Magic
I fell in love with theater because I loved the magic it created.
People stand on a stage and make you believe they are anywhere in the world.
They wear a costume and make you believe they are anyone in history.
They will move you to your core if they are good at their job.
If that’s not magic, I don’t know what is.
A few weeks ago, I got to experience that magic in all its glory. We had a show in one of the lockup facilities. Five brave, young men stood on stage and acted out scenarios from their lives while the Advot team, probation employees, and, most important of all, their families witnessed the magic they created.
For me, the magic that day actually did not happen on the stage. It happened in the audience. The audience saw these kids as actors, as people, not perpetrators or problematic minors. The most moving part happened at the show's end when the families got to interact and ask questions. One mom asked her son, “What did you learn from doing this show?” He answered, “I learned to do stuff I never done and that I have talent.” That same kid told me later that he learned that there is a different way. At the end of the Q&A, another kid said, “I want to apologize to my mom. I did a lot of bad things, and I am sorry for all that.”
Magic is in the little things. That day, there was a generous supply of food that one of our amazing probation officers had organized. Magic was in the overflow of love in the room that day. Magic was in the people watching and the people performing. Magic does not have to be big, fancy, or heroic.
I stood and watched the beautiful interaction between everyone in that space on a random Friday. I thought to myself, the simplicity of what’s happening in the room is magic in all its glory. An older student told me once, “Ms. I was locked up for so long--decades and decades. Now, everything to me is magic. When I look outside the window without bars, that’s magic. Hey, the window itself is fucking magic. Everything, the wind, the sun, the earth is all magic. Fuck man, I can find me some magic at the 7-Eleven. You know, Ms. It’s all around us. We just need to choose to see it.”
The Monday after that show, I had the privilege of attending a retreat in New Mexico.
What can I say? New Mexico is one hell of a magical place. The earth is magic. The sky is magic, and the glorious clouds that look like someone hand-painted them in the sky are magic. I was on this retreat with a group of exquisite and talented artists who I absolutely adore. Each artist was from a different discipline and unlike the others. We had incredible harmony and created the perfect vessel to take in the week we experienced. Every day of our stay there, we had the joy of meeting people who embodied magic in their essence.
We worked with one artist who works with clay and whose art and insight were so profound that magic was literally going through my veins. We then met a musician whose music goes beyond anything you could ever imagine, and they gave us an experience still vibrating in my system. We experienced the magic of two sweet, gentle people who rescue horses. They take in wounded and broken horses, somewhat similar to the youth I work with. They give them calm. They love them. They magically heal these beautiful animals with grace and intention.
The woman who organized this retreat is a master magician herself. She brings together people and curates deep and meaningful experiences. She has the most beautiful, magical heart. She is humble and soft-spoken, bringing us to these experiences and then quietly stepping away to let us be. I was reminded on this retreat that there is magic everywhere, but you must be still for it to happen. You need to be open for it to come in. Like the tea ceremony that we had, which felt as if it would last forever. Then, suddenly, it was over. You need to empty the cup to fill the cup, but you must be patient for the ritual to create its magic. Movement can only happen when you are still.
At the end of the play, one of the kids said, “Ya know, I learned how I can speak, and people listen if they really want to listen. I learned that I am smart. Besides the plays and stuff, I learned I can do something with my life.” This was a kid who was sure that he would not live past his 18th birthday. Now he has great plans for when he will be released.
One afternoon in New Mexico, the most brilliant rainbow appeared in the sky. It was bright and clear and right in front of us. It was so vibrant and close that you could almost touch it. I thought of something I read that Jon Bon Jovi said: “Miracles happen every day. Change your perception of what a miracle is, and you’ll see them all around you.” I would add to that--don’t wait for miracles or magic to happen. Like the boys in the play and the fantastical artists I met in New Mexico. Just be the magic, or maybe, just simply be, because that in itself IS the magic.