Marcia's Musings: This Magic Moment
/By Marcia Appel — Last Updated: January 14, 2026
My daughter, Gina, recently sent me photos of snowflakes she snapped in December. They filled me with an exploding sense of wonder, mystery, and magic. These many days later, I’m still pondering them.
In the beginning…
Snowflake from my daughter, Gina.
As a baby, I slid down the chute from the Universe into this life with an innate sense of wonder. My parents told me this, and I felt it within myself before they got around to it. On our small family farm, I discovered endless paths to wonder, many of them having to do with the natural world. A cow calving, baby chicks arriving in their boxes, plants that gave color and texture to our land. Tom Creek, spring-fed and teeming with fish, flowing through our pasture. These will suffice as examples, though a thousand others pleasurably fill my mind.
Likewise, many kind, noble, and inspiring people walked my journey with me at that young age. Teachers (of the public school and Sunday school variety) spring to mind. And memories of my aunts and uncles, some not that much older than I was, rise to the surface. They practiced patience with my only-child self and motivated me to open to new worlds of expression through study, writing, music, paintings and photographs, books and magazines, and, of course, the “art form on the back” - fashion.
Seasonal Struggles
And yet, even with all of that in my favor, I have felt the magic and mystery leaching from life. While I still wake up in a happy frame of mind most mornings, being fully human means that darkness invades despite being born with a sunny disposition. Some of the causes of the shroud that hides the magic became apparent to me at a young age.
Take for example, winter’s chill and its diminished hours of daylight on that modest farm. As a kid, my chores involved spending time outside with these conditions gnawing at me. Even then, I could feel my energy sag and my mind grow bleak as night descended early and the temperature plunged. Though the outdoors consistently beckoned me, along with the animals who needed us to feed and water them and to provide warm shelter with straw beds and sweet alfalfa bales for snacking, winter smacked up against me like a brick wall.
When the barn and yard lights were on or the moon glowed bright in the night sky, a safe blanket of wonder fell over me. When clouds covered any terrestrial light or the electric lights of our buildings were off, though, I felt a little lost. I asked for – and received – a gigantic flashlight that I carried with me to finish my chores after the sun set.
To this day, I surround myself year-round with twinkling white lights and leave my Christmas tree up through January. Another trigger for me involves snags in relationships with my closest friends and family members. When we grow distant, feelings and emotions lurk undercover. Everything glitters just a little less (or a lot) then.
Moving Forward
When I consistently begin to feel that the world no longer holds mystery or magic, I wobble, because in my heart of hearts and through my direct experience I know it does. It is because I am intimate with and deeply interested in mystery and magic that I’ve learned to sit with the waves of bleakness. From the winter doldrums to the unseen but powerful voices of judgment, fear, and second-guessing, I examine and feel them in my meditation and spiritual practices and in conversation with a Godsend of friends, my beloved cousins, and a brilliant therapist.
The human condition, bolstered by the ancient reptilian brain that is on high alert for danger, often amplifies the darkness and obscures the light. When the world feels like “hell in a handbasket”, which varies with each person, some natural go-to responses involve suspicion, comparison, and resentment, not to mention anger, sadness, and anxiety, and too often a drive for perfection.
“It is because I am intimate with and deeply interested in mystery and magic that I’ve learned to sit with the waves of bleakness.”
January creates a breeding ground for the pursuit of perfection, which in turn obliterates magic and mystery. We seek perfection in our diets, our physiques, our work and hobbies, in our children, and in our relationships, to the detriment of living a joyful life. It turns out that the pursuit of perfection and the abandonment of a vibrant internal life to accompany the external one is a buzzkill of mystery and magic.
In the movie Moonstruck, the character Ronnie, played by Nicolas Cage, says to the character Lorraine, for which Cher won an Oscar: “Love don’t make things nice, it ruins everything. It breaks your heart. It makes things a mess. We aren’t here to make things perfect. The snowflakes are perfect. The stars are perfect – not us.” What Ronnie describes is the mystery and the magic of love and of the world itself, which will entail ups and downs, joy and sadness both. Seeking perfection promises to end badly, and it masks our ability to live each moment with awareness.
Likewise, the French philosopher and writer Albert Camus posited the idea that art itself is a mysterious force that drives away actual and self-imposed tyranny: “But art, because of the inherent freedom that is its very essence, as I have tried to explain, unites, wherever tyranny divides. So how could it be surprising that art is the chosen enemy of every kind of oppression?”
When darkness arrives, as it will every so often, we must turn toward the magic and mystery of life that is ever present even if hidden. Making a pledge to use mindfulness, observation, and the constant mining of your body’s response – resting on a bed of kindness and compassion – creates the opportunity to be in a dance with life.
Finding the mystery can happen when your body molds itself into a living sculpture in a pose on the mat. Magic lives when you travel with others, whether on a retreat or a trek. It bubbles in the pot of soup you cook if only you look for it. Mystery and magic appear in any creative expression you choose, from painting to writing to knitting. And they become constant companions when we accept that the snowflakes and stars are perfect, and we are works in progress in good company with each other.
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