Choosing a magical reality
The cows were guardians of the holy well. For whatever reasons, they did not want me to take the path through their field. As soon as I turned away, they stopped harassing me. In folklore, fairy cows are certainly a thing, and holy wells are bound to be magical places.
The hare who stopped in the lane and watched me for a while might have been a shapeshifter, a witch. It was an uncanny encounter.
We choose the stories we tell about our own experiences. I could tell you much less romantic stories about the cows who were in the way and the hare who stopped for a while, but where does that get me? My ability to interact effectively with the world isn’t compromised by me thinking of the cows as guardians who did not welcome my presence. The pragmatic thing to do was to get out of the field and not antagonise cows with lively calves, all of whom were equal to doing me considerable damage.
The thing to be cautious about is when the magical reality you pick largely functions to make you feel important. When you start attaching meanings to things that cast you in the role of most-important-thing-in-the-scene then choosing a magical reality can be problematic. Not everything has to be read as a message for you, or a sign. You are just one of the myriad entities moving through the world, and while encounters can be meaningful, there’s no reason to assume that the world is mostly busy trying to give you messages.
Choosing a magical reality is more about being open to possibility and having room for wonder. The world is a brighter, richer and more wonderful place if you have room for a little enchantment here and there. It doesn’t have to mean anything in particular. The hare on the lane might have been a witch, but we were merely curious about each other, it’s not something I want to attach huge symbolic importance to.
Hearing the calls of curlews but not seeing them had an otherworldly feeling to it. A call to soul, and to adventure. Because I find curlews affecting and enchanting, there’s a part of me that wants to hear their cry as a personal summons. I can feel the magic in that while knowing perfectly well that my desire is very much part of what’s going on.
When I heard the muntjak deer calling long and loud at night, I knew he wasn’t calling me. He had his own business, and I wondered what that might be. I was glad to know he was out there. I knew it was him because I’ve seen him stand at the top of the bank and make his hoarse barking sound. Just because I find no personal significance in his call does not suggest that it lacks meaning. The meaning is all his.
I do not have to believe that the wind in the leaves is there just to tell me a story. But if I find a story, or sense a possibility, I can accept that gift for what it is.
