Making Space for Magic

The Room in my apartment felt smaller in the early days of the pandemic. I was thankful for the large windows as I needed the light. My desk was set nice and snug next to one of the windows in my bedroom. As some of us had to, if we were lucky enough to still have work filling our calendar, I had set up a home office.

I sat for hours at the window, not looking out as much as looking in, into the screen on my computer. Zoom became the portal, Facebook the messenger, and connecting to others online felt vital, at least to me. It was just me, in my bedroom. All of my family in Australia, my partner in the Caribbean, both far far away when a pandemic hits and borders close.

In the third week, on April 3rd, Sage’s 7 year Death Day fell into my lap and heart. I felt the day coming and wondered what this anniversary would gift me. Now that I was at number 7 I have 6 affirmations that each anniversary, despite its exquisite pain, is also a gift. Each one teaches me something valuable about my journey with grief and love. Each one I unwrap and apply and each year my journey deepens. But this one, number 7, felt different, for obvious reasons. I was to shelter in place and not hug anyone.

I sensed the grief and I sensed the opportunity to surrender. The Death Day came rolling in like the wave it rode on, crashed to shore, and then rolled out to the ether. It passed and I survived. I dipped into the magic of the moment and came out the other side with a few scratches, but mostly intact. I awaited the gift, sure it would arrive after the settling of my heart and soul.

Not long after the Death Day while sitting in my home office by the window I sensed it. I felt it in my body. The bigger wave. Weeks now into the pandemic and the death toll was rising and so was rippling waves of loss and grief. Weeks now into ‘shelter in place’ and the undigested and denied grief felt by many was churning stomachs and hearts. Weeks now into the ‘great pause’ and collectively we were all holding our breath. A big wave was on its way.

Moments into the sensation and realization I felt something else. I felt my grief muscle. And then it flexed. I felt the call to give this strength in service, to be there for the collective waves of grief.
One month after Sage’s Death Day anniversary is his birthday. Every May I sit with a different edge of grief, the day that my little boy doesn’t grow up. It hurts more than the Death Day, it is deeper and draws heavily on the womb. Each year since my son’s death, I have given myself a present. My rationale was it was my day too, it is the day I gave birth and became a mother. And again, I sensed, this year is different. The birth-day of the pandemic year was to be a gift for us all.

I reasoned, “If I have a strong grief muscle, how can I hold others? What can I share that would be valuable, useful, and a gift?” We all needed gifts and I sensed what my offering could be.

‘A Moment in May’ was born. I saw my calendar open and then fill. For the month of May, Sage’s and my birthday gift was a calendar of open 30 minute zoom sessions; each a Moment in May. They were open to whoever felt they needed a moment, and in particular, a moment with grief. The birth was nothing like Sages actual birth on the 5th May 2002, this birth was a flash. It arrived and it was clear.

The day of the first Moments in May arrived with an internal and external ceremony. I meditated, set intentions, lay pillows on the floor, surrounded myself with crystals, oracle cards at the ready, and a candle to be lit. The last thing I placed in my ritual space was my framed photo of Sage, taken days before his death. The scene was set. I flexed my grief muscle and opened my zoom to meet the first moment.

Moment by moment I met people. Some I knew, some were new to me. They popped into my zoom screen from all over the US, the UK & Europe, and Australia. I asked them all the same question: “How is your heart?”

Hearts were broken, confused, anxious, and surprisingly, curious.

“I have always wanted to be someone who meditated. Can you tell me about meditation? I guess now is the time to start.”
“I heard you pull oracle cards, can you pull a card for me?”
“Are angels real?”
“What is the universe saying to us? What is this energy?”

The scene had been set to hold space for grief, and as each person arrived I was met with questions and curiosity of magic. My grief muscle relaxed and magic soared and swam through my veins.

Is this the moment? My Moment? Was A Moment in May giving me a gift, the permission I felt I needed to step into my magic? The witch in me twitched.

My magic and my grief sat side by side surrounded by oracle cards, crystals and a candle burning. Witnessed by Sage, I accepted my gift. It’s time. Let the witch out, it’s safe now, and she is needed.

Curiosity and the spasm of my magic set forth in motion.

I had seen clearly the first wave on its way, the wave of grief, the wave that was for the collective and would wash up on the shore of hearts. What I had not seen clearly was the wave behind the wave, the wave sent for me. The wave crashed and it was scary, exciting, and undeniable. As I reached for shore, I knew I would emerge cleansed of past patterns and charged with fresh energy. I emerged…Oh my, she is out now.

It is now many months later and the collective is in a sustained tumble with waves, of both grief and possibility, magic and change. As we all navigate the ending of another difficult year, the year after the year we never saw coming, we gather up the pieces and make plans for 2022.

The year 2020 was the game changer, 2021 moved a few more pieces around, and in 2022…what is it that you hope for? I cannot say what the new year will bring, but I can lean on the lessons gained over the past 18 months.

Lessons learned: it is safe to step into your power, change can be tricky but worth it if aligned with magic, patience is key when you and global energy is shifting, and it is love that sustains us.

Lessons lead to new adventures: Big Life Magic was inspired by the witch in me who finally chose to step into the light and be seen. It is now one year of magic and what has been created is expansive and nourishing, to me and others. And, love, it is love that I was fighting for and love that is now with me across the globe in the Big Life Magic Maker Community, and sitting beside me in my new home in Tobago, where the windows are large and the view is of the sea.

My advice: Make Space for MAGIC. Be open to the possibility that what you need is on its way to you, about to crash to shore. Skip onto the playground of co-creation and offer the gifts you have to share. And, remember, it is safe to come out now, for you are the magic.

Big love and many blessings to the many people who have supported Big Life Magic and me. To me, you are magic and it is the magic in me that seeks to support you. A new wave of possibilities, connection and expanded magic are on their way in 2022 and this wave is an opportunity for us all.

1 comment to " Making Space for Magic "

  • Absolutely LOVED reading this… you held such amazing space with those moments in May, and I’m loving this recap of what 2022 will bring: a deeper surrender to all the chips that got moved around the past 2 years. So much love for you!

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