MAGIC IS REAL, WITH DEFINITIVE PROOF

First things first, magic is real. Don’t be embarrassed if you didn’t know, but you’d seriously better wise up ASAP, no joke. I found out when I was 13. On 12/31/2019, I was consulting the I Ching with my grandmother and her friend. The I Ching is an ancient Chinese divination method in which one is to toss 3 coins 6 times to determine their fortune—in this case, we wanted a general forecast for 2020. The combination of heads & tails in each toss dictates whether the line is Yin or Yang. 6 lines make a hexagram. That night, out of a possible 64, we all ended up getting the same exact hexagram at different points during the evening. I can’t remember which (either 38, 47, or 56), but its main theme was social isolation. Prepare for stillness, self-reflection, and solitude in 2020. Umm, big deal! I was lonely in 2019, 2018, and 2017. I think this book just likes hearing itself talk. Call me when you’ve got useful info about the near future. Of course, I shortly found out what it meant. As a godless teen, shaken, I had no choice but to become a lay astrologer/tarot reader. My classmates would say in response to my oft-unsolicited readings, “I don’t believe in this twee shit but that was scary accurate. Yer freaking me out, girl.”

When I was 16, I got a thrifted 3lb chunk of rose quartz for Christmas. Rose quartz is known as the “love stone,” apparently imbued with divine Venusian energy with metaphysical properties related to unconditional love & healing. It looked like raw chicken. Magic might be real, but I don’t keep talismans. This pink rock won’t find me a boyfriend. I’ve got Venus in Pisces, for crying out loud! If you knew what that meant, you’d know I had it covered. Soon, though, the rock became instrumental in the get-love-quick rituals I’d perform with my girl friends. We prayed for love. Correction: we prayed for men. We laid in a starfish position and closed our eyes and set our intentions to relay messages via other people’s dreams. It worked all the time. We went to a Lorde concert. (You’re the only friend I need!) Rituals notwithstanding, it was the only thing I did all year. 

We’re 19, on fire, etc. I got back in touch with my friend. We commiserated. How boring our time apart had been! I had nothing to show for it but fried hair, a series of interpersonal failures,  and a handful of dark periods I’ll skim over in essays until the lighthearted stuff stops penetrating. (Contingency stories.) World peace. The power of friendship. I went to another Lorde concert, alone this time, primarily seeking rejection therapy. When I asked the Oklou superfans in my section if they could buy me alcohol, and one replied with a deeply sincere “I’m so sorry,” I think he was saying “I’m so sorry you’re 20,” not “I’m so sorry we aren’t willing to break the law for you.” Either way, I understood. 

Bored, no dreams to infiltrate, I smoked the teaspoon of weed I was given by an elderly stranger for offering him my seat on the bus. (My stupid ass whispered, “Thank you, that’s very kind of you!” when he was trying to subtly hand it to me.) I went to the grocery store. I changed up my route hoping a stranger would talk to me at the transit center. I marveled at the stars. I frankly saw nothing. I stared down the train car & saw everything. These days, I’m down to two theories on the Universe (so listen up). It might just be a mirror. (The death of a planet is the birth of a cell. We look up and see ourselves and that’s what we call outer space.) Alternatively, it might be a well of primordial wisdom (a big magic 8 ball we’re at the core of). I cried, “Whatever it costs, I want to know the world!” 

“Chill out…” replied the sky.