Think back to a moment when you felt touched by magic.
I bet you did create a spell—
a spell of Magical Intent.
– Gail Conrad

OPENING (with music):

Hello and welcome to the Wildscape Podcast, sharing tales of stepping into the unknown to create more art, beauty, and magic in your life. I’m your host, Gail Conrad, and today you’re listening to:

WHERE’S MAGIC?

Abracadabra!

Oh wait, I say these words but—where’s my wand?

Hmmm…I don’t have it.

But maybe I don’t need it. I’m not going to pull a rabbit out of a hat or do a typical trick.

But this episode IS all about where’s magic and what I’ll call magical intent.

Which makes me wonder –

What if there really is this realm of magic, but there’s no border between it and our own?

And maybe you’re going –

Okay, where is it? Prove it!

But what if I can’t? What if it’s up to you to supply the proof?

And to explain this, I’ll begin with a decidedly “unmagical” but maybe you’ll agree, universal situation to my 1^st story:

I have to move. Or rather, I have moved, but now I need a new home.

I’ve just moved from NYC to Los Angeles. I’ve been sleeping on couches, taking turns staying with the only two friends I have here. Still, who likes to wake up every morning and find, even a loved one camping out on your couch?

So I’m looking and searching for a place to live, while I’m looking and searching for work. Los Angeles has many great and yes, exotic places for rent, but the ones I find, well–I haven’t found the right one yet.

And did I mention that Los Angeles just had this giant earthquake?

Most newly arrived New Yorkers do an about-face and flee back east. Maybe because so many homes now lean on this funny tilt, but so does my old building in NYC, so that doesn’t faze me.

But what I’m desperately searching for are these two golden nuggets. In real estate they call them light and space.

So I find myself one afternoon incredibly tired, ok depressed. The ones I love, even if falling down, are way too much.

I’m driving on a street that’s a pass-through. It’s a gritty Hollywood neighborhood, not one with the beautiful canyons and homes, when my car breaks down.

It makes that classic sound—a big bang. I bet you guessed—a tire pops. I roll to the side of the road and look for help.

That’s when I see it—this sign.

It says:

For rent—Just like Litle House. “Little” spelt with one “t.”

But I can’t see anything else, because there’s what looks like a forest of huge trees, right behind the sign. And then I notice: there’s a path, disappearing into the trees.

I forget about my car, and like in a fairy tale, I follow it down.

I feel like I’m entering an enchanted forest, and in this forest, I see a bunch of old funky-looking white-washed bungalows, hidden behind the trees.

They remind me of the bungalows one might stay in, say—if as a kid you ever went to camp.

I keep following the path until it ends and again, there’s the for-rent sign. It’s on the bungalow furthest back.

A man appears. He looks surprised to see me and says:

“Where you from?” And then, “I’m the manager. You want to see it?”

I haven’t even gotten a word out yet, but I nod—yes.

I follow him inside. All I see is space and windows, and old wood floors. It has 2 stories. I climb the stairs and now I grin because my first thought is—I’m in a tree house!

And because the neighborhood is, shall we say, a bit run-down, the price is right. Two days later, I move in.

But this is just the beginning of what this courtyard has to reveal, for after sundown on my first night, I notice a certain phenomena:

I see a parade of shadowy figures crisscross the courtyard and disappear amongst the trees. They hold what looks like platters and wine glasses. They look like a Javanese shadow play and I’m guessing that they enter into some other bungalow that I can’t see.

But within a week, I’m part of the action. I’m adopted into this courtyard of artists: all writers, musicians, filmmakers and more.

And this courtyard has dinner parties! Come nighttime, I’m now one of those shadowy figures, parading thru the trees.

This place feels like magic, and I fall in love—with the courtyard.

Still, this next event takes me by surprise:

Two friends from the courtyard are getting married and I’m at the wedding. It’s hosted by a woman who’s got a big, beautiful home in the Hollywood hills.

I’m seated at a table with about nine others, all strangers, so I start off quiet. But in no time with this group, I’m laughing. People are telling hilarious stories and I feel right at home.

It’s only halfway thru the meal that I find out, that every single person at this table used to live in the courtyard.

And the host? Well guess what? She also used to live in the courtyard as well. In fact, she used to live in my bungalow, the one that’s now my new home.

So what is it about synchronicity and magic?

How do all these seemingly disparate pieces come together, and connect up in such an unexpected but in the end, perfect way?

Often my experience of magic is purely personal. I love my courtyard, but I got to say: there are some who come to visit and see just a bunch of beat-up 1920’s bungalows arranged around an unkept growth of unruly trees.

I recently told this story to someone and they asked:

But what did you do about your car?

