A practical guide to magic for drug addicts

Why it matters and how to find it.

“I am sure there is magic in everything, only we have not sense enough to get hold of it and make it do things for us.”

— Frances Hodgson Burnett

It’s getting harder and harder to find magic in this world. But a recovering addict sure needs it. In fact, I might go so far as to suggest the whole reason why I started smoking crack was due to a chronic shortage of it in my life.

You see, it used to be everywhere — even, literally, growing on trees. As a boy, I’d scamper from one to the next, pressing my palm flat on the bark and drinking up all that delicious energy right down to the roots. Trees were like gas stations for a feel-good fill-up.

But there was so much more out there. Staring at clouds all afternoon had a similar effect. Cornfields were absolutely bristling with magic, even if it was sometimes of the spooky variety. Cows and other farm animals filled me with wonder, too. And very large crows. I could see angels in nature's architecture.

There was also plenty of magic between the pages of my comic books. Same with my Masters of the Universe action figures. I had an Aunt Mariette, who also seemed kind of magical.

And… well, you get the idea. No kid ever had to go without magic.

But, as I got older, and understood more of the world, opportunities for awe and wonder began to diminish. The moon didn’t merely have to be full to be magical. It had to be a Blood Red Harvest Hunter’s Pink Vortex Moon. I only bothered to touch trees that were very old, extra gnarly and maybe looked like a Gorgon from Greek mythology.

Action figures did NOTHING for me.

I could still wring a little magic from my dog. I hadn’t seen my Aunt Mariette in years. Starry nights could still work if they were exceptionally brilliant. Falling in love was cheap, but could do in a pinch.

In any case, when my tank got terminally low on magic, I turned to hard drugs. And presto! There it was again. I could flick a Zippo lighter a thousand times — and never fail to marvel at the mechanics that produced a flame. Magic! Bathroom tiles told epic tales, enthralling me for hours on end. I could even walk to a downtown park in the middle of the night and make fast friends — convinced I had just met the wisest, most magical homeless people on Earth. They might have been elves.

It took many years for me to understand that I wasn’t filling up on magic every time I picked up a pipe. It was the synthetic stuff.

And woe was me, when that knock-off magic began to fail. Nothing in this world could fill me with awe and wonder any more.

My dealer was the only magician I got excited about.

So you might imagine how monochromatic life seemed when I came home to begin this journey of recovery. Like I had milked this world dry of all its magic.

“Come see the moon!” my mother might say.

Fuck the moon. I’m watching stupid prank videos in bed.

But one day — maybe a month into my recovery — I began catching the faintest twinklings. The stars over my mom’s house did look kind of pretty. What’s that orange-ish one all about?

Our friendly neighborhood squirrel would sit atop the back fence, munching walnuts and — was he winking at me? And my, how the evening lanterns cast a spell on the patio.

Little by little, a sense of wonder was creeping back into my life. And… magic.

I started touching trees again. In parking lots, I walked on white painted lines — a very respectable source of suburban magic. At the bottom of the swimming pool, I served enchanted tea to myself. Did you know you can rub another person's back to secretly harvest magic? But I won't go into detail here — lest you think I’ve returned to the pipe.

By it’s very nature, the modern world is anti-magic. That’s why if you’re going to live among mortals, you need to scrounge up as much of it as you can. Magic feeds the soul. Civilization starves it.

But as you get older, it does get harder to find. That’s just the nature of this world. And it’s why, as much as I appreciate you, I’m not going to give away all of my secret sources.

You can have trees. Tap into just about any of them — and it will feel like a shot of spiritual espresso. There’s also a big old tree I like to visit that’s a quadruple macchiato fire hydrant for the soul.

Live life like a magic-seeking missile. You definitely can’t have my Aunt Mariette though. I’m sure you’ll find someone else who vents magic like a hot spring.

But beware, the world is full of anti-magical people too. Like leaking nuclear reactors, they radiate blight. You may even count one or two as family. That’s why you’ll need to create very strong magical boundaries. Better yet, if at all possible, get the Fukushima out of there.

And head for the trees.

Aside from that, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to find your own sources. Don’t worry, though. Once you start looking, magic has a beautiful way of finding you.