When the Magic Collapses Into Technique
On innocence, awareness, and the unanswered edge
There is a pattern I’ve noticed in myself for most of my life.
When I encounter a new spiritual practice, a new method, a new way of relating to energy, awareness, or connection — it often works profoundly the first time.
Not gently.
Not subtly.
Profoundly.
And then, slowly, something changes.
Once I recognize the pattern, the magic collapses into technique.
The Part No One Sees
This isn’t poetic for me.
It’s personal.
Because the moment I notice what is happening, I begin to struggle with myself — quietly, internally.
Why am I doing that?
Why am I taking something that arrived so naturally
and turning it into something I have to manage?
Why am I not just letting the magic continue?
And more honestly:
Why do I keep doing this to myself?
Innocence Versus Control
I don’t lose the experience.
But I lose the quality of innocence inside the experience.
I move from being inside the moment
to watching myself have the moment.
I move from presence
to understanding.
And understanding, while beautiful, changes the relationship.
It makes the moment repeatable —
but less alive.
The Uncomfortable Question
I used to tell myself:
What if acknowledgement alone is enough to pull me through?
What if simply noticing that I’ve collapsed into technique
is the doorway back to innocence?
But lately, I’ve had to admit something more vulnerable:
What if acknowledgement alone isn’t enough?
What if awareness doesn’t automatically restore magic?
What if the mind can see the pattern…
and still not know how to release it?
That is where the struggle actually lives.
Not in losing the magic —
but in knowing I’m losing it
and not yet knowing how to stay open without effort.
Beginner’s Luck, Revisited
People often call this beginner’s luck.
My family and friends know this quality in me so well that they half-jokingly treat me as a good-luck charm. I’m often the one who tries something once and it works.
But I know the deeper truth:
It works because I am not trying to make it work.
The moment I understand why it worked,
I begin to interfere.
Svādhyāya — Self-Study Without Romance
In yoga, there is a limb called Svādhyāya — self-study.
Not self-correction.
Not self-perfection.
Self-honesty.
This pattern has become one of my most faithful mirrors.
It keeps asking me:
Can you remain open after you understand?
Can you stay innocent without becoming naïve?
Can you hold awareness without tightening around it?
Where I Am Now
I don’t have a resolution.
I only have a living question.
How do I enjoy innocence without trying to preserve it?
How do I let magic remain magic
without needing to explain it?
And how do I forgive myself
for being human enough to keep trying to understand
what once simply arrived?
Closing
Once I recognize the pattern, the magic collapses into technique.
And I am still learning how to let that recognition soften —
instead of harden —
the moment.
And maybe this is the gentler truth:
To live inside an unanswered edge
is not a failure of understanding —
but a different kind of devotion.
