The real magic
There was once a young boy who loved the magic of the theatre, movies and books. But he was a curious boy and wanted to find out where the magic came from, so one night he crept out of his house and first he came across the local theatre.
It was all closed up but he found an open window, climbed in and crept onto the stage. But the stage was bare. No actors, no sets, no lights, no sounds, just bare wood. He was disappointed. Nothing was happening.
Next he went to the back of his local cinema, found a door ajar and sneaked into the auditorium. It was deadly quiet. Not a soul about. He looked at the huge white screen but there were no images and no sounds. ‘Where is the magic?’, he thought to himself.
Lastly he visited the printers and again found himself inside a quiet space, with just the smell of printing ink. But all he could see were stacks and stacks of large sheets of white paper. There were no books anywhere to be seen.
Confused and disappointed, he went and sat under a large tree in the park. ‘I don’t understand’, he thought, ‘ I could not find any magic’. But as he sat, a magical realisation suddenly dawned inside his heart.
The real magic in the theatre was the empty space of the stage, ready to hold any drama, not judging the actors or the story, just providing a space for the experience to unfold.
The real magic in the cinema was the white screen, ready to show any story, but never judging the flickering lights of the movie.
The real magic in the printers was the simple white paper, waiting patiently to take on any story and any combination of words in countless languages. Sad stories, love stories, happy stories... it was all the same to the paper.
His mind has been so distracted by the stories, by the actors, by the drama, by the sounds and sights that he simply had never noticed before the very thing that never changed.
The timeless, formless, peaceful place in which all experiences could come and go.
And that, beautiful soul, is your true essence.
May you remember your magic.