Let's not and say we did

I wonder if some of us (or any of us for that matter) are capable of some sort of witchcraft?
No matter how many teen dramedies or pages from antique literature boast that old, rather unexciting adage, "be careful what you wish for" I can't help but wake up many a morning and think to myself - not how easy magical powers would make my everyday routine; I wouldn't want magical powers - but how having the ability to exercise some untapped personal potential for the sake of my own benefit, for the sake of getting my way, how intrinsic that would actually feel. I guess, in the sheer sense of it all it is magic… or witchcraft.

I watched the Eastwick pilot last night, a 2009 ABC adaptation of John Updike’s The Witches of Eastwick. It was surely nothing spectacular, but in its moments of sentiment and whimsy, my warming reactions reminded me just how special a reverence for an internal belief in magic truly is. It’s that jovial power that one-ups all those who’ve allowed their youthful soul (the part of them that is able to believe) slip through the cracks, like disposable particles of insignificant matter. I’d like to believe that if I hold onto this and nourish it, I could very well use it to my advantage – for the purposes of ambition. And yes, I am forewarned by the various media of storytelling that ambition can be a dangerous thing. I’ll keep it in check.


I found out recently that there is a woman in my hometown who believes my mother is communicating to her through a painting. It sounds outrageous, sure, but if this is what she needs to believe in to feel what she needs to feel, then I believe in it too. I told my dad and his response was a plain and simple, “really?” But I could tell by the tone in his voice that he was grasping onto some sort of belief too.

And again, I digress. One subject morphs into the next. It’s just the way I am.



- Lo
Honesty circle: Sometimes I find Paul Gross oddly sexy.