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Inner circle
West Coast
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“The Legacy of the Magi… a fable”

The shadows on the cave walls came from the flames of a crude fire,
they played upon the cramped and naked body of the young woman,
her mouth twists in agony, her sharp cry echoes through the cavern.

An old woman draws a sign upon the girl’s forehead with red-clay paint,
she then blows on a small dark-blue stone, murmuring odd words,
an presses it into the younger woman’s palm, along with a small smile.

The faint glimmer of gratitude flickered on the young mother’s face,
and she clutched the blessed stone in her fist with all her might,
knowing that her newborn would live, and she would live to nurse him.

Barely masked terror stares out from every pair of eyes around the tent,
the sturdy brave young men had been trained to ignore fear’s presence.
Images of their brothers, wives, or parents, swam within their taut brains.

The old medicine-man chanted loudly in the smoke-filled chamber,
he drew unrecognizable symbols on the dirt floor with a charred stick.
The sweat of apprehension and the odor of doubt pervaded the heavy air.

Then the old man looked up, and a single flame shot from his fingertips,
piercing through the blue haze and tension of the tent and lighting his grin.
We will have Victory! He declares to the men, their hearts beat once again as one.

A coin was exchanged between the hands of the youth and the wise blind man.
The blind priest pressed the small golden coin to the center of his forehead,
and proclaimed that the will-of-the-gods would be foretold that very day.

In due time, in exchange for the coin, he gave a small white feather to the youth,
and told him, if he were to lay that feather at the feet of his beloved’s father,
the charm would be made, and the father would give consent to the marriage.

The woman was barely aware she was in a theatre and watching a show,
her mind and heart were with her eldest son who’d again entered drug rehab.
She did not want to be entertained, she only wanted her addicted son back.

Then the small golden ball floated up from the magician’s hand, and indeed,
the little sphere seemed to dance to the music of Puccini’s “Humming Chorus”.
A tear fell from the woman’s cheek and hope was reborn, her son might live.

The man in the back of the hall was focused on the loss of his job that day,
he did not hear much of the story the performer told,. How was he to survive?
He was no longer young, his hair silver, would anyone want hire him again.

Then the story being told of the little village who had lost their faith,
and how their bells, in the town square that would no longer ring,
awakened his attention back to the stage. The magician caused the bell to ring again.
The man knew he’d find work somehow.

He’d applied to several universities, but his grades did not promise a scholarship.
He wanted to become a doctor in the worst way, he knew that now, it was maybe too late.
One more school had yet to respond, would he be accepted into their program?

The magician directed him to take his wallet from his pocket, and look inside.
There beside a few bills and his driver’s license was the playing card he’d chosen.
Maybe, just maybe, that Ace of Hearts would be the luck he needed for college.

Sometimes I think they just pay me to tell stories or make things seem like magic.
Sometimes I think what I do is not important, maybe just wastes everyone’s time.
Then I remember the girl in the cave, the brave warriors, and the young suitor.

I met the addict’s mother, the man who was out of work, the medical student,
they told me how the magic operated in their lives.

What I do with my life, and my livelihood, can be traced back to the beginning of time.
What I do entertains, yes, but also can do what the shaman and priest did so long ago.
It can bring a smile, but it may also rekindle hope, heal a heart, even inspire greatness.

Logan Five
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Inner circle
Northern California
1477 Posts

Profile of Logan Five
Yes, and so very true.
Self concept is destiny..
Eddie Garland
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Inner circle
Hells Kitchen, New York City
4207 Posts

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Thanks Walt.
The Curator
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Beware Vampire, I have
3825 Posts

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Nice Walt.
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