Out In The Magic Again

Summer Days

It’s not magic to the magician.

For the rest of us, however…


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I’ll let you in on a little secret. Being dead is underrated.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not suggesting you hasten to it. No, no! Every day in the beautiful world is precious, pregnant with promise and a feast for you to consume one now at a time.

But there’s a unique perspective when you’re dead. Time becomes meaningless. All of your regrets and shortcomings become meaningless. None of that matters now.

Now I am free to recall all of those beautiful days without care.



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Avenue Of The Pines

I am not watching the clock.
I am watching the clouds.

I’m not watching the calendar.
I’m watching the days turn into nights,
and the nights turn into mornings.

I am watching the winds,
as I sail the
Sea of A Thousand Seasons.

– Chuy

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Do This For Me

North Loop trail

So, when you’re done with all your regrets about what you could have done, “what could have been”.

When you’re done lamenting the loss of all that has come before.

When you’re done with your survivor’s guilt about still being here and loving this beautiful world when I no longer can.

There is still something you can do for me.

When you’re done with all that aforementioned waste of time and spirit, I want you to think about what I would want for you now.

You know as well as I do that it would not include regret and lament and guilt.

It would consist of walks in the Wonder Woods with any available canine. Or none at all if need be.
It would include hazy, hot summer walks admiring tiger lilies.
It would be standing still long enough to truly appreciate and enjoy the sunrise.
It would be snowshoeing through drifts at sunset.

It would be love and embraces. Touching.

It would be a comfy bed and and promises to keep.

Humans are so complicated. Sometimes they can’t figure out how to do for themselves.

So, how about you do this for me.


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Sometimes the water has all kinds of stuff in it; leaves and sticks, slimy green stuff, dead bugs, live bugs. Sometimes it’s been baking in the summer sun all day, just a shallow layer at the bottom of my dish. It’s hot and murky, and smells funny, and has a loamy sort of flavor that leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

It’s worth is incalculable in comparison to having no water at all.

Like the water, we must take what life brings us and be satisfied with it.
We must drink the stale and leafy water in its time, and also when it is sparkling clear, freshly dispensed from the spigot, and cold as the well.

Wag more, bark less.


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What’s that? You think you’ve dishonored my memory by not thinking of me often enough?

Silly boy. Time has no meaning when you’re dead.

You’re thinking of me now, aren’t you?

Relax. I know what we mean to one another.

We have the rest of forever to carry on our remembrances.

And you know we will. This hard lesson you learned the hard way, long before me.

I must admit it’s nice to remember with you.

I’ll be here.




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Wet Walk

Some days it just rains, from sunup to sundown, on into the night.

We still need to go out. Out into the rain.

We need the water.

We shall go out into the rain.
We’ll walk in the rain.
We’ll be thankful we can do so.

We don’t complain about rain around here.
That would be folly.

Some days, it just rains.


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Sure, October.

Or Fall.


Call it whatever you want.

I’ll be out enjoying it.

I call it “now”.

– Chuy

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If you have true regrets, of your own deeds and pasts, actions, neglects, you cannot deny their existence.

Their only potential for positive is to serve as lessons for the Now and the Next.

Whatever else remains of them should be discarded, tossed, crushed as mulch for your Garden of Hopes and Dreams.

  • Chuy

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Each time I reach this place, I hear your shadow walking with me.

Each time I feel your spirit here I am left with a choice.

I can wallow in anguish over that which is no more.

Or I can revel in the beautiful memories that will last





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