For a long time, I didn’t think there was anything magical about being human. It seemed to consist mostly of repetitive thoughts, ingrained habits, and inescapable feelings—pretty much the opposite of what I imagined magic to be.

But at some point, I realized that all human beings possess magic—secret powers we’re unaware of most of the time but that nonetheless allow us to experience and do the most extraordinary, implausible, mind-boggling things.

The Discovery

I first experienced my magical abilities when I joined Al Anon, a 12-step program for family and friends of alcoholics. A friend had recommended it, and even though at the time the alcoholics in my life seemed far removed from me (though in reality they weren’t), I’d struggled with depression and felt helpless for long enough that I was willing to try anything.

All went pretty smoothly until I got to the second step:

Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

To an agnostic who had never been to church or felt drawn to any form of religion, it felt like being told I had to believe in magic.

But the second step is brilliant. It doesn’t say you have to believe in god or a higher power—just that you must become willing to.

Motivated by abject misery and my sponsor’s encouragement, I quickly became willing and began to ask a higher power for help with my problems, big and small.

I didn’t know who I was directing my prayers to at first. Perhaps nobody, I thought, but I made them anyway. It seemed silly and more than pointless, so I was shocked when, one after another, my prayers were answered. Every single one of them.

Before asking for help, I was like the infamous brer rabbit with the tar baby in the story from African-American oral traditions—the more I struggled against the despair and terror, the more they held me tight. But after turning things over to a higher power, calm serenity would sometimes surge up from nowhere like water from a long-dried spring. Other times a deep knowing appeared after weeks of total and utter confusion. Frequently my thorniest problems simply worked themselves out even when I still had no idea what to do about them.

The answers I received were rarely the ones I wanted, but they were almost always the ones I needed.

It felt like magic, this power that brought peace and clarity and hope back into my life, that helped me time and time again, long after I was unable to help myself.

I was grateful, but also uneasy because I didn’t understand it at all.

What was this magical “higher power”? What would it require from me? Was it inside me, or something external? It felt like both, but how was that possible?

The Clue

I didn’t get any answers until I began to meditate regularly.

When I practiced moving my attention from my thoughts to my body, I discovered something odd—a presence or place deep inside me that was far different from my usual experience.

It was grounded but also expansive—an enormous, ancient tree rooted in the earth but also stretching toward the heavens.

It was a plain so vast it made the biggest storm of fury or fear seem tiny and insignificant.

It was the infinite night sky—nothing could disturb it.

This place within me felt like another form of magic. No matter how upset I was, no matter how many things fell apart, when I found my way to that place, I was immense enough to hold or handle anything.

It made me indestructible.

And it was inside me all the time. It turned out the magic was part of me after all—it just got covered by all the repetitive thoughts, ingrained habits, and inescapable emotions.

The best part was, I didn’t have to do anything to tap into it—in fact, the less I tried, the more it appeared.

I began to realize the magic wasn’t just part of me—it was the core of me.

The Revelation

Ironically, it was more-than-human beings who revealed to me the heart of human magic.

When I moved back to my hometown of Atlanta after fifteen years in the San Francisco Bay Area, I fell again into the murky depths of depression and anxiety. I began to go on long walks through the slices of old-growth forest near my home to ease my mind and lift my mood.

As I crossed paths with the same beings day after day and week after week—the same rocks, trees, and streams; the same lizard with the electric-blue tail whose darting movements were somehow both jerky and graceful; the same damselfly taking me in with his wide, complex eyes from the root at the edge of the creek; the same burnt-ochre spider waiting patiently in the nexus of her iridescent web—I began to see them all as acquaintances, then neighbors, and eventually, family.

And then, like all good family who cares deeply about you, my wild relatives began to give me advice.

A stream invited me to stop resisting and let myself be pulled by the current of my desires.

A large boulder reminded me that not all strength is about action—many of my problems disappear when I remember I’m sturdier than I think.

And the trees constantly suggested that I acknowledge my many gifts—not to inflate my ego, but so that I can share them with all who come near as generously as they do.

As my connection grew to the wild ones around me, and as their wisdom woke something deep within me, I began to realize something—

I am made of the same matter as the damselfly with his shiny, green body and delicate black wings. The same ineffable energy that graces the lizard’s elegant movements animates my own. And like the spider spinning her multi-colored and impressively engineered web, I too bear mysterious gifts from an unknown provenance.

