It's witchcraft

As I sat with a client today, my mind kept drifting to my friend Lee Ann. I knew it wasn’t anything my client was saying, and it wasn’t that I was bored. There was a tug on the line that connects us. I felt the tug, and I worked to re-focus on the man in front of me, who was in the throes of a career crisis. He needed my full attention, and during that hour, I struggled diligently to stay with him, but my mind kept wandering back to Lee Ann. She was on my mind.

After the session was done, I dialed her number in Idaho. She answered, and her voice was shaky. Max, her husband for some thirty years, had died within the past hour. He died at home, where he had been battling cancer for the past few months. She kept exclaiming “Why did you call? How did you know?” Both in tears, we marveled at the miracle of our connection, at the mystery of love. We don’t talk often, sometimes not for years, but when we do connect it is uncannily at the right moment. This was one of those moments.

In the midst of the tears, Lee Ann laughed. “You really are a witch!” she said. Even now, the remembrance of those words makes me smile. Indeed, I am a witch. More and more, this being a witch has little to do with words of power, with the notion of sorcery or manipulating the elements to do my will. Being a witch to me means listening to my intuition, it means paying attention to what tugs at me, it means making a call to an old friend when I keep thinking of them. One often touted definition of magic is the art of changing consciousness at will. This is a good definition, certainly. As a therapist, I employ this kind of magic all the time with clients, invoking with them the will to change, even if the change is to accept what is. But magic is more than using our will to change our consciousness. It’s willing ourselves to simply be conscious. I find much magic occurs in the simple act of paying attention, of listening to what we commonly call our intuition, of following where this leads, of attempting this with an open heart and mind, of not letting our will drive the bus, but our attention.

Today the storm of the last few days abated, leaving the city awash with light, the air clean and crisp. Lee Ann is grieving Max, the great love of her life. On the phone, amidst the tears, she told me how grateful she felt for having had Max in her life. I too, feel grateful for their great love and to the mystery of our interconnectiveness. I send out my attention, my awareness to Lee-Ann. This attention, this awareness, is the stuff love is made from. It’s magic.