There is an ancient magic, long forgotten,
But we dream of it with tales of hobbit holes,
And villages that hang from rainforest canopies
And enchanted castles that only appear
At a certain time of year,
And only to the pure in heart.
It is the magic of being there,
And yet blending in so well
With the nature of things
As to be invisible.
But long ago, we lost the art.
It fell into the sacred, guarded, chasm
That lies between here and the heavenly realm.
But this magic is returning to the earth.
It is claiming all those who can forsake the extra thing
And fly upon the wings of unheard voices
That speak out of the sacred place.
But the gift of invisibility
Is only for the pure in heart.
And the sacred chasm opens now
And for a time, a thousand years perhaps.
And eventually, it will close back up.
Will you claim the sacred gift
While it is open?
