The world I live in leaves nothing to the imagination. The aisles in stores are filled with every product imaginable.
My imagination is usurped. I am made to want them for they seem magical to me. There are all manner of these other outer unmagic boxes, large and small, of all shapes and sizes, flashing and streaming, sparking within, present now, but temporal, not the divine spark within.
Creativity is lost when a child does not learn the art of making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. For someone has placed the peanut butter and jelly together in a jar which seems to me the ultimate in laziness. My life is prepackaged, boxed up, prepared for my consumption.
The news leaves no secrets. Everything must be revealed even down to the smallest detail. The blow by blow of any given tragedy is expounded and expanded upon. The devil is in the details. We know something has happened but we don’t know exactly what has occurred. So we visit and revisit the scene of the crime and the yakking reporter until we know the full story and even then we don’t really know because the camera has moved on to the next possible bit of morbid excitement.
In our incessant search for the truth, we have lost the sacred realm of mystery. Perhaps some things are better left unknown and alone.
In my despair I believed that the magic had gone out of the world. Longing for dwarves and dragons, elves and wizards, princesses and fairy tales, wishing they really existed, or if so, why they had gone away and to where and whether I could follow.
I forgot the magic in me, in you, in the space around me, the world of the magi in me, my I Magi Nation.
For you see I wanted magic to be real because I believed it to be above all else the power to change things.
But not in the way I was thinking. To snap my fingers and make things right in the world, to heal it of its wounds and wounded. I sought to be great and forgot that I already am, not because I am recognized or known, because I am known.
I am great because I am, and I am a magi, not greater than you, for you, my friend, are a magi too.
And the unicorns and creatures of fantasy exist because they were birthed by the magic box which resides in all of us. Someone opened the door and the creatures came pouring out of a pen. A book took them to a million other magic boxes in the world, mine, yours, another child’s, and all of us believed.
Perhaps the box of circuitry and screen is our attempt to take the magic box inside our head and make it tangible, to reflect back the worlds that exist within, to make imagination real.
But it is a poor substitute for that treasure which we already possess, the land which was given to us at birth out of which all other lands come, filled with all of the creatures that ever existed and those still waiting to be birthed, a place with no boundaries where the wise reside;
I Magi Nation.
Originally posted August 2012