—-this is the prologue to my book [i.e. the title]—
I am not sure what magic is, but I know it exists somewhere. It exists in a place that is hidden behind white curtains in the dark of early morning. Most people don’t even think to check there, but somehow I did; I heard them whispering my name like a secret.
I’ll let you in on the secret if you promise to keep it sacred. What you must know is this: magic is hidden in every day places—places that are so insignificant in the dark, wide cosmos, that it is almost laughable to find it there. That is the thing about mysticism; its sense of humor is painfully ironic. Make sure you check behind rusty mailboxes, underneath your mother’s pillow, on highway pavement at three in the morning, and at the tops of drunken trees (where Magic can be seen squatting barefoot on a thick branch, wearing a mischievous smile).
Now, do not think of the supernatural as society has taught you: it is not harmful or bad in nature. In fact, magic is the more rebellious cousin of love. It can only be inspired through great desire for goodness. Where does it come from, how can we call it to our aid? I don’t know, in all honesty. All I know of magic is that it comes to me, wafts in the wind like cigarette smoke, and tangles in my hair like warmth or a song. All we must do is watch and listen.
The most important thing to remember about magic is that it may only appear with a wish. Do not wish on a star, on a time of the day, on a flower, or with a coin in a fountain. You may pray to god, too, if you’d like, but a prayer is simply a wish on your birthday candles. Do not wish on these old superstitions; wish in your heart, with every ounce of love you can muster. Wish with unstoppable desire and passion, and maybe somehow you will find what you are looking for, or it will find you. Magic is always watching, fluid and fleeting, bursting with potential. And that is simply what magic is: an answered wish.