And I’m startled because—I don’t remember. I must have called triple A or gotten someone to help me change the tire. The minute I entered the courtyard, all thoughts about that fell away.

And that’s the other thing that magic does. It can pull focus instantly, and transform any situation that you’re in.

That day, I don’t see glittery sparkles or stars flying around like you might in a fairy tale, but that’s how I feel.

Now how about you?

Think back to a moment when you felt touched by magic.

What were you doing, or feeling, or thinking, before it showed up?

And did it show up the way you expected?

Or maybe—you didn’t expect it, but I’ll bet you one thing.

I bet you did create a spell—a spell of MAGICAL INTENT.

And in case you’re going WHAT?
Well—I get it. You might not have realized that you were creating a spell at all.

In fact, I’m thinking about this one morning last summer, when I feel overwhelmed by all that the pandemic brings.

I crave a simple pleasure, like meeting a friend for coffee or a glass of wine, and I wander out into my courtyard, look up at one of the trees and think: well I have this magic, but can I find a touch more…?

And my next thought is – Ok, where IS my wand?

But all I’m holding is a coffee mug. Well maybe I’ll just have to make do with this.

And no, I don’t say Abracadabra, but in a flash, I remember another summer day, only this time, there’s magic that turns into different magic, but it’s not what I thought it to be.

When I’m around five years old, my family has a little tree in our backyard.

One summer day, it looks like it’s dying.

And within days, it’s looking worse and worse. It’s wilting away, losing all its leaves, until one morning, the tree looks dead.

I lie down next to it. I feel like the tree. I yell out “Help!”

My father comes running. He looks at me, then he looks at the tree, and says, “Yeah—it does look like it’s died, but maybe—maybe let’s try giving it some extra water. Maybe that’s what it needs.”

So that’s what I do. I don’t use a hose, but all that day, I carry pail after pail of water, and pour it all around the tree.

Next morning, I run outside. And there’s the tree—alive, and better!

It feels like magic!

It’s only years later, when I reminisce about this story with my mother that she smiles, then says:

“You know, that tree did die. Bugs got to it—there was nothing we could do. But your father went out that night and searched until he found another little tree just like it and planted it in that very same spot.”

When I hear this, I’m shocked. Of course, it makes sense, but all of my life, I’ve treasured the other story.

But then I think—it doesn’t matter!

To my five-year-old self, it feels like magic. And then I realize, my father created a bit of magic himself.

In fact, I’d say he set in motion a 3-part powerful magic trick:

The 1^st part, was him giving me hope that I could help heal the tree and giving me a clear action to take to make it so.

The 2^nd—him going out, finding and planting another little tree, and my discovering that new beautiful tree in the morning, and having that magical experience of something renewed.

And the 3^rd—he wasn’t alive to witness, but it’s my much later adult realization, of all the magic he helped to nurture in my life.

And so,
Is it more magical that the tree, from my caring for it, somehow revitalizes and comes back from the brink of death, or —that my father goes out that night, and searches until he finds another young tree—almost a duplicate, that he plants there in its stead?

I say, both stories evoke surprise and wonder.

Both stories work for me—still.

Now what about your own stories of experiencing magic?

Pick one, for remember I said, that I bet you did create a spell, a spell of MAGICAL INTENT.

Now I’ll explain:

For what is a spell, really, other than a ritual of words, thoughts, and actions, sometimes using objects, through which you focus all of your intent.

When you do a spell of magical intent, you sustain your focus, and act upon it.

You open to the idea that it will happen, even though you don’t know where, when, or how it will show up because—well,that’s the magic part!

I share my tales of magic because—how do you define it?

You can’t predict it. It doesn’t belong to logic; it’s equally visible and invisible and operates beyond the physical plane.

Its key: it hinges on our personal perception.

That’s why in movies, it’s simply depicted by a burst of light and color, or by bringing the orchestra to a swell.

At its core, magic is not about what it is or looks like, but by what it does. Simply—it inspires you to create.

So think back to your experiences, to your own personal tales of magic.

See if you can recognize your prior thoughts and acts—your spells of magical intent.

For here’s the secret:

Magic not only touches you, but you touch magic.

And the biggest trick?

You merge with magic.

You ARE the wand.

Where’s Magic?

It’s you.

Thank you.

—
I’m Gail Conrad, your host of the Wildscape Podcast.

The opening music is by Chip Barrow, and I want to say— I think we could all use a touch more magic these days, so if this episode speaks to you, please share it.

And everyone, as always, I love to hear from you, so if you’d like to contact me, just click on the comments tab at gailconrad.com/wheres-magic.

That’s gailconrad.com/wheres-magic/.

Thanks so much for listening, and bye for now.

Keep asking – where’s magic?