The Magic and the Mountain
‘What goes up must come down’ is more than a mere lyric from one of our favorite artists or a saying that randomly travels around society. It’s one of the biggest rules in life’s playbook, packed in a poetic metaphor. One of our universal laws and the inevitable balance that keeps the world spinning.
A couple of years ago, I tasted life’s magic for the first time. When I say magic, I really mean magic. Not as a metaphor, but as a literal phenomenon. It’s a feeling that’s almost impossible to explain to those who have never had the privilege of recognizing said magic. Using the word ‘feeling’ to describe it is a big understatement too. It’s more like a dimension, a state of mind, a different reality. Fully detached from ‘what is’ and fully immersed in ‘what will be’. It feels as if you’re floating through life, all doors opening in front of you and literally seeing life shape itself around your wishes.
As you can imagine, this is a very addictive way of living. I thought I had it all figured out and I was manifesting my way to the future.
What I failed to realize was that I was lacking the right foundation. Underneath the magic, there was nothing of practical substance to be found. No sustainability, no structure. Just pure and confident vibes. Something that feels so free and powerful in the short term, but builds nothing of real substance in the long term.
After spending the last few years as some kind of interdimensional fairy, I asked myself which of all the things I’d gained while being in this state of life had stuck around for more than a year or so. Every time I entered a new chapter, the whole chapter before that was wiped clean. New storyline, new characters, new experiences. I was living horizontally but not building vertically, and everything that came so quickly and easily during this time left just as quickly and easily too.
My (now) husband was one of those things that came quickly and slipped away just as quickly too. Before I could adapt to the idea of a long-term, stable relationship, my inner fear of losing the ‘magic’ came and pushed him away.
The next few months I explored that fear. The fear of something real, true and grounded. Why did stability feel so uncomfortable to me? Why did I feel the urge to run when something good wanted to stay? The more I sat with those questions, the more I realized that my fear had very little to do with him and everything to do with me. I had made a big mistake by choosing the easy, delusional way. The way that exempted me from all inner authority, commitment and responsibility. As long as I remained in possibility, I never had to prove to myself that I could sustain something real. In a way, I was subconsciously scared of my inability to maintain what I had built.
When I contacted my (now) husband again, he met me with such patience and understanding. When I stopped being scared of ‘losing’ my magic and started being open to a new, different way of life, one that might even make me feel uncomfortable at first, I saw him and our future in a completely different light. He is everything that I’m naturally not. He’s grounded, stable, structured, responsible. Firm like a mountain.
At first those qualities scared me because I thought they would take away my whimsical and free way of living. Somewhere along the way, I had convinced myself that structure was the enemy of magic. That commitment would limit my freedom. I thought being grounded meant becoming smaller somehow, less creative, less spontaneous, less alive. When I allowed myself to learn from him and trust in his inner authority, as well as trust in myself enough to know that my magic was a part of me and could be channeled whenever I wanted, everything changed.
So, what goes up must come down. I learned and experienced who I was while flying. I’d experienced the great highs. The magic. The fearlessness. The knowing that not even the sky was the limit. Now, it was time to get to know what it’s like to be grounded. Stable, unshakeable. Responsible. It looked boring at first, but looks deceive. Turns out it brings a kind of calmness and peace I didn’t even know I missed. It brought me confidence. Self-security. Knowing that I can build something sustainable, something that not just I but also my great-grandchildren will benefit from.
I’m sure that getting to know so many different parts of myself, with such polarity between them, was necessary to end up somewhere in the middle. To be able to channel both of these opposing ends of the spectrum when it’s most needed. To be a sailboat on the open seas, free and adventurous, as well as the sea itself; the great force that carries the boat.
It showed me that all the versions of me, with their own stories and abilities, never replace each other. They stack on top of each other and accumulate into a library of life’s wisdom, ready to be accessed at any time. More valuable than all external things combined, and the most magical of all: preserved infinitely.
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