Magic Words

We're all magic. Magic's all around us. All the time. . . . There are spells everywhere. You cast a hundred a week without realizing. . . .

Knock on wood. . . . It's a spell. . . . You say Bless you when somebody sneezes. That's a spell. . . .

You drink ginger tea with lemon and honey before you even have a cold. You take baths when you feel tense. . . .

Your parents are married, right? Saying I do is a magic spell. They're just words like every other word, but said in a ritual, with intent, it's a spell. Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. When they named you, it was a spell. When they let you pick flowers and keep dried leaves, it was a spell. Your dolls came to life because of your spells. Your invisible friend. Your dreams. The way you write your initials and somebody else's in hearts all over your notebooks. What is that if not a love spell? . . .

You cast spells every day. Your makeup is glamour magic. Hiding and highlighting. The clothes you pick out to make your legs look longer, your waist smaller. The red you wear for confidence; the black when you're sad, the blue for clarity. Your favorite bra. Your lucky socks. The way you take an hour on your hair. It's a ritual. It's never just about clothes, or makeup, or perfectly messy buns. It's about magic.

That's from a book I recently read, The Spellbook of the Lost and Found by Moira Fowley-Doyle. It strongly reminds me of another title, What the Heart Knows: Chants, Charms, and Blessings by Joyce Sidman, even though the former is a fiction novel and the latter is a book of poetry. From Sidman's introduction:

We speak to send messages to the world. We chant for what we want, bless what we like, lament what we've lost. When angry, we curse; when in love, we sing.

We have always done this. Since earliest human history, we have used language to try to influence the world around us . . .

We may no longer believe that words can make crops grow, prevent illness, or keep rivers from flooding. But we still believe in the power of the words themselves. Why else would we pray, sing, or write? Finding phrases to match the emotion inside us still brings an explosive, soaring joy.

I wrote these poems for comfort, for understanding, for hope: to remind myself of things I keep learning and forgetting and learning again. They're about repairing friendship, slowing down time, understanding happiness, facing the worst kind of loss. They are words to speak in the face of loneliness, fear, delight, or confusion.

I hope they work for you. I hope you're inspired to write some of your own--and chant them, in your own voice.

The four sections:

Chants & Charms - to bolster courage and guard against evil
Spells & Invocations - to cause something to happen
Laments & Remembrances - to remember, regret, or grieve
Praise Songs & Blessings - to celebrate, thank, or express love

A sample poem:

Invitation to Lost Things

Come out, come out
from your hidden places,
hair clips, homework, phones.

Come show yourselves,
mittens, earrings, socks.
Come play your part.

Come find your mates,
come cleave together.
There is a place you belong.

For we, careless giants,
don't know your dainty paths,
can't read the maps you follow.

We bow to your littleness,
pencils, glasses, keys.

Without you we are lost
in this big world of ours:

you, who wait so silently
to solve the puzzle of our days.

Though many of these same items are impacted by it, the key invocation in Spellbook of the Lost and Found is much more sinister. Here's what I wrote for my review:

If you don't close your mouth, a fly will fly in, and then you'll have to swallow a spider to catch the fly, and then a cat to catch the spider, and then a dog to catch the cat, and then a goat to catch the dog, and then a cow to catch the goat, and then a horse to catch the cow, and then a lost soul to catch the horse.

Enchanting. Atmospheric. Mysterious. (a lost soul to catch the horse) Lush. Gritty. Suspenseful. There are so many good words I can think of to describe the beguiling collection of words that is this book. Dark. Mature. Sensual.

Wait for a sign.
If the lights go out, you will know the lost are listening.
If you hear dogs barking, you will know the lost have heard your call.
If you hear the howling, you will know the lost have answered.

Be careful what you bargain with;
Every lost thing requires a sacrifice--
A new loss for every called thing found.

What will you let go of?
What can you not afford to lose?
Consider carefully before you cast the calling:
It may not be for you to choose.

Be careful what you wish for;
Not all lost things should be found.

The narration weaves together three distinct voices, teen girls who take turns telling their stories of the people they encounter and the odd events that occur after they whimsically, drunkenly cast a spell of finding from a curious book they stumble upon in the woods. Some of the occurrences are explainable. Some aren't. Not even as dreams and hallucinations. The line between magic and reality has become blurred. And both--magic and reality--are an intoxicating mix of love, danger, heartache, growth, and connection. Surprising, unexpected connection.

Through it all, underneath the misty ambience, this is a coming-of-age tale. Of young people growing into adult experiences. Of finding who they are in response to unexpected ordeals. Because if you don't get lost, you'll never be found.

Reading this spellbook is a thrillingly murky and satisfyingly complex enthrallment.

Everybody's lost something. They may not know it, but everyone's got their defining loss: a parent, a pet, a trinket, a treasure, a memory, a belief. Some people have more than one. And if you're not careful you can spend your whole life looking for what you've lost.

But the truth is we're always losing something. Every day stray hairs fall from our bangs; we discard fingernail clippings; we shed skin. We're all made up of all of it: of longing, of belonging, and of all the things we lose along the way.

What have I lost?

What have I found?

What have I kept?

End review.

And, just because, a couple more from Sidman:

Come, Happiness

Happiness,
you're not what everyone says:
some flashy friend
who shows up with fireworks,
trailing fame and glory.

You are more like a raindrop,
governed by mysterious principles.
You fall from the sky
and hit--plop!--with
a cool kiss of surprise.

Or maybe you're a heartbeat,
always there,
speaking in you low, soft voice,
pumping, warming, strengthening
under the surface of things,
just doing your work.

Happiness, you're like a breeze
sucked in by eager lungs.
You fill and feed us,
and yet somehow, in the exhale,
you are shared.

So come,
come to us, Happiness.
Bathe us with your cool spray.
Fill us with your splendid breath.
Help us do your work.

How to Find a Poem

Wake with a dream-filled head.
Stumble out into the morning,
barely aware of how the sun
is laying down strips of silver
after three days' rain,
of how the puddles
are singing with green.
Look up, startled
at the crackle of something large
moving through the underbrush.
Your pulse jumping,
gaze into its beautiful face.
The wary doe's body,
the soft flames of ears.
As it bounds away,
listen to the rhythm
of your own heart's disquiet.
Burn into memory
the white flag of its parting.
Before you return
to house and habit,
cast our eyes into the shadows,
where others stand waiting
on delicate hooves.