The Magician

Ever since I first saw magic in cartoons or movies, I was fascinated, not so much by the powers themselves, but by how the characters used them. There was something thrilling in it, as if a new world unfolded before your eyes. Suddenly, everything seemed possible, achievable, within reach. The most exceptional displays of magic always came from heroes who possessed great wisdom. Virtue amplified their power.

In a similar way, since my earliest memories, I’ve been using my own kind of magic—without even realising it. My companion, my ally, my friend: imagination. Even to this day, I feel like a magician because of it.

Subconsciously, I have always filled in the missing pieces of reality. If life felt dull, I added adventure. If it was cruel, I painted it with romance. If it became too demanding, I leaned on Buddhist ideas to quiet my desires, at least for a while. Imagination felt like an extension of myself, reaching beyond me, fueling my curiosity and thirst for knowledge. Through the most difficult and the most splendid parts of my life, it was there, offering me relief, wonder, and hope.

But like any magic power, letting my imagination walk a step ahead of me created something of a bubble. A secluded island, where the birds’ songs and the wind in the wise old trees felt like a siren’s melody, inviting me to stay forever. It was beautiful. Yet the thirst for wisdom made me leave. I wanted to take control of that dream-island, to see where imagination ended and reality began.

As beautiful as magic is, it can lead to illusion—and sometimes, misconception. When I finally tried to take control of my life, I realized I had to step beyond the safe limits of my imagination and confront the things it had hidden from me. To explore the world as it is, raw and demanding, and to seek the magic that exists within that reality. Now, I try to direct my imagination like a beam of light—conscious, focused, intentional.

And still I wonder: should the world of imagination be left behind in the name of “maturity”? Or is there a deeper value we have yet to discover—something essential, misunderstood, even sacred? Maybe abandoning imagination in order to “ground” ourselves is only a partial truth. Perhaps even the real world is filled with illusions. Perhaps objectivity isn’t as solid as we think. Or maybe the world has some magic of its own, waiting to be discovered...