Magic is positively everywhere. Problem is, most of us are drowning in so many to-do lists, late-night anxieties, piled-up bills, and nagging self-doubts that magic feels like a fiction, something relegated to Hogwarts and Middle Earth.
Remembering magic isn’t just a means of making your days more interesting (although that’s nice, too). It’s a means of reconnecting to what, within you, is yearning for expression in this lifetime.
You are a vital part of the great cosmic puzzle, and we all know how maddening it is when a piece goes missing, that nagging gap where something should be. We need your contribution, that special something only you can share.
When you reclaim your magic, the whole world gets a little brighter, a little more wonder-full, curious and kind.
Every journey has to start somewhere, and to refind your path to magic, the mythical template of the Hero’s Journey is an excellent map. On this Journey we all begin in a place called the Ordinary World…
Look around you–what do you see right now?
Maybe you’re reading this at your desk at work. Or perhaps you’re at home, curled up on the couch. Wherever you happen to be, this is your Ordinary World, your slice of the cosmos that has become familiar and perhaps more than a little routine.
Let’s take a magical trip together, shall we? First, we need a soundtrack:
Imagine, now, that the space around you–the walls, the furniture, the artificial lights…it all begins to fade, and a diaphanous mist rises from the earth, shrouding your surroundings in its pale and shifting forms.
You feel a warm breeze tickle your skin, and the mist shreds into fading tendrils, revealing an ivy-covered wall of stone. You approach, peeling the vines back like a curtain to reveal a door with a heavy iron knocker, the black and sightless eyes of a gryphon guarding the way.
Grasping the weight of the ring, you knock, once, twice…three times, letting the knocker fall silent as you wait, pulse thudding in the back of your throat, your senses keenly alive.
And then…the door creaks inward. You step inside, your eyes adjusting to the inky gloom, cast an underwater blue by the panes of stained glass far above. You’re in a tower, its spiraling staircase wrapping up and away, but a faint, golden glow, tucked beneath the stairs beckons you further.
There’s a lantern just beyond that half-open door, and you squeeze inside, not wanting to startle the sacred stillness with a rusty creak. And there, lying open on a table, its pages enclosed in a circle of warm lamplight, is a book with gold-gilded edges glinting in the flickering flame.
The book sings to you in a language you hadn’t known you’d forgotten, a language that stirs and seduces your soul.
Drawing near, your fingers trace the cover page with its fine-lined imagery, inlaid with gold leaf and rich, saturated colors. The scene looks oddly familiar yet simultaneously alien, layered with complex symbols you cannot understand.
You flip to the next page, and there, again, an image that feels at once intimately your own and entirely unknown, remembrance tugging at the hem of your thoughts.
But wait…is that…? This image, a small figure crouched beside a stream in bright yellow galoshes, loosing a leafen boat into the current, its browned edges curling around an intrepid passenger: a shaggy-capped acorn bound for distant lands.
You were this figure, a memory from when you were what–seven? eight years old? That summer when day after day of rain created a swift-running river of mouselike proportions in your grandparents’ backyard, snaking through the neighbor’s bushes and disappearing into the wet-slicked woods.
The hours you spent crafting tiny boats carrying twiggy cargo and adventurous nuts–or the too-heavy stone that sank its maple-leaf Titanic mere inches from the shore.
How is this here, in this book? And what do these strange symbols, drawn into the whorls of the river’s current, mean? And even more symbols, there, in the pattern of the grass. Are they astrological? That one looks vaguely glyph-like–the mark of Saturn, perhaps?
You leaf through the pages more quickly now, lingering over the images, the wonder of discovery rumbling in your belly. All of them, every single image, is a scene from your life, woven with complex runes and ciphers. The text itself is incomprehensible, written in a language your mind cannot parse.
What secrets must this book contain, this book of your life?
Surely these symbols and pages upon pages of mysterious language hold keys to who you are, keys to inner depths bearing far more gravity than the You who goes to work and gets stuck in traffic and falls asleep watching too much Netflix.
Perhaps if you took this book with you and studied it, researched each and every symbol, scoured the internet for translations of this bizarre language, then you could understand–
You wake with a jolt, blinking in the glow of a screen as you read these words. The Ordinary World reassembled around you, every detail wedged firmly in its customary slot.
But you know Your Book exists. You won’t forget, never again.
You will learn that secret language, you’ll find your way back to the tower, and you’ll reclaim what is yours, the birthright of your soul.
This is the Hero’s Journey, the winding path to the mist-shrouded tower containing treasures of utmost worth: the secrets of who you truly are and the hidden workings of the universe.
Discovering and decoding these mysteries is the Great Work of the seekers and mystics…
…and it is myths, fairy tales and dreams that provide us with a map for our journey–a map accessible to those with the eyes to see and the ears to hear.
Here at Real Magic School we learn the esoteric art of reading this precious map.
We regain our fluency in the arcane language of the soul through acquiring the Three Keys of Jungian Magic.
And we apply this wisdom to our daily lives, casting off the Ordinary World’s cloak of illusion, revealing the exquisite magic and wonder hidden in plain sight.
Are you ready to embark on your journey?
