Enduring being laughed at. Daily. Left out. Avoided. Not deliberately as an act of something .. intentional. It’s a special kind of paradox.
The exact ‘thing’ they say they don’t believe in is happening right here. The invisible energy that makes certain features and energies obvious as they are played out between groups of people. Where a one person is remarkably silent. For a reason.
By their beliefs, words, opinions, the group that can agree on feeling something and thus connect is blind to the silent ones that disagree and are thus left out.
She is used to it. Had it all her life, so she knows not to bother. Not to object or explain. Tell a different side to their stories. It isn't personal. Although it is painfully personal being unliked always for feeling something else. Seeing things differently. Feeling alien to the group, and longing to belong. to a family. A circle. Tribe even...
It doesn’t make the eternal child less emotional about it than the present adult. Imagine that.
But she cannot betray what she knows. What she has seen. Who she is. And she cannot explain, and she cannot defend or won’t. She cannot fathom how they live without it when it’s right there out on the field. Visible to her. All the beings. All the life.
The eternal battle. How can you argue against ancient consensus that truth is one thing- and if you cannot prove it, you are wrong and your reality doesn’t exist? How do you argue against people whose beliefs are like that when your world and reality is measured by a completely different substance?
This way, they whisper. And laugh. And swing the door open by the Wind, so the Robin can fly in and sit on the floor. This way they whisper, and in a moment when no one else is around the Buzzard hovers above the Fox that walks into her presence, and content with the company licks his paws in the late afternoon sun. This way, they whisper, while they urge her to writing about her insights early in the morning. This way, they pull at her hair and turning her head to look she spots Venus and Spica in the early winter morning.. This way, when crystal white quartz, amber, fossils, small gems and treasures are wanting to find her hands instead of objects relevant for the context. Magic appearing everywhere…
This is Her life. This is how it has always been. Full of Magic. Full of living breathing Earth and beings in direct communion and exchange of experiences leading to Joy.
So they can laugh and make fun of her world all they want.
She has magic everywhere she goes…
(And I don’t know either who built the pyramids, neither do they, but I am S:U:R:E that we are visited by UFO’s and that the joke will be on them shortly when it comes out that we are, and they will believe it then because it is common knowledge.
The same way future people will laugh at us for NOT believing in a bunch of stuff because science finally catches up with everything they have denied (at least publicly!) for decades.
Fairies are real and I don’t care where they live. They stood at my bed end all my childhood guarding me while I slept. Or waiting for me to come out and play.
Magic, I have learned at my class in university is defined as an act of supernatural forces to prevent illness, help or heal, and is something you can invoke through ritual or ceremonial acts... and this sounds about right, so I still don’t understand why it is considered unreal...?)