Miracles and Magic

I recently reconnected with an old friend of mine. As we were talking, she posed an interesting question. She asked if I thought that, as Pagans, it was required that we believe in miracles, in the sense that things happen supernaturally and without explanation. The answer is a qualified “no.” I think I do need to accept that there’s more out there that I don’t understand, but I don’t think that I have to believe that miracles are unsolvable mysteries.

Like most people growing up in the 20^th Century, miracles were the stuff of sensationalistic headlines, but not everyone believed they were real. Kind of like the Powerball, you know it could happen to you, but it wasn’t very bloody well likely.

And of course, miracles had to be something that couldn’t be explained. An unexplainable cure of a deadly disease, someone walking away with no injuries from an accident in which they should have been broken limb from limb.

The mind is an amazing thing. Karl Jung, famous psychiatrist and founder of analytical psychology, had some really interesting things to say about how the human psyche works. We all know that we have a conscious and subconscious mind and a great deal of our understanding of them come from Jung’s theories. I’m no advanced scholar of Jung, but his theories are a huge part of my Pagan training and practice.

In Jungian psychology, the conscious mind is our “aware” mind, it is what is functioning during our waking state. We also have a subconscious or “unconscious” mind. Think of this as our very own personal assistant. The subconscious keeps track of experiences and knowledge and maintains bodily function, all without burdening the conscious mind with the effort. Ever try to think of someone’s name, or the name of a movie or song and just can’t remember it, then seemingly out of the blue it pops up later? When you requested that information from your memory, the subconscious went to find it. When it does, it presents the information to the conscious mind.

The subconscious mind is also a filter. As you read this article, the computer may be giving off a soft humming sound, or the air conditioning or furnace may be gently blowing cooling or heating air into your room. You know these things are happening, but unless they’re pointed out to you, your conscious mind goes along its merry way without even considering them.

As we learn new experiences, the subconscious mind keeps track of the new data and is able to categorize it as something important enough to bring to the attention of the conscious mind, or something just allow to play in the background.

Yet another aspect of Jungian psychology is what Jung called the Collective Unconscious, or what some have called the Superconscious. This Superconscious works similarly to the subconscious, but on a much larger scale. While the subconscious collects personal information relative to each individual, the superconscious takes everyone’s information and places it into a collective database. This database is accessible to anyone with a nervous system.

What does all this have to do with miracles and magic? For me, everything.

The more I learn and grow in my Pagan practice, the more evidence I see of this great system at work. I see my conscious mind as my waking self that walks and talks and participates in ritual and reading and writing and working.

I don’t remember when I started thinking differently about miracles.  Not that I didn’t think they could happen, but that I accepted that miracles could be everyday, ordinary things that had simple, reasonable explanations. Maybe it was just because they happened when they were needed that made them miracles.

Ever wonder how a mom can hear her child crying in another room when she’s sitting in the kitchen with the blender going, the dishwasher running, and other people conversing? Ever notice how animals can tell which car belongs to their human as cars pass by?

I think these things are aspects of both the subconscious and superconscious minds. The filter knows which sounds the ear is receiving are important enough to notice. And strong emotional connections help to intensify the collective experiences that we feel.

When we open ourselves to the possibility of the subconscious and superconscious minds learning from new experiences, we open ourselves to deeply accepting the miraculous and magical in everyday life.

In 1994 my father was diagnosed with prostate cancer. He underwent different types of therapy and kept the disease at bay. But eventually, it began to win. Slowly, we began seeing my father, who had always been a man of considerable strength, become weak. He needed assistance with things that we all take for granted every day. He needed help cleaning and dressing himself. He could barely walk from his favorite easy chair to the kitchen. And he began to see animals everywhere, invisible critters that took residence in chairs and beds and he was terribly concerned with anyone accidentally sitting on them!

As his illness progressed, people around me offered words of comfort. One person at work, asking how he was doing and finding out it wasn’t good, shook her head. “I don’t know why God allows these things to happen to good people.” she said.

Even though those words were meant as sympathy, I felt like I had been punched in the gut. I had never once even thought of my father’s illness as a torment from God, nor could I even conceive of a loving Deity who could do so. Cancer was killing my father, not some divine source.

