He was by far, the greatest magician I’d ever seen. Though I admit, I was a fanatic before I arrived. I’d seen him only once before in person, but I knew all the material by heart. It was more than just a show for me.
I drove five hours one way, for no other reason than to see this show. From New Orleans to Montgomery. I spent some time around the town. Other than a racist history which was now immortalized in the museums, there wasn’t much about the place. Just another small southern city. I knew the type quite well. Once you’ve got your footing around one, you’ve got it around them all. You know where to go and who to avoid.
I left my car parked at a nearby bookstore and wandered aimlessly, hoping for some answers to those recurring problems of my life. Occasionally opening my copy of Chekhov, but never fully reading it, I was too excited.
In time for the opening of the doors I was at the theater. I never thought I’d actually get a chance to see him live. Now it was my second time and much different from the last.
When I first saw him I was awestruck and my eyes never left him. This time, I felt more like a peer. I was looking for things to learn. Ideas to gleam, I was taking it in as an experience. And looking to him as a source of inspiration and influence. No different from the artist whose book I was holding.
I much prefer to do these things alone. I was glad to be alone. Anyone else around me would’ve ruined the whole thing. It was too special to share with anyone else.
The show was nearly halfway over and my mind started to tingle and it shot through my bones. I feel this tingle only when a moment pierces me and whose influence never leaves. All the sudden it’s like he knew everything I’d done, the decisions I’d made, and he was speaking to me.
“I feel the holy spirit inside/ I see the light that freedom gives/ and I believe it’s within the reach/ of every man who lives…”
No doubt he was the greatest magician I’d ever seen. But he didn’t do any tricks. And he wasn’t really a magician. He was a singer-songwriter. He was eighty years old. Still performing and still inspiring. He was Bob Dylan.
He was the greatest magician I’d ever seen, but he didn’t teleport a card. He teleported me. He didn’t deal with false concepts and half-cocked plots. He wasn’t afraid of ideas. He stood naked on the stage. And he didn’t apologize. He only sang what he believed. Why else sing?
I don’t do magic to fool you. I do magic to sing to you. To sing what I believe. There’s enough fake people on stage performing for all the wrong reasons. I won’t apologize for what I perform, because I will only perform what I believe. Why else perform?
He taught me more about magic than the hundreds of magic books, lectures, and hours around tables with other magicians ever did. He taught me what it meant to tell the truth. Magicians only ever taught me how to lie. I learned that the lie is only worth telling when it is used to reveal the truth.