How could I have gotten this way? I sit here amongst my magic books, playing cards and half dollars feeling nothing. What have I accomplished in all these years? Where have I gone, what good have I done? Hell, the Beatles traveled the world while still in their teens. I'm just barely eking out a living performing magic shows for know-it-all people who would rather see me fried alive than be entertained with the Chinese Rings. How did this become so mundane?
I do my shows, get paid, and walk out the door feeling nothing but disappointment. The years of constant study, of practiced misdirection, all fly out the window at a party for a 13 year old where the celebration cake is a holy tome smashed to pieces and thrown about by these spoiled brats. If they would only let their disbeliefs be put on hold for just a few minutes, if they could put their egos to rest for just a second, they might witness something the likes of which they may never have seen before.
But no, that would be hoping for the impossible, nay a miracle. And real miracle don't seem to be prevalent anymore. They certainly can't be found at affairs like these, with their circus like atmosphere, drunken slobs, and people who judge you by the amount of money you paid for your suit. Yeah, why even bother?
I study the psychology of deception, apply it to all the routines I do, and all I get in return is people reminiscing about the magician they once saw who pulled out a lady's bra, or the magician who put a little red ball in his wife's hand only to find her holding a replica of ... this is pitiful, what's the use? What happened to the art? What happened to mystery and wonder? Where are the real miracles?
I find myself at a park one spring afternoon, standing in front of a bed of flowers with my usual 'life is so unfair' attitude, when along strolls Melissa. She mentions that the flowers are beautiful, and I mumble something about them being just flowers. She mentions all the beautiful colors, and I say something about there only being a few differently colored ones. She comes back immediately with every color she sees which, at total count, comes to eight. My eyes look up from the ground from which they had been most of my life, and notice much more than the three or four colors that I saw at first. How could this have been? Was this nature's misdirection?
I saw four, but had to have it pointed out that there were indeed eight. I was looking but I wasn't really seeing. Then Melissa pointed out to me a most unbelievable sight. A spider spinning its web on the side of the garden. We both watched in awe of this amazing event. How could the spider know how to spin this masterpiece?
We noticed how it plucked the web like a classical violinist, how it moved in a clockwise direction, how it needed no plans or blueprints to accomplish this feat. We thought this was all the amazement for two people to have in one day, until a butterfly landed on a flower to feed. How it managed to receive nourishment from a single flower was a sight to behold, how it slowly moved it wings back and forth, almost in ecstasy.
What a moment we both shared! Maybe these are the true miracles. We get so caught up in the trivial, routine matters of the day, that we fail to see nature's own magic show every minute of every day. A spider hanging from the perfect invisible thread, a caterpillar going through a metamorphosis like no other magician can, a bird floating easily in the wind as if suspended, with no means of support whatsoever. These are the real miracles! And they happen every day and every night, free of charge. How could I have missed them for so long? And how thankful I am to this beautiful person named Melissa for helping me see it. And she, being only six years old.
Yours Magically
Solomon
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