they don't enjoy music. In their sad ignorance, cynics reject all things magical and fantastic that thrive in our imaginations.
But what they don't realize is that magic is a metaphor for our hopes, our beliefs, our dreams and our appreciation for beauty. The "Magic of Disney" doesn't refer to fairy dust or magic wands - it speaks of its ability to smooth out the complications of reality into the simple innocence we wish life had. If only we could be awakened to true love with a kiss. If only.
And what of the magic of mystery? Remember when the question of what grass eats became ever so much less interesting the day you found out about photosynthesis? Remember when the gem-blue sky suddenly changed into a mere scattering of blue wavelengths from the sun? Children use magic to explain all that baffles them in the world - adults use religion. Where's the differentiation? For all my years of searching, I could never conjure an explanation for that.
On the flip side, there's the magic of discovery. The Magic School Bus can shrink itself to the size of a red blood cell, and can rocket onto the surface of the moon. How else could we learn about those courageous white blood cells and the moon that isn't all that yummy, sliced on crackers? We can't actually go to those places in a bus (duh), but our imaginations could, and being able to travel somewhere without physically being there is magical, wouldn't you agree?
It makes evil conquerable. If we could melt everyone who wished to do us harm with a bucket of water, we would. If we could all be back in the comfort of our beds after a bad day by putting on some ruby slippers and saying the magic words, we would. While it's never that simple, it gives us hope that it's possible.
It reminds us not to forget that it's possible for good to prevail. The magic lies in reminding ourselves to persevere and in knowing that all your terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days will eventually end.
Contrary to what those who claim to be realists think, magic exists but not in the form of invisibility cloaks and white owls named Hedwig who deliver the mail. The question of whether nature's beauty was the whim of a higher being or a combination of infinite factors through the billions of years since Earth's creation is moot without the acknowledgment either the magic of creation and purpose, or the magic of chance.
Those poor unbelievers, taking magic so literally. When will they learn in the magic of good old-fashioned belief?
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