Many times before, I've held these ceremonies of poetry. Past the dozens now. But even though I'm used to their structure, they're always unique. They always bring something new to the world. They always manage to shake me into reverie one way or another.
Because people are so incredibly talented, creative, curious and eager to share.
For the uninitiated, it might seem strange that a computer game could ever offer experiences that live rent free in peoples' hearts long after they played them. But, see, some games are simply filled with that which tends to open up the mysteries that live within every human being manifested through this planet and beyond, namely art.
And the world of Azeroth just happens to be a playground where creativity is allowed to roam freely like a child unleashed with glistening eyes into an amusement park. Although, I should say, it's not the kind of amusement park where one only enjoys the rides, but where one is also the creator of them, thereby nourishing the soul's proclivity for play, making space for mysteries from beyond this realm we all wander.
For play connects us to that of the unknown, that of the unpredictable, that of the ineffable.
As usual with these ceremonies, fear struck that the turnup would be sparse, but every time that fear tries to take hold of my joyous heart, I remind myself that, even if one person and no one else turns up, I will still hold this space. Sure it will be different, but this person turned up, so I should honor their curiosity. If I dismiss one heart, I might as well dismiss them all.
Of course, I prefer a larger group as it's so much joy taking part in the diversity of poems that comes through. But it's so easy to fall into the trap of thinking that I know how things will turn out based on my fixed expectations towards something I'm used to. Who am I to say that, even if the attendees are just me and another, couldn't be the most important evening of our lives?
Magick can be found in every single moment, regardless of numbers. Regardless of what we expect a moment to be.
But the turnup was plenty, and I found myself, once again, surrounded by peoples' avatars in World of Warcraft from all across Europe on the server Argent Dawn–a server I first logged into twenty years ago. That's the same year Facebook launched; the same year the original Star Wars Trilogy was released on DVD; the same year the TV-sitcom "Friends" aired its final episode.
Am I getting old?
Anyway. Poems were shared, songs were sung and heartstrings tugged. A kaldorei (the beings also known as night elves) even ended up engaging the whole circle to call out a certain word upon their queue, making us feel even more united and cocreative in our shared space. And, as prompted by the topic for the night, everyone's writing were jam-packed with gratitude. I was even graced with a lovely tribute poem written by a dear friend as thanks for hosting the evening.
Letting that poem be the final for the night, I closed the ceremony while bathing in a tub of gratitude. There we were, gathered together in a place that has sparked so much creativity through storytelling for all the roleplaying humans coming through that realm. And the gratitude carried a tinge of melancholy as World of Warcraft is just a few days away to be updated into the expansion called The War Within, where the plot had been spoiled to us that it all begins with Dalaran being shot down from the skies.
But the markets will surely live on elsewhere. Because play never dies.
However, the gratitude the evening brought me felt as if it was crawling through my skin. I almost felt oversaturated, not knowing what to do with it all. But I know I've done things with it. That gratitude has been felt, and perhaps made someone else's day a little brighter. Perhaps I've shared an honest smile here and there that normally wouldn't come through me. Perhaps the way my mother triggers me has been easier to meet with deeper compassion. Perhaps you, reading these words, are feeling inspired as the wondrous soul that you are.
Perhaps you just got a glimpse of your inner star.
A couple of hours after the ceremony, something rather profound struck me: magick was performed tonight, and every single person in that digital room was a magician, conjuring up a portal where gratitude was granted safe passage for those open to receive it.
I sure was. And others I spoke to said the same. It almost felt like we'd done something forbidden. Perhaps because in our past, we'd be burnt at the stake for taking part in such rituals.
And you know what? It was a ceremony that keeps on giving because once again, two moons later, I feel grateful, for I've rather enjoyed putting this piece of writing together. I'm grateful because I gave myself the space and attention to allow it to come through. And I'm grateful for the fact that you came here, put yourself in one place, doing one thing for a few minutes.
It's easy to get distracted in these times. We want to do a million things, but struggle doing one. So, we stop reading a lengthy text; stop watching a movie all the way through; stop listening to those in dire need to be heard in places of the world screaming for help. Because things take too long. Because presence is tough to deal with. Because presence means we'd have to stop to feel.
But you sat through these words. You found your way into this little glade of art I so happily share and read this whole thing about a human being's experience with others in a strange world that exists only in a rather obscure pocket of the Internet–a world where poets gathered to share their words, their hearts, and their souls, expressing what brings them gratitude in life. A world where magick was made.
How do I know it was magick? Because the consequence of the ceremony had my consciousness shifted, so that I could better perceive and participate in divine reality.
Now, what divine means to you, I cannot say. Google it, and Oxford Languages defines it as of or like God or a god. Then, of course, one could get into what God means. To avoid that rabbit hole, I'll keep it simple: divine reality, to me, is a feeling of being part of something greater than myself. It's something that grabs hold of me so I don't have to hold on, but rather surrender and allow the world to unfold. The divine is purpose. It's doing for the sake of doing. Being for the sake of being. The divine is where I step into myself as a human be-doing. It's the pool where fear is absent, and the feeling of gratitude is the springboard that helps me dive into it.
So, I guess it is appropriate to ask you, my dear reader:
What are you grateful for?
Maybe you could even write a poem about it?
You don't even have to know how to write poetry.
Just like you don't need to know how to dance,
or how to sing.
Little kids don't. They haven't been trained.
They just do it.
So, what makes you the exception?
Because you're an adult?
Because you're grown up?
Oh, but your inner child never grows up.
That child always wants to play.
The only difference between an actual child
and the inner child of an adult is that the latter
is constrained by reason.
But play... Play never dies.
And I know, it's still in your heart.
As do you.
You little magician.
