Magic

One can debate and refute magic forever, and many do, mostly those who refuse by way of reason magic's provenance, or those, who by their unfortunate nature, see nothing they have been told they cannot see. And then there are those of us who might perchance have fallen into this denial but for luck. For it is a proven fact that if magic happens to one, with the full force and presence of its beauty, it can no longer be denied.

The table thus set, I spin a tale of magic.

Simply to sit and contemplate, to smoke, to sip my coffee, to eat my salad, that was the plan. I was to steal a few moments alone and allow the tides of life to wash over me. It is in these moments that I most feel love, mine extended and mine received; the wonderful connections of my life. There is a picnic table behind the factory where I work. It is solitary, rarely visited, and an ideal place for reverie. On this day a warm afternoon sun was reluctantly giving way to dusk, gentle zephyrs swirled vortices of dust over the parking lot, and I settled into my seat.

I didn't witness his arrival because like many good things he just appeared. One moment there was an unknown void, and then it was filled. He just happened. The connection was immediate, and elemental. He had soulful eyes, dark brown, and of unfathomable depth; eyes that said I had something he wanted, wanted even more than a sweet breath of Spring, and if I would please be so kind, he would reciprocate in his own way. Now, I am not one who takes lightly the possibilities that tumble forth from the cornucopia of my life, but I also listen to what experience has taught me; not to promise myself what is not mine.

Nevertheless, of his own volition and with my unspoken encouragement, he transformed himself before my eyes, from a simple thing of flesh and blood, into a manifestation of his own desire to fulfill an ancient need. A soft breeze swirled the hair on his head and sunlight played lightful melodies across his back. His muscles rippled with a supple vigor infused by his want, and the delicious tension of anticipation played out across his flank. I was helpless before him.

He approached, and I felt my own longing spawned by this chance encounter stir powerfully, until it was a thing unto itself; a fleeting possibility of spirit taking on substance, an irrevocable touching of the being behind those dark eyes. Closer. Power and permission incarnate. His breathing amplified into short puffs. Closer. What little fear remained to him dissolved into a singular pellet of want; I could see it behind his eyes. Closer. That field of pure energy that defines me, and that I in turn define began to mingle with his; began the wonderful and overwhelming mixing that creates something so much greater than its parts. The promise of the mystics, that there is just the one, can in this moment be realized with the intensity and presence of a god. Slowly, and with a grace that I do not command, I reached out and offered my hand and its bounty. Touch. In what seemed an eternity but was surely only an instant, the exchange was made, and I basked in the radiance of his love; a love that knew no name.

He withdrew to the corner of his safety, tension slaked, awaiting the rest of his life. I bade him farewell and too quickly became again who I had been only moments before; a man, and like him, awaiting the rest of my life.

Yes, simply to sit and contemplate, to smoke, to sip my coffee, to eat my salad, that was the plan. How did I know that silly rabbit was going to come hopping up to the break table? I hope he enjoyed the carrot but I didn't see him eating it. He hopped into a pile of gear crates stored in the back of the factory; presumably to eat without any other rabbits trying to steal his meal away. I'll have to say that that was a first for me. So very unafraid. He gently took the carrot from my hand – and then raced off.

The magic was very real. There was a momentary suspension of the normal instincts that keep wild creatures from getting too close to us; large bipeds that we are, always unpredictable, and sometimes dangerous. When he approached to within two or three feet the fear just evaporated, as though he'd judged me and found me harmless; at least to him. But the magic was in more that just this. I had a very strange but very clear feeling that, for a special moment, I was him; that I could feel the order of the world he feels daily. I "felt" his world as an impressionistic mosaic; a soft edged approximation that so eloquently captured the spirit of things. Maybe that's why rabbits are such great broken-field runners.

He had given me a slice of his world, and as best I could, I had given him a slice of mine.

Actually, I don't know if it was a "he" or "she" rabbit. I mean, they're not like humans. You can't just go up, flip 'em over, and take a look. "Hmmm, let's see here. Oh yeah, it's a girl." Nope, that doesn't work with bunnies.