The Colour of Magic

Part 1

When Lucy pushed her way through the coats hanging in an old wardrobe, she could never have imagined what she would find. Instead of a simple hiding place in a game of Hide and Seek, she steps into a whole new world, a world full of strange and magical things: a lamp in the middle of a frozen forest, a faun, a witch and a talking lion. She crossed a threshold from her mundane world into the magical kingdom of Narnia and she and her brothers lived alternative lives there.

Like many stories, The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe has many layers: a simple children’s tale of adventure and escapism, but full of metaphors and deeper meaning for those who wish to see them.

Magic doesn’t have to be supernatural though. We will all have seen things like the ‘top 10 most magical places to go on holiday’ or ‘the most magical classical music’. We may describe events in our lives as magical, such as wedding days and births of children. These things have that mysterious and enchanting quality we describe as magical. They are often things which we struggle to find other words to describe; places or events which have an ephemeral quality; moments in time which leave feelings traced on our hearts which cannot be contained in words.

In contrast to the land of Narnia, the story of The Secret Garden is set in our world, within the confines of an old house and its gardens. There are no witches, fauns or talking lions, but there is mystery and magic all the same.

When the twelve year old orphan Mary arrived from India at the cold, lonely and unwelcoming Yorkshire moorland home of an unknown uncle, she had no idea what awaited her. When a series of serendipitous events lead to her discovery of an enclosed and forgotten garden, she began to encounter what she would later talk about as ‘magic’: the magic of a beautiful place and growing things; of discovery and purpose as she begins to tend the garden; the magic of friendship when she meets Dickon, a boy who is friends with all the wild things of the moor and gardens; then the magic of restoration as the garden comes to life around them and feeds her spirit.

Later in the book, she meets an unheard of cousin, a ten year old hypochondriac, invalid boy, virtually disowned by his father, living in fear of turning into a hunchback and certain he would die before too long. As she slowly shares with him the discoveries she has made and the wonder of the world outside, Colin, the orator in our reading, begins to recover his health and throughout a summer in the secret garden he becomes more and more aware of this strange sense of ‘something’ working around and inside him.

The three friends spend time noticing the small things and the wider world around them: Colin lies in the grass to watch things grow and feels himself grow as he exercises his limbs; Dickon tends the roses and talks with his tame animals, sensible to all the life around him ; Mary notices how she starts to care about things other than herself and how the garden brings them all together.

She came to believe that something ‘magic’ had led her to discover the garden: not something supernatural, but rather something else, something impossible to describe exactly, but a bit like an unseen power which felt good and right. Perhaps the garden itself needed to be discovered, needed the children to observe and become a part of it. Colin certainly believed so and came to see and feel a magic in everything about him: he learnt to feel its power and it nourished them all as they tended their little sheltered world. They revelled in the wonder and beauty of their surroundings, of their friendships and in the joy of being young, healthy and optimistic again.

It’s no wonder that as adults, people so often look for those places and moments of ‘magic’; chasing those feelings which do so much to nourish us. They are so often fleeting and can be difficult to find in the challenges of daily life, especially under current conditions. Separated from the places and people we would usually share a close connection with, we are suffering from a kind of malnourishment of the heart and mind, hungry for the magic moments of peace, contentment, sharing, growth, wonder and so much more.

But magic can appear in all sorts of places…

Part 2

The majesty and wonder of a starlit sky could truly be described as magical: it is mysterious and enchanting, as it is awe-inspiring. It is one of those things which reminds us not only of eternity and of our place in it, but of something else, something impossible to describe exactly. I can’t imagine that anyone would be moved by the sight of the night sky and not left with a sense of ‘something’ magical.

Other things, like a spectacular sunset, the crash of waves or our favourite view may remind us too of that ‘magical something’ we feel in and around us at those moments. I can imagine astronauts having similar feelings when seeing the earth below them for the first time. It’s often these big, ‘colourful’ moments in life which serve as reminders to us of an extra dimension to our lives, but there are other, more subtle colours too.

We watched a carriage full of people gradually, if a little reluctantly, come together to sing a song which brought smiles and laughter to what would usually be a group of individuals trying their best to pretend no-one else exists around them. Believe me, as a former London commuter myself, I can say this is close to a miracle and I’m absolutely sure everyone who was there has never forgotten it or the way it made them feel. They shared a simple joy, not just in the singing itself, but in the warmth of connection with fellow human beings. Being able to do this in a space in which other people are usually an obstacle and an annoyance is really a magical occurrence!

I wouldn’t be surprised if for the rest of that day and possibly longer, those people who had sung or just listened would have been readier with a smile or a kind word than usual and perhaps a little more open to seeing and feeling the small things which make big differences in our lives. Maybe they became more aware of their own thoughts and feelings and of how they were affecting others. Maybe they took time to appreciate things they might have otherwise dismissed as unimportant. Maybe they called someone they’d been meaning to contact for a while and change their whole day too. Who knows how far the ripple effect may have gone?

While the big, colourful moments when we are reminded of the magic of the universe and our incredible planet can be overwhelming, the smaller things can be no less effective. Taking a moment to wonder at green shoots pushing from the earth; to feel the warmth of giving and receiving a smile with someone; to give thanks for a vaccine going into our arms, is just as important as being transported by a breathtaking sunset. Like Colin, we can give ourselves time to feel the drawing in and out of that magic, in ourselves, in each other, in the smallest and the biggest of things.

Later on in his story, as he was tending the garden, Colin experiences a moment in which he felt so filled with simple joy that he wanted to “jump up and shout out something to anything that would listen”. He couldn’t find a way to express what he was feeling, so Dickon sang a song:

“Praise God from whom all blessings flow,
Praise Him all creatures here below,
Praise Him above ye heavenly host,
Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.”

The beauty of the song transported them all and helped them express their inner joy. Dickon’s mother explained to Colin, “Th’ Magic listened when tha’ sung. It would ha’ listened to anything tha’d sung. It was th’joy that mattered. Eh! Lad, lad - what’s names to th’ Joy Maker?”

She was so right: what are names to the Joy Maker? There are hundreds of names we might use, not one of them can encompass that magic, that power, the spirit and essence we experience. We call might it the Divine, God, Chi or Tao. None of the labels do it justice. Perhaps it really doesn’t matter what we call it: what matters most is that we recognise and feel it at work in ourselves, in others, in the world around us.

What Dickon’s mum calls the Big, Good Thing, the Joygiver, is in the roots and the shoots, in the rain and the sun, in the smile and the song, in the kind word and the loving touch. It is everywhere, drawing in and out: from the tiniest snowflake to the biggest wave; from the dormant acorn to the squalling newborn baby; from the quiet moment of contemplation to the song or shout of joy which just can’t be held in. We can, as Colin said, try an experiment and keep thinking about it and calling it. Alongside our own efforts it will nourish and energise us, just as he discovered.

So let us open our minds and our hearts to all the colours of magic, from the bright to the subtle. Let us be danced by the dance and let the spirit move.

May it be so.