Morphogenesis of a Magician

The Magician is a twice born creature.

There is the physical birth, and there is the birth of the magician and make no mistake, a newborn is as different from a fetus, as the nascent magician is from the person he emerged from.

Becoming a magician is not the same as practicing magic.

Taking up the wand is the act of conception and what follows is the morphogenesis of the magician.

My very first act of magick was a joint venture, and in some ways unintentional.

We were like mad scientists hoping to unlock some mystery of human behavior by taking part in a ritual. There was something taboo, and superstitious about the belief in magic, which made it an irresistible mystery.

We met in a large public library, our true intent occulted by the premise of a school report. We made our way to the back of quiet corner of the library. I was toting a stack of books we had no intention of reading and a lighter, she was carrying a back pack: inside was a school notebook, in the center of which was a folded piece of paper. She also carried an assortment of objects which seemed random and innocuous.

Quickly, quietly and hidden by a stack of books, objects were arranged, words spoken in voices shaky both for fear of being caught in such a queer act and the thought that we were a live action joke fumbling for our punch line.

A few words and sympathetic actions, and all the objects were back in her bag, the once hidden sheet of folded paper anonymous in a trash can full of folded and torn scraps of paper.

We laughed and joked a bit then put it behind us, talking about the sorts of things you might expect driven, intellectual, and artistic people of our age to talk about. Not above sophomoric humor but always aspiring to more.

We were sure we were the best of what our generation would one day offer, and though we were competitive, whichever one of us got to the top first, always gave the other a hand up before the celebration. This tradition began when our teacher offered as a prize to take out the first five students to learn their multiplication tables up through 12x12, with a trip to the best ice cream shop in town. We didn't care about the ice cream half as much as the idea of being in that winner's circle.

We formed an alliance and drilled each other, in class, at lunch, on the playground.

We swore not to test until the other was ready. I was more base than she and tested first even though she was unsure of her readiness.

You only got one shot to qualify, rules of the contest.

I assured her I would go first, if I could do it she could, and just before she announced to the teacher that she was ready to test, I reminded her of the same equation she had driven into me:

12x12=144

She passed and we were the first two of the five.

She struck me as refined and cultured, and smart and creative.

I was still very much an arrogant young punk.

Where she was refined I was raw, where she was cultured I was visceral. We were joined by our intellect and creativity and out competitive nature, though there was a bitterness to my competitive nature absent from hers.

I knew what made me feel so old, I never asked her what made her feel that way, but we were both on our way to a rebirth. That day in the library we had conceived ourselves, started our morphogenesis. All that remained was to be born. A pity we wouldn't see each others' birthday.

We left the library and headed out to the rest of the weekend.

That weekend was the last time I was sure I had things figured out.

When Monday came I eagerly sought her out, as eagerly as she sought me out. Hastily notes were exchanged and a repeat experiment was set up (one of many to come), just to make sure. We were excited, a little scared and very uncertain. None of that necessarily changed by the day I moved away.

The day I left I hugged most of my friends, but to her, I said only goodbye, and she just smiled. As my parents car rolled away I never felt so alone.

For me it was a long time before things ever got better, and I'm sorry to say my anger got the better of me. I let it get in the way of a lot of things, worst of all in the way of keeping in touch with her.

But like the old woman said "All God's creatures die alone."

I certainly hope she fared better, for I can not help but look on Julia as my twin sister.

Regardless of all the shit that came after what was most important is what came before, somewhere in time in the back of a library the morphogenesis of a magician is starting, setting himself up to be twice born.