De Re Magicka—On Magick

Good morrow, mortals! Did ye luxuriate in the full Moon this week-end? I hope so—I did! Charged in the silvery light, I spent time pondering a question one of ye recently posed to me: Is’t magick, or comedy, which I do?

The answer, o’course, be both; but this short reply hardly explaineth itself. & so, I visited the rubble of an old tower, & retrieved this wood-cut pamphlet which I circulated in the 1400s, as a way to save myself time explaining magick to the endless parade of would-be apprentices.

Please read on, to discover my thoughts on the nature, power, & practice of magick:

DE RE MAGICKA.
vel Comicvs Arcanvs
Amœnvs Franco mevm scripsit.
Ann. Dom. MCDLXXVIII

 HO, mortal reader! So—ye wish to step into the subtile & thrilling world of MAGICK? An admirable endeavour. But what know ye of the art? What believe ye of its true nature? Set aside thy notions, & allow a True Sorcerer to illuminate the unseen.

 FIRSTLY, know ye: conjuring fireballs, or lightning, or traveling instantly across whole countries, these flashy workings require several mortal life-spans to learn. ‘Tis beyond ye. The magick ye may learn—the magick I would teach—may seem less exciting, to the uninitiated, but I promise ye: it changeth the world.

 MAGICIANS of this subtile sort, they determine the wyrd of all that transpires around ye. & ye already practice it, without knowing so!

 HWÆT, then, be magick? If not gouts o’flame, nor spectral horses? ‘Tis something potent enow to change the world, yet so mundane that all practice’t already? AYE. Magick, so simple yet secret, be this: by word, & word alone, to warp reality to thy will.

 SCOFF ye, mortal? Ye might. But think! The “spell” we magicians cast, what be it? Know ye? Some may—’tis the same as when ye “spell” a word. C-A-T, or D-O-G, or I-B-I-N-D-Y-E-B-Y-T-H-E-K-I-N-G-S-A-S-L-E-E-P-A-N-D-Y-E-T-T-O-B-E, spells all. What will ye with “CAT?” What power attain ye by proclaiming “DOG?” Little, if any, certainly; but spells they be, nonetheless. Not useful magick, but the barest & simplest magick, aye.

 NOT, I ought hope, a thing of discouragement, but encouragement, be this. Magick be simpler than it seems, yet its depths no whale could plumb. To weave a sentence so potent, it changeth all, this be the most satisfying of all.

 CONSIDER: ye have read this far, seeking secrets of magick from a sorcerer who claimeth o’er 6,000 years of birth—& though I write this pamphlet in 1,478, I know most readers reside in far 2,026. & ye believe me, in this moment; ye shall continue to read, entranced already, by my mere word. Is that not magick? Are ye not under mine most potent spell?

  E’EN though I tell ye of the dweomer, as I work’t, it worketh still. I spit upon the charlatans & sleight-artists who call themselves “stage magician,” those who stride casinos & street-sides performing perfidious peek-a-boo for drooling dullards. But to this, I must credit the ones known as Penn & Teller—when most artfully worked, magick requires no secret. Ye might explain precisely the nature of the spell, to thine audience, & still ye shall ensorcel them—for the other half of the magickal equation, is that mortals wish to believe.

 WHEN ye plop down ‘pon the benches at a theatre, ye wish to believe what cometh. Ye will thrill to the openly-false tales of benighted Danish princes, or green floating witches, or e’en of prancing & dancing cats. Is that not magick? To believe in the Rum-Tum-Tugger so devoutly, that his antics alter thy heart? If ye weep when a highly-paid actress pretends to be “Defying Gravity,” is that not a transfiguration most extreme?

 SO, I tell ye: with but a word, the barons & malefactors also do twist. They know the power of the spell, & wield it tragic well. How many mortals know ye, who leap-to when their mad king says so? Who vote, & buy, & howl, & spit, all on the mere word of a billionaire blowhard who cares nothing o’their lives? How many mortals know ye, who spurn the affection of their families, or work misery upon their children, all to satisfy the illusions of a lord most remote? This, I fear, is magick too.

 WE mighty magicians summon tears, & laughter, & hope & anger. All with spells! When mortals ask, Do’st I magick? Or do’st I comedy? I only may answer: ‘tis the both. By words do I work spells, & long this art I have laboured upon. I can move a crowd’s passions as easily as a feather—& thus I only do so with the greatest care. Ne’er with dishonesty, nor duplicity, do I work. Ne’er do I rouse a crowd to oppression’s aid, nor to any cruel end. I wish to change the world—from this shadowed realm of brutality, to one where all may walk in comfort & contentment. & so magick, is my most puissant tool for the job. My word be my bond, & my bounty.

 QUESTION ye might, this un-secreted explanation. But try’t, mortal, & ye shall agree. Imagine this: whispering “I love thee” to someone ye love not. Would that not change thy world? Imagine the worst possible target of such a spell—how much havoc might ye wreak with an utterance? Picture the Globe, crowded elbow-to-elbow for this new play Hamlet; now picture screaming “FIRE” where there be none. Will folk not panic? Will they not flee? Will ye not cause hundreds to act, upon thy will? There is power, aye, in spells; I pray ye use them not for ill?

 WE magicians—I includeth thee now, reader, do I not?—we must with great care exercise our skills. Great thought precedes mine ev’ry working, much planning of mind before the first rune I carve. Some are evokers, some invokers; some appeal to the weather, some read entrails. For me, comœdia I choose for mine especialty. With a wink & a giggle, I try to impart weighty news, & weightier warnings. With a laugh, I find, the sorcery passeth with greater ease. In a world so dark, each spark matters much, e’en if it may only shed light on matters darker still.

 MUST we—I hear ye moan—become so careful with words? So mindful of our tongues? I am not thy king, mortal—I command thee not. But merely by reading this far, ye indeed stepped into a new sphere of knowing. Thou understandeth thine own speech & thoughts, in a way not heretofore considered. One may not un-walk the path. & so I fear, I cursèd thee, in a way. A trick, I did play, like yon Penn & Teller. But, I told ye, all along—like yon Penn & Teller. Aye—of magick, I titled this; of magick, I warned ye I would speak. What will ye now, knowing the power of thy words? What works might we expect of thee?

 O’ERCOME this revelation, ye might. Disbelief, denial, these are potent tools. But part of the magick o’magick, is that it matters not whether ye believe me. Still I have worked’t, still I have cast my spells. & if I believe these words changed the world—that they shifted the wyrd o’fate—then they did, whether ye agree or no. For the world is bigger than ye know, & bigger than e’en I could say. More moves, in each mediocre minute, than could be counted by the most mechanical of sages. To accept the gross infinitude, & yet still to seek to wind it; this is magick. & that is the most mortal thing of all.

Thank ye for reading! & we humbly thank that growing clan of mortals who can & do support our works here with coin! GRATIAS!

I shall write ye come Wednesday with news of this week’s episode! Til then: be safe, be well, & remember, the power be thine…

Cheers,
Amœnus Franco
Wizard, Writer, ᚻᛖᛚᛚᚱᚢᚾᚪ