Hence, I will share a little story written for Title Magic, *smiling purr* moi's very first blog:
The magic of Christmas Eve, it’s a natural. Whether you envision the three Wisemen, or Magi, bearing their precious gifts of frankincense, myrrh and gold to the newborn savior. Or if you, when you’re my advanced boomer age, remember what it was like to believe in Santa Clause. Yes, the lovely simple dreaming magic of believing in the jolly guy strangely dressed in the red eskimo suit, his giant bag of gift goodies slung over his back. Only for all of us good girls and boys. I remember the excited smiles of all the other kids, especially my sisters and brothers.
Having studied the realm of herbs, and of essential oils, the Magi’s gifts of frankincense and myrrh were not only sacred and considered to be magically protective, these potent resins were also used in many healing applications. As to the gift of gold, yes valuable as we would consider gold today, however the frequency or vibration of gold is powerful, an enhancement of spiritual abilities. Do we need to mention the alchemist’s eternal quest to turn lead into gold, as another clue to our mystical heritage? Does it simply mean transforming our baser natures to the elevated frequency of gold, or elevating to our golden angel natures?
Ahhh, my good title magicians, that was not my original topic. Alas, it was on the realm of lucid dreaming and the incredible magic of Christmas eve. Lucid dreaming was first mentioned on our ATIV loop by Anitra. While I don’t have her advanced ability to lucid dream, I occasionally have a real doozy, some of them spectacularly good (my very own beautiful white Pegasus once), and some in the category of a Boris Karloff nightmare. However, good readers all, let me write the tale as I remember it.
Tiny, before kindergarten age, I had no idea what Christmas was all about, only that there were yummy new things to eat and it caused lots of excitement, especially my parents who put up the real fragrant-special tree and eagerly talked about Santa Clause. My dad’s blue eyes glowed with a happiness I will always treasure and remember that night before Christmas. Well, it was just me and my younger sister then, sitting with my dad while he, dramatic as a poet actor, read Twas the night before Christmas to us. My teensy imagination lit up like the bulbs on the tree, before lightbulbs twinkled, when you had to figure out which one had gone bad on the string and replace it before the tree would be bright with colored light again.
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen! Those immortal words are what I remembered most about the poem that christmas eve night. Santa Claus and his reindeer, the magnificent reindeer...More rapid than eagles his coursers they came...in my imagination I could see them flying through the night sky, the snowflakes whirling ‘round them. They looked magical, these elegant beasts with branch-like antlers. And I felt magical, light as air, all tingly fizzy inside.
I swear that poem danced in my head as we set out the hot chocolate and cookies for Santa. My eyes were filled with twinkling stars while my dad assured us that Santa would somehow make it down the chimney we didn’t have in our GI bill ranch house. I still remember heading off to bed bouncing on my tippy toes. Kissed goodnight and tucked in, I imagined Santa in his miniature sleigh with his eight tiny reindeer flying toward us, much better than dreaming about sugar plums. And soon I heard them...the pawing and prancing of each little hoof...on my very own rooftop. Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! Santa called to his reindeer team. I heard it plain as day. It was so real, their hooves on my roof, I woke up to the loud jingling of sleigh bells, like the ones you hear on the horse harnesses as they pull the sleigh over the snow to grandma’s house. Springing out of bed, I ran outside to a beautiful white blanket of snow, so cold on my bare feet. Santa had landed on my roof. He waved, stepping out of the old-fashioned handsomely-carved sleigh. Prancing spiritedly on that new fallen snow were Santa’s life-size reindeer decorated in the red leather finery of their harnesses. They were exquisite creatures, their fragile-looking legs, their thick brown coats glistening with snowflakes, the drifting flakes falling from the black heavens. Their faces were noble, their eyes large and brilliant as they looked down at me. I remember being entranced by the regal tangle of their antlers. And I wondered what it would be like to ride on one of their backs as they soared through night. Santa shouted down to me, a jolly voice reminding me he couldn’t deliver his gifts until I was back in bed.
The next morning when I dashed outside to see my dad, who was fiddling with the outdoor lights, I was surprised to see no blanket of snow, only short brown grass. But I simply ignored that tiny detail and exuberantly told my dad I knew Santa was real because I had seen him last night. Despite my dad’s rather puzzled expression I went on to tell him about hearing the prancing hooves on the roof, about running outside and seeing Santa and all his reindeer. I think he tried to tell me it was a dream. But I was so insistent in all my glorious detail, he ended up nodding and smiling. And not spoiling anything for me. Thank you, Dad.
And no one, not any playground gossiper or any kid’s cruel attempt to spoil Christmas for me, could ever convince me Santa wasn’t real. After all, I had seen Santa and his sleigh full of toys, and his reindeer...oh, his majestic reindeer too. In fact, I may have turned a few kids back to the magic of Christmas simply because I believed. I truly believed. Until, okay, seventh grade. Laugh if you want. That’s okay. I had a Christmas spirit then, that I still treasure to this day. It was magic. It was pure magic instilled into me for a lifetime.
That lucid dream was absolutely real to me, as real as anything I have ever experienced since. That enchanted dream still feels as if I lived it, and remains as vivid inside my mind as any memory.
As I write this, my fellow life magicians, I realize like a flash, tore open the shutters and threw up the sash - realize, I hope my stories are as movie-screen vivid, as magical and magnificently real as my Santa lucid dream, for everyone who chooses to read my otherworldly novels.
A special thanks to Anna Campbell for being our first guest blogger. Don’t you just luv that delish romance-splendid cover. Her inspiration and her writing is a gift to us all.
To my Title Magic buddies, thanks for getting the blog ball rolling. Okay, I’m seeing the traditional typical bright shiny red ornament rolling, rolling...my imagination never gives up, I swear.
Thanks, Santa!
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like a the down of a thistle,
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"
Clement Clarke Moore (1779 - 1863)
Christmas Eve kisses from the Kougar...
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