“Observe, here I possess a sword sharp enough to cut through stone. Certainly you have seen knives that could saw through metal pipe. But what you are about to behold is the stuff of Legends, for with a single swing I shall cut through this stone block. This is no trick, mind you, this block is not made of sandstone, or clay, or cleverly painted wood, but genuine fully cured concrete.” The Magician stood before his audience, weaving the story of what miracle they were about to perceive, until they had grown dead silent in anticipation. Then finally, the sword came slicing through the 4′ stone block, at a 45 degree angle, as if it it were a scythe cutting through a blade of wheat. The stone slid crashing to the ground, and the audience applauded, as he proclaimed, “Behold the Legendary Excalibur.” The show had been a series of such demonstrations and revelations, about various relics that he had acquired and the magical powers they possessed. From death defying escapes owed to lucky talismans, to flying carpets, and birds that could be raised from their ashes. For his last trick, he would demonstrate the healing power of the holy grail. An ordinary enough looking wooden goblet, which had just used to turn water into wine. He now proclaimed that if anyone were to drink from the cup, they would be healed of even the most grievous injury. As proof he set his hand on fire, and after a bit of screaming and the appearance of stage hands to extinguish the fire, he shooed the men from the stage and proceeded to drink from the goblet. A few moments later, he washed his hand to reveal that it had been completely healed of all injury. No scarring, no redness, no damage to be seen. Again the audience applauded, and he thanked them for there attendance and bid them safe travels home. Backstage, he found a young man awaiting him. “How did you get back here?” He asked. The young man demonstrated a simple conjuring illusion, using doves, and explained how he had convinced security that he was an old colleague hoping to surprise his long time friend. “Is that so?” he remarked, “What is it you really want then… old friend?”

“To learn,” he proclaimed with obvious admiration and what seemed genuine sincerity.

“Come with me,” the Magician said. “I will see if you truly understand the nature of what you desire.” He led the young man back into the depths of his Halls of Magic Studio, which lay beneath the theater in which he performed. Into a room which held many of the artifacts he spoke of in his shows, and some that he did not. Among those he did not, was a lamp of brass, which seemed to have caught the young man’s interest. “Very good, you noticed it right away. So let me ask you… answer the question burning in your mind, what is it?”

“The Genie’s Lamp,” the man said convinced of his cleverness. It was not encrusted with jewels, well polished, made of gold, nor did it shine with some unknown radiance. It was but a simple brass lamp, the kind which might be well suited for the type of shows he had seen the man perform. “Your working on a new story I bet.”

“No, an old one. But you are correct, it is the fabled Genie’s Lamp. My lamp…” The magician waited just long enough to see the young man’s wheels begin turning, as he formulated a response. “But lets not worry about that for now,” he continued. “You see this sword,” which he was now placing into a stone block. “The Legendary Excalibur, the sword in the stone, gifted to Arthur Pendragon before being returned by Merlin to the Lady in the Lake. A sword which I went to great lengths to recover. Yet it is no different from this sword,” As he conjured a sword from thin air, “save for one difference. Do you know what that is?”

The man thought for a moment, and then a moment more, “One sword has a name, a story.”

“True, that gives one sword more power than the other, and is a fundamental principal of our art form. But it is not to this which I am referring, but rather to the nature of these two objects. Let me explain by showing you more clearly. See, I did not conjure the sword as you would a dove, previously obscured from the audience. This sword is a creation, conjured by magic…” He said as he began to produce a sculpture of ice, slowly and deliberately, as if it were growing and being sculpted right before the young man’s eyes. This was unlike any of the tricks he had seen the Magician perform before. “You see, true magic is the ability to propagate reality with your own creations. What you are now witnessing, the Hand of God, is the power given to the first Jinn of old. Creatures born of the fire which would forge the world, who served at the pleasure of gods.”

“Wait, do you mean to say that this is real magic?” the young man inquired, as if his eyes were being deceived.

“The word ‘Real’ is a funny word, nearly meaningless to those who perceive the truth. All of reality is a creation, an illusion of sorts, propagated by those who could manipulate the forces you now call magic, and maintained by those whose existence is dependent on it. So the only real difference between Magic, illusion, and reality, is the quality of belief. The general acceptance of something’s realness. For that reason, this sword which you witnessed me create, cannot continue to exist indefinitely. Even now it grows weaker with each passing moment, as the forces which maintain this world act against its very existence. Eventually, even the slightest impact will be enough to return it to dust and smoke. Yet, this sword, which I created in a similar fashion, has endured and grown stronger over the years. Thanks to the way in which it was presented and its role in my performance each night. Bound both to the Legend of Excalibur and of the shows I perform, it has become an object of power. So, if you can accept the true nature of reality, perhaps I can teach you to shape it.”