The Mysterious Magic Key

I sometimes wonder if we have all been moving backwards, if perhaps we knew far more about reality when we were children than we do in our adulthood.  I know that this idea might sound a bit far-flung, but every now and then I am slapped in the face with an experience that demands I at least consider the possibility.  The most recent of such experiences involved a magic key appearing on my bedroom floor.

I was searching for cobwebs, with the vacuum in one hand and a rag in the other, when I looked down and saw an ornate golden key in the middle of the floor.  That key must have had magical powers because the moment I looked at it I started an uncontrollable spin backwards across time.

At first, I didn’t know what happened.  One minute I was rushing around trying to complete my tasks and the next I was shaking my head and wondering where I had been for the past few seconds, seconds which felt like an eternity.  When the fogginess cleared and I was fully back in the present moment, I was momentarily filled with a sense of longing and regret; I badly wanted to go back to that place I had just been.

For just an instant, upon catching sight of that key, I was a young girl again.  My eyes and mind were open wide as I stared at it and considered where it came from and what it could be meant to open.  Keys such as this were most definitely magic; keys such as this open doors to secret gardens, they unlock chests filled with mystical treasures, and they lead people on exciting journeys of exploration.   The moment was ripe with possibility and I was mesmerized by it.

It was such a bitter disappointment when, just as quickly as I was transported back in time, I was shocked back to the adult world where keys such as this weren’t magical, they were decorative; and where secret gardens didn’t exist and treasures were heavily guarded in tall glass buildings, not buried away in mysterious chests.  I was disillusioned; for a brief moment I was downright depressed about reality.

But something else began to stir within me as the moments rolled past that initial disillusionment, something not brought on by the key.  This time it was a realization that, instead of washing over me from that external excitement, unfolded from within me.  It arose from the depths of my soul and whispered to me a secret that made everything magic again, perhaps even more magical than it was during that brief experience of time travel.

I suddenly remembered, perhaps because of that disillusionment, that the magic has always been there.  It never went away; I just learned how to lose sight of it, to stop believing in it.  In that moment I awoke, not for the first time and probably not for the last, to the beauty of the present moment and the real potential that it holds.  It felt like taking flight; it was fantastic freedom with a hint of mystery.

What I learned that day is a lesson that maybe we all have to learn over and over again throughout life.  I learned that life is what you make it.  Every moment, every experience, every little thing is overflowing with inspiration and has the potential to light our passions on fire.  But it’s up to us to see that, to adjust our perception time and time again, so we never lose sight of it.  It doesn’t matter whether the garden is in the back yard or it’s hidden away under lock and key.  What that key unlocks is less consequential than the attitude we have when we start looking.

By remembering this, our everyday experiences can be as captivating and fascinating as those childhood fantasies because we know that it’s less about the story than it is about how far we allow ourselves to become absorbed in it, how strong our expectation for surprise and mystery remains, and how willing we are to consider that sometimes it’s not about explaining or understanding, it’s just about being and feeling.

So now I intend to carry that lesson with me and to keep my eyes open, cleared of judgment, as often as possible.  I plan on holding on to that memory of brief time travel and using it as a reminder to look for the beauty, for the inspiration, and to be okay with letting go of the need to explain.  That one moment cleaning the house will serve as a memento, not of the magic of childhood, but the magic of now.

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