March 2018
One of the best moments of this past weekend for me, in which I celebrated my upcoming birthday (Wednesday 21st!) with my boyfriend was this:
Standing in the gem vault at the Houston Museum of Natural Science, surrounded by literal shining decadence, wearing my princess outfit that looked just as good in reality as it did in my head, listening as Bach’s Solo Cello Suite No. 5 played just loud enough. I closed my eyes and swayed to the music and felt just as good as I believed I should feel when celebrating myself and my accomplishments and survival over the past year. We’d been at the museum for 6 and a half hours, and I still liked it, myself, and Benjamin.
Sometimes magic is in little pieces, all handed to you at one time. Thank you, love, for standing in the magic with me.
Showing posts with label magic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label magic. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 15, 2018
American Land Magic
Fantasy novels that imply that European countries would have older or stronger land magic than the Americas make me so mad.
It’s an erasure of centuries of history of the land and the people who lived here. It’s an assumption that white people’s magic is better for some reason.
Look, I’ve hung out a little in the English countryside but I’ve also driven through and over The Appalachian mountains at sunset, and I’ve walked through the Badlands and the Black Forest and let me fucking tell you. America has some places with some pretty damn strong land magic.
The white cliffs of Dover are neat and all, but stand at the edge of the Grand Canyon and talk to me again.
The magic of North America is wild and raw and big. It pools in the valleys and flows in the rivers. It tastes like spiritual cultures I won’t even pretend I know enough about to name. It’s been shaped by native hands and native beliefs. It flowers on the Great Plains and it lives in the ghosts of the great New England forests. It climbs up the redwoods and twines around their roots. It’s been ground down by glaciers and has settled and been worn away in the oldest mountain ranges.
Excuse me while I go write a couple hundred books about this.
It’s an erasure of centuries of history of the land and the people who lived here. It’s an assumption that white people’s magic is better for some reason.
Look, I’ve hung out a little in the English countryside but I’ve also driven through and over The Appalachian mountains at sunset, and I’ve walked through the Badlands and the Black Forest and let me fucking tell you. America has some places with some pretty damn strong land magic.
The white cliffs of Dover are neat and all, but stand at the edge of the Grand Canyon and talk to me again.
The magic of North America is wild and raw and big. It pools in the valleys and flows in the rivers. It tastes like spiritual cultures I won’t even pretend I know enough about to name. It’s been shaped by native hands and native beliefs. It flowers on the Great Plains and it lives in the ghosts of the great New England forests. It climbs up the redwoods and twines around their roots. It’s been ground down by glaciers and has settled and been worn away in the oldest mountain ranges.
Excuse me while I go write a couple hundred books about this.
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