Dear Reader,
I was having a conversation with my mom the other day about how a cute house I’ve long admired just went up for sale, and she very sweetly said, “Ooh, do you want to buy it? Maybe it’s meant to be.” And I said, “I don’t believe in meant to be.” And then I flipped her the bird and drove away on my motorcycle. Ok, not that last part, but there’s no way to say, “I don’t believe in meant to be” and not feel like it’s coming across a bit harsh.
Here’s the thing: I believe in mystery. I believe in a sort of karma, which (to paraphrase James Baldwin) is that people pay for what they do and what they allow themselves to become, and they do so by the lives that they lead. After a fashion, I believe in magic, if not so much the spellbook sort. But I don’t believe that the universe has a plan for us all, or that no one is given more than what they can bear, or that people get what they deserve, or that things work out as they’re meant to. Because if that were anything like true, what kind of asshole is running this whole outfit?
Ten years ago, a friend of mine died of cancer. In an email to family and friends a month before he passed away, he included this comment, which has stayed with me like it’s tattooed on my heart:
[R]ecall that my belief system is such that I do not think this is part of some divine plan or that somehow this must all be a good thing. I completely respect if you feel that way or if feeling that way helps you to cope. I really do. Please just respect that I do not. I’m comfortable with randomness in the world.
He was an amazing person whose work made the world a materially and measurably better place. He had a family that loved him and kids that needed him, and if there was any divine plan behind him getting cancer and dying young, then the inescapable conclusion is that God must be a dickhead. I’m not buying it. I’d rather accept that some things are just bad luck. Sometimes you’re dealt a bad hand. And then sometimes it works out anyway, but that’s not because the universe has a plan. That’s just how luck works.
I’m comfortable with randomness in the world.
When I was a kid, one year there was a huge snowstorm that came unusually early in the year. A week later, when my mom was out for a walk on her lunch break, she was clobbered by a fist-sized chunk of ice that fell from the 13th-floor ledge of an office building. It hit her square on the top of the head, a direct smite from on high, and she dropped like she’d been shot, face-first onto the sidewalk.
She could have died, but she didn’t.
If she’d been a half-step ahead or behind, it might have missed her entirely, but it didn’t.
She could have suffered a life-altering traumatic brain injury. But nope, she didn’t. It sucked for a while, and then she recovered.
So, is that bad luck, or good luck?
On a much smaller scale, while recently vacationing with my family, we spent some time hanging out by a bonfire on the rocky lakeshore, and I had the bad luck / good luck to almost crush my foot under a rock. It was bad luck that I got a little bruised and scuffed up, but it was very good luck that the rock didn’t decide to roll a quarter inch farther and really smash me. I had the good luck to only need a little bandage and not a trip to the emergency room.
I don’t believe in meant to be. Yet I do believe in gratitude, in giving thanks, even when I’m not quite sure who I’m thanking. I said several thank-yous to the crisp clear air for my mostly-unhurt foot. And who knows, maybe the air listens. I do think (or hope?) that there’s more to the world around us than what we readily perceive. To me, that’s mystery.
Here’s the thing: we have this problem where our ability to communicate what we understand about life, the universe, and everything is mediated through the electrically charged meat of our brains and a veil of language, which is a great tool but also very slippery and tricksy. Sometimes we exercise caution with using language. For instance, in science and in the law, “terms of art” are a big deal because words need to mean very precise things. Or from another direction, we might be careful of the intention vested in speech. In Buddhism, “right speech” is one of the fundamental practices of the Noble Eightfold Path. “Be impeccable with your word” is one of the Toltec beliefs laid out by Don Miguel Ruiz in The Four Agreements.
As much as I love language, the lesson that I have been chasing my whole life is the one about forgetting the words and listening to the world. The words are the raft, or the finger pointing at the moon. Language is the framework that’s meant to hold meaning. The frame is not what’s important.
Thirty spokes join together in the hub,It is because of what is not there that the cart is useful.Clay is formed into a vessel.It is because of its emptiness that the vessel is useful.Cut doors and windows to make a room.It is because of its emptiness that the room is useful.Therefore, what is present is used for profit.But it is in absence that there is usefulness.
Sometimes a part of what we’re doing when we use language is casting a spell, to try to name the world and thereby shape it, whether or not that’s what we consciously intend. And that’s a real sort of magic. It is not trivial. We can use it to shape the shared reality we live in, to identify a problem that can then be solved, to create pain or healing, even to call something into being that never existed before.
But words themselves are not magical. Words are spokes; words are clay.
There’s an idea that shows up in fantasy, particularly involving witches or wizards or sorcerers, that a wielder of magic can exercise power over a person or a thing by knowing its True Name. There are also various faith traditions that have the creator speaking the world into being. I do believe in the power of words, but I think fantasy and myth have it a little backward. It’s not that knowledge of a sacred name gives you power. It’s that we learn the true names of things by knowing them, and in the truths we know and distill into words, there is power.
Anyway, that cute little house that went up for sale? They’ve already accepted an offer. But I’m content with the very cozy place I have now, so I have no complaints about the balance of luck in this matter.
On the book side:
While I was on vacation, I finally read Red, White and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston, and look. It was really fucking adorable. The characters were vivid and likeable, and the story was charmingly threaded with anti-colonialism and a genuine recognition of the value of public service and what it means to do good work, to persist in the work for the right reasons. Plus, you know, just breathtakingly sexy. Also, I developed a total supporting-character crush on Oscar Diaz and would be happy to grill the ribs at his beautiful lake house any day. But also also, the part where this is an alternate universe, yes, please, take me there. McQuiston notes in the acknowledgments at the end that they had the idea for this book in early 2016, and then, like, 2016 actually happened, and as they put it, “Suddenly what was supposed to be a tongue-in-cheek parallel universe needed to be escapist, trauma-soothing, alternate-but-realistic reality.” The book was originally published in 2019, when we still thought 2016 was a high water mark. So: yeah. It turns out that escapist, trauma-soothing, alternate-but-realistic reality continues to be a pretty relevant note to hit.
And another book mention: I also recently went on a bit of a binge with the works of R. Cooper, and it’s more than possible that the Familiar Spirits books are what kicked off all my rambling thoughts about magic. I particularly want to hang out with Ezra and Emery from the third book, Nothing More Certain. Or at least watch Ezra’s handicraft videos on YouTube. Cooper’s work is pretty wildly imaginative and spans a remarkably varied range, from urban-fantasy shapeshifters to sci-fi aliens to regular-world firefighters, and includes characters who are non-neurotypical and characters who are ace or a-spec, which still tend to be pretty underrepresented in the genre.
Ok, that’s it from me. I’m going to pop out for a walk in the sunshine. Hope you’re well.
Love,
Beas
