Translator: Camille Martínez Reviewer: Gisela Giardino
In a world in which the word that defines the road I walk
sounds increasingly obsolete, I can say with pride that I'm a magician.
And I'm also a storyteller.
And a relatively short time ago, I discovered that they're the same thing.
"Abracadabra," the magic word, par excellence,
comes from Aramaic, the oldest Semitic language in the world.
It means, "I create as I speak".
They say that magicians make things appear and disappear,
but the truth is that our job is to surprise,
which means to put into view.
To discover, to remove that which covers, that which is hidden,
and integrate, reunite what's been separated.
Like a puzzle that was once a complete picture,
and which can only recover its meaning once its pieces are put back together.
A while back, I was invited to go see a very famous speaker,
whose talk ended up being a little bit of everything.
It ended with a story that some of you will surely know,
about two men in the middle of the jungle,
who suddenly see a hungry, ferocious lion running towards them.
One of the guys was paralyzed with fear, but the other calmly sat down
on a rock, took a pair of running shoes out of his backpack,
and started to put them on.
Surprised, the other guy said:
"Do you really think you can run faster than the lion?"
And the first guy said, parsimoniously:
"I don't need to run faster than the lion.
I only need to run faster than you."
(Laughter)
(Applause)
The speaker ended his talk with this:
"In today's world, all that matters is to run faster than the competition."
That story sparked a look back at my own career in magic.
I began to study when I was 9,
and did my first professional show at 15.
I was a traditional magician until the age of 19:
Amazing people was my only goal.
I was good at what I did.
People would offer me more work, recommend me to others.
Early in my life, I had managed to "run" quickly enough.
But I wasn't happy with what I was doing, and I couldn't enjoy it.
Eventually, I figured out what the empty feeling inside of me was:
My magic lacked magic.
I had tasted magic in my daily life--
in a kiss, in a sunset, in an embrace--
but I couldn't create that magical, tingly feeling in my audiences or shows.
Until one day, when I happened to receive a poem that touched me deeply,
and in which I felt I had found the lost magic.
I immediately committed the poem to memory, and at the end of my next show
I recited it, humbly, and I felt a connection.
Later, while I was gathering my things, two women approached, moved by the poem.
One of them took my hands and said: "We really like what you did, young man,
but we found what you said at the end particularly touching,
because it made everything else make sense."
I had managed to bring together two things that had always been separate.
My magic had regained its magic.
Because magic without magic is only a trick.
A bag of tricks.
The secret of this reconnection is pretty simple:
We have only one mind but it's divided into two parts.
The left side is rational, pragmatic, structured, skeptical,
programmed to question everything and believe nothing.
The right side, in contrast, is emotional, intuitive, naïve, creative, magical,
programmed to believe everything and question nothing.
But we live in a very rational and frenetic world,
that forces us to depend on reason and dedicate ourselves almost exclusively
to production and consumption.
Nowadays, people have neither the time nor the disposition to play, to create,
to contemplate the world around us with genuine curiosity.
We've become separated from ourselves.
We've disintegrated. Dis-integrated.
We live barely utilizing half of our potential
and the world wants us to believe
that's how it should be; that living that way is good enough.
But denying this part of ourselves hasn't made it disappear.
Invisible is not the same as nonexistent.
The magical experience, if you're willing to look beyond the surprise,