I am a love story...

I would make a love spell, if I could, made of the torn pages of a romance novel, rose petals plucked under the darkness of night, and the bloody suture that stitched the pieces of my heart back together after I was so careless with it.

I would take these things and mash them together between the teeth of my mortar and pestle, along with dandelion seeds and olive oil and dirty thoughts and ground cinnamon and the sweetness of a spring morning.  I’d bind it with my spit and tears and hope.

I would even drink this potion if I could. Swallow it all down with a spoonful of honey to soften the intensity of this longing and think of nothing but seeds and fruition as it slid down my throat.  

If a love spell would bring me what I want, I would dance naked under the moon and use strands of my hair to weave together an impossible unbreakable love story. I would work long hours just to be able to afford that small crystal bottle full of hazy pink liquid tucked safely behind the glass counter in that one occult shop everyone knows but says they’ve never been to.

But it’s no use. 

No use trying to conjure warms hands and a beating heart from chicken bones and ribbon.  Or the soft sincerity of an appreciative gaze from glitter and sanding sugar, let alone the gooey warm feeling of being safe in another’s arms—you could try melted chocolate on the tongue or cocoa butter rubbed into your skin.  But it won’t work.

These sorts of love spells never do.  

I’ll tell you what does—though you won’t believe me.  Amateurs never do.

It starts inside, a slow steady drumbeat in your body. Follow that song—out into the meadows and let the birds join in the symphony.  Don’t try to pin down the feeling or stuff it in a jar.  Just let this lightness wrap around you and tease your skin like a lover’s fingers.  

Don’t look too hard, either, for the thing you think you want. Just fill yourself up with the luscious energy that makes you feel whole without arms to hold you—those will come in time.

Now here comes the hard part: Shake off the desperation.  Shut out the voices that say too old too hard too picky too aloof too needy too demanding too sexy too strange too wild too much. All they’re really saying is that they wish they were brave enough to dance with the meadow bees in broad daylight. Unafraid and safe in the knowledge that the Universe is wiser than you and easily bypasses your childish attempts to control your future.  What you want right here and now—the thing you try to capture with your butterfly net—it’s inside you, not in paperback pulp and shredded roses.

So stop waiting for it to happen to you. This love story. 

You are a love story.  Know it. Feel it.  Let it saturate every part of your being.  Say it and embody it:

I am a love story. 

I am a love story. 

I am a love story. 

Hold that phrase up like an offering to your soul.

Aren’t you eager to see how it unfolds now that you are no longer swallowing the torn pages of someone else’s story?

Too much work!  I know that’s what you’ll say. 

This, from the person willing to swallow their own nasty spit and stitches and dance naked in the moonlight—or work overtime to pay for pink-stained water pretending to be an aphrodisiac.

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

On Valentines

You grew up collecting uniform valentines each February.  Most of them were cartoon cardboard cut-outs and, if you were lucky, kissed with candy kisses.  You organized them in to hierarchies of sweetness: chocolates got top prize, soft sugared hearts near the bottom (they were pretty, but tasteless, like sweet chalk or, you later learned, a dinner date that doesn’t read). 

You took pity on the sentiment-studded cards without candy and put them near the middle.  They weren’t the ones you really wanted though you were vain enough to appreciate how many there were.  No, you saved the prized place for the homemade ones—diollied and sequined-kissed hearts on pink and red and purple construction paper.  Those were the ones from the people who taught you that love is a loud, garish thing.  When you have it, you need the world to know that there is glitter in your heart and honey in your veins.  There is so much of it, this feeling, that you want to hold it close like a secret and release it into the sky like a wild bird at the same time. 

You don’t even need a special day in winter to quantify this sense—this awareness—that you are love and love is you.  It was in the white blush-stained flowers so many years after those childhood cards, when adulthood lay heavy in your bones and you had begun to forget the feel of simple pleasures, those sweet things like feathers tickling your palm or the crackle of pink foil wrappers revealing candied promises.  Frivolous little things.  Unnecessary, yet muscling their way into your heart all the same.

Then there is the gift given to you just because on a forgettable weekday from someone who wants you to know that you are valued, that they notice the long hours in which you quietly go about your work.  And the one you give them, to let them know that they are seen.  These secret valentines are just as sweet as the one-inch by one-inch chocolate squares, edible care that fit perfectly in the palm of your hand or the truffles you make at home, dipped in love and infused with rose petals and sweet dreams to cure broken hearts and remind you that love is something that grows bigger the more you feed it.

Lately, you’ve come to appreciate the love that’s like a seed.  Ready to bloom, ready to set down roots, ready to have garden-toughened hands coax sleeping stories into the light.  The only thing that comes close to this are the rocks collected from a patch of earth and poured into your hands so that you don’t float away or the passed-around dog-earned pages of paperbacks because you have tales to share and discuss.  Or the paper moons that keep you company as you make beeswax candles so that they may soften and sweeten a long day for those you love.  Or better yet, the lovers in the tarot always reminding you that the heart behind your ribcage is whole and happy, a beating song to the universe.

Still, nothing is as sweet as that seed-love, which is why you always keep seeds in your pocket.  You never know when someone will invite you to bloom. 

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!