Keep My Words

Years ago at the Wreck Room I encountered a street magician.

“Think of a friend’s name, any friend, and concentrate on that person,” he said.

I did as he instructed. However, I had two friends by this name, and both spelled it unconventionally. Images of them both occupied my mind. “Okay,” I told him as I awaited his next move.

He seemed confused. “Something’s wrong,” he said. “Something’s… unclear. Do you have two friends by this name?” he asked.

I was shocked, but not yet impressed. “Yes,” I admitted.

“Concentrate on one of them,” he advised me.

And so I did. Immediately I pictured only one of the friend’s faces in my mind, and I held it there. “You’re thinking of your friend Bryan,” the magician said.

He was right.  Now I was impressed. Not long after that I went on a date with him. Honestly, I wasn’t very attracted to him. It was the magic. I longed to know how he did it. He told me that I could do it too, and that I just had to start small and practice. I never went out with him again. Maybe I was partially frustrated that he wouldn’t tell me his secrets, and in some measure I didn’t really want to know how he did it. It would be like finding out that Santa Claus wasn’t real or that David Copperfield couldn’t fly. I am naive regarding strangers’ illusions and leery towards peoples’ intentions. The wall I am building unintentionally started before I can remember. It provides innocence for art and skepticism about motives. This may or may not hinder me in some way.

In any case, I decided to amputate some of the magic in my life, so I researched lightning bugs and the theremin. It turns out, neither are the products of enchantment. The bio-luminescence of lightning bugs is simply the effect of enzymes and oxygen.  They use it to attract mates.  The males fly around and flash in search of females.  The females do not fly, but instead they sit and glow in response to the males.  I wonder how many human lives would be made easy by this method of copulation.  Any question of interest would be answered by a tiny shimmer fueled by the unavoidable company of oxygen.

Then there is the theremin.  The instrument makes music without any contact from the player.  It’s as though the performer is playing the air.  His/her hands must accurately touch the nothingness between antennas in order to create song.  This is made possible by electric signals and a person skilled in pitch and precision, not spells and sorcery.  Still I want to play the theremin, and I want to tell everyone who is unaware of its inner workings that magic controls the device.

And like the magician told me, I will say that they can learn.  It just takes practice.  Maybe those who I tell will decide that sometimes, bewilderment is better; sometimes, ignorance really is bliss.