Me, “The Dark Light of Depression”

The more time I spent with my wild family, the more I saw them in myself and myself in them. I began to understand that though we are undoubtedly very different, in the most fundamental ways, we are one and the same.

Put another way, the nature within me is the same as the nature around me.

That magical core I’d discovered inside myself? I realized it wasn’t only inside me. It’s nothing more and nothing less than the electrifying energy, brilliant intelligence, and profound wisdom of all the living beings in the world.

If that isn’t extraordinary, implausible, and mind-boggling, I don’t know what is.

The Breakthrough

At this point I thought I’d pretty much nailed down the nature of human magic. But then something happened that made me realize how little I actually know.

I was talking with a beloved therapist and teacher about a part of me that criticizes myself for not doing enough in the world or giving enough to the people I care about. I became aware of a fear beneath the criticism—a terror, really—that if I don’t do enough, I’ll lose my connections to other people and be stranded by myself.

It was a helpless feeling, like an insect stuck on their back, and my limbs were suddenly immobilized by a cold, defenseless dread.

I stayed with the feeling for a while, focusing my attention on it and letting it be there despite the discomfort. After what felt like a long time but was probably only a few minutes, I felt a presence emerge, a warmth and fullness that pushed itself into my dead, frozen limbs. It warmed me, allowing me to move again, spreading both heat and the feeling of being loved from my outer extremities into my core.

I felt it as a sun, a ball of love and warmth—not part of me, but not outside me either. After it tended me, I felt it settle onto the earth nearby, as if that is where it lives, where it will wait until I need it again.

It was taking care of me, I realized. Giving me exactly what I needed.

I’d thought before that our magic was a neutral force, a passive thing, a place I could visit when I remembered the way. I thought it was the same for everyone.

But this magic—this sun—whatever it was—wasn’t passive at all. It didn’t wait for me to find it but rather sought me out with intention and purpose. It was actively watching out for me, and me in particular. Its warmth didn’t feel like the untargeted heat of nuclear fusion, but the tenderness of being cared for by a friend who loves you dearly.

The Confirmation

To be honest, I’m still integrating this magic into my day-to-day. Despite knowing how close it is, it still often feels far away, and there are many moments when, stumped by the challenge of whatever’s in front of me, I forget it exists.

But then I have a morning like the one I had last week, and I remember. I was feeling sad and overwhelmed that day, by the circumstances in my life and in the world, and found myself crying as I approached the nature preserve where I like to walk. Before entering the woods, I asked for help—some type of medicine, support, or guidance. I trusted the earth to know what I needed.

As I walked my usual path, I had a sense that deer were likely to be on the far side of the hill above the creek, so I left the trail and headed that direction in a roundabout way. I walked over the fallen-tree bridge, scanned the muddy area beneath the cypress trees for animal tracks, and checked a ridge where one particular buck likes to hang out, but my feeling was right—there was nobody there.

When I finally approached the hillside where I’d sense the deer earlier, I was looking at the ground to avoid the muddiest spots. A movement caught my eye, and I looked up to find a doe staring directly at me with dark, expressive eyes as she picked her way elegantly through the mud. Her ethereal beauty and gentle energy soothed my heart and lifted my spirits—exactly the medicine I needed.

It was clearly the same sun-like magic, only in deer form. I began to cry again, this time from gratitude.

I’m beginning to realize how little I know about the magic within us, the magic that is us.

I do know we all have it, and that it shows up differently for everyone. Like all magic, it seems to be easy to miss and hard to access, until we’re humbled by need into a willingness to ask for help from someone, something, anything.

I don’t think it’s the kind of magic we can wield (I’ll talk about that kind of magic next in Part 2)—it’s more like something extraordinary we get to be a part of.

Other than that, it’s a mystery to me.

May we all get to know this magic in fleeting moments, then longer stretches, and eventually in everything, everywhere, all the time.

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What about you?

• Have you ever received unexpected and life-changing support from something inside you? Another person? Or more-than-human beings (an animal, tree, boulder, stream, ancestor, departed loved one, god, goddess, etc.)?
• Have you ever had a dark night of the soul in which you couldn’t see a way out of your pain and yet somehow, in the middle of its intensity, a way through suddenly appeared?
• Who and what supports you most? How did you come into relationship with these beings or things? Did you have the good sense and foresight to pursue them or was there any magic that brought you together?

I’d love to know. Please put anything you’re willing to share in the comments.