Let me tell you about Albert.
Albert is a magician. You might not believe in magic. You might desperately wish you *could* believe in magic, but maybe your mind is solidly mired in things you can only see, touch, smell, hear, and/or taste. Maybe you’re the kind of folk who doesn’t want to believe in magic because you think it’s silly (if that’s the case, I do feel badly for you). But magic *does* exist, all around us. It is everywhere and in everything, although not everyone can sense it.
But Albert, he has harnessed that magic. In each of his eight fingertips, he holds secrets. And in his thumbs, great power. When I talk to Albert, he asks me how I’m doing. You wouldn’t know to look at him that he is a magician. He looks like he might be an investment banker, or possibly a sales associate for a radio station. He is tallish, with grey at his temples and salting his beard. He’s fit, although a little cushiony around the middle…but only a very little. His eyes are kind and his voice is deep and soft. He says, “How are you today?”
And I tell him, “I am well. Except for some tings and aches, but that’s to be expected, I suppose.”
“No one should expect pain,” he says. “I can fix that, you know. I can make it perfect.”
The first time he told me this, I lifted an eyebrow in a kind of challenge. “Really.” I said. It wasn’t a question.
“Absolutely,” he answered. “It’s what I do.”
I didn’t believe him. But it’s true. Albert has the sage touch of a healer. Thank you, Albert. I always believed in magic, and it’s folks like you who strengthen my resolve.