The last night that my father was coherent, I spent it sitting with him watching one of our favorite movies, “Kelley’s Heroes.” It was a lifelong love of a shared enjoyment, and even when I was living 1000 miles away, whenever it came on a cable channel, we’d call each other so we’d both know it was on. Distance couldn’t separate that simple pleasure, and neither did imminent death.

My father died of prostate cancer on May 3, 1998.

Two weeks later, my oldest sister, Jane, who was mentally retarded, had been complaining of symptoms of stomach flu. As it turned out, she had advanced colon cancer. Unlike my father, who had survived relatively pain-free for four years, Jane’s cancer was agony. She survived only one month after her diagnosis. We have no idea how long it had been consuming her, but its final weeks were devastating, especially to my mother.

Again, words of comfort and sympathy were offered. And again, I was absolutely shocked at what people had to say. Why couldn’t God save Janie? How could God do this to your family?

But what nobody saw was the miracles that we did. The fact that my father never knew Janie was sick was a miracle in and of itself. My father, a WWII veteran who had survived everything from the invasion of Sicily to the beaches of Normandy to the Battle of the Bulge, Daddy was a strong man who had even a stronger heart. This was a man who had seen death and destruction in its worst form, but who fainted at the sight of a needle approaching one of his babies. Had he known of Janie’s illness, he would have been devastated knowing there wasn’t a damned thing he could about it. Instead, he was able to pass peacefully and, in my own eyes, was there to greet Janie as she passed as well.

That Janie, though her suffering was great, suffered for a very short period of time, was also a miracle. Most of her suffering was actually due to the fact that, in an effort to save her, she underwent emergency surgery to try to remove tumors. But the cancer had spread too far. The doctors were actually amazed that she hadn’t exhibited more severe symptoms before that.

After Janie died, a small service was held. Janie was a resident of a group home that was part of four group homes in her area. The residents of the group homes came to her service. One lady, Susan, had never spoken to me over all the years that Jane had lived in the home. As I stood by Janie’s casket, Susan came by. In a much stronger voice than I could have imagined, Susan said “Janie got sick.”

“Yes, she did.” I replied.

“But she’s not sick now. She’s better.”

“That’s right, Susan. She’s better now.”

“Yup. Bye, Janie. I’ll see you later!” Susan said as she leaned down and gave Janie a kiss on the cheek.

How in the world could someone not see the miracle in that?

It wasn’t until many years later that I found my path as a Pagan. Those lessons from my father and sister have never left me. In fact, their significance has, if anything been heightened. They probably even shaped my decisions to become a practicing Pagan.

As a Religious Studies major at Regis University, I took a course on the cultural and historical development of the Old Testament.  We learned that the ancients didn’t necessarily see miracles as unexplainable. The crossing of the Red Sea? Probably a mistranslation of the Sea of Reeds, a swampy area over which severe winds blow and dry the low lying area. Once the winds stop, the water comes back and anything in its path is mired in the swamp. Manna from heaven? A naturally occurring phenomenon. But that these things happened exactly when the Hebrews needed them was the miracle.

This is a philosophy I can easily accept.

The mystery and magic that I feel in Circle, or the amazing things I’ve seen as I grow in my practice of Paganism, are no different. I find it no less miraculous that I notice the breeze when I call for the spirits of air. Or that I feel the flame more intensely when I summon the spirits of fire. They may have already been there, but the fact that I allowed myself to be open to them right when I need them is miraculous enough for me.

This isn’t to say that I haven’t seen some pretty amazing things that I just can’t explain by anything other than “magic.” I have. I’ve seen lights surrounding those I love. I’ve seen complete strangers appear as animals. I’ve felt and heard the voices of my loved ones in need. My subconscious mind has been opened to new realms of possibility, and I’ve tapped into that superconscious and accepted that I am connected to so much more.

Magic and miracles are everywhere.

Could they be chalked up to my imagination? Sure, but as I was reminded by one of my teachers, magic and imagination have the same root.

And to paraphrase one of my favorite authors, of course it’s all happening in my head. But why ever should that mean it isn’t real?