On Magic, Standing on the Edge, and Prying Your Heart Open

How to start this story ?

At the edge, maybe—that place we tiptoe close to but are afraid to look down from for too long.

we’re all scared we might fall, but it’s only at the edge, that we can really meet ourselves.

*

One day, you might chance upon someone who guides you there without your knowing.

*

But ultimately, the view is yours alone.

*

No one will see what you see the way you see it. (Or be who you are the way you are.)

*

Not even a big, tall lighthouse with a big, tall view.

Someone can guide you to the edge, but only you can stand there in your entire glory.

*

If life presents you with other people on your journey, bring them along. The edge allows people to stand side by side.

*

Like Guru.

We had only met him once, two days prior and for the first time.

But that was enough for us. That was enough for him to convince us that goa was a worthy detour, that we should buy flights leaving the next day, that we should stay there for a while, that we should trust him that it would be a magical time, this place that contains his heart.

It was everything.

My journey through India, to me, begins and ends in Goa.

*

We really like our new friend. 

And our jeep.

These two made up a big part of our adventure. Picture: wind in hair, high jumps, crazy speeds, traffic with rhythm but no rules. come to think of it, I don’t ever remember seeing any street signs. We were always asking for directions.

*

This is the view of an ordinary street in goa from our jeep, made even more beautiful through a windshield that has witnessed a thousand more such afternoons.

*

While driving, we passed by a very old, and very beautiful elephant. Her name is Lala.

We stopped the jeep and asked to play with her for a little while. Her skin felt rough to the touch, her wrinkles a map carved wide and deep of the life she lives.

*

Every morning after we woke, and stretched in our beds, and showered to the chirping of birds, we gathered around a table outside and shared breakfast.

It’s funny how I never really cared for indian food in the states, much less eat it every single day. But here, in the place where it comes from, I cannot have enough of it.

And the masala chai—with milk, a small spoon of sugar—in the morning, in the afternoon, in the evening, would soon become one of my favorite parts of the day.

*

There’s something about the water here.

*

In the afternoons we would play on the sand. Here, the postcard-perfect view from the shack we held meandering heart to hearts at, sipping on cold ones, jumping on trampolines, and consuming plates and plates of the freshest calamari i’ve ever tasted.

*

We would later jump in that sea, and I would later write, perched from a rock surrounded by the sound of crashing waves.

*

Often we’d lie under the straw roofs, and talk about important things. Things that require an intimacy that cares little about how long you’ve known one another, and instead how wide you’re willing to stretch your heart across from the person in front of you.

I am so grateful to meet souls that pry me open. It’s always very hard for me, because I often want to say the comfortable thing, more than the true thing.

*

But when you face the sea, she says to you:

“You have nothing to prove. you’ve already won.”

Guru tells me the same thing.

At that moment, my heart felt light and free, like the paper lanterns that fly up nightly in the goan skies.

*

I could stay there all day.

We did, in fact. many times. Side by side.

*

What is magic ?

Magic is holding the sun in our hands and watching it erase everything except the contours of our existence: his silhouette, the shape of that wave, that rock. There is no pretense to hide behind. We are who we are.

Sometimes it takes a little magic to remind us of this.

*

Magic is two trees sharing the same roots, growing tall together.

*

Magic is a human light that flies so high it crosses the moon from where you are standing in the sand.

*

Magic is candy-colored skies dotted with candy-shaped trees.

*

Magic is
standing on the edge one day
and smiling bravely.

 

Leave a Reply

Required fields are marked *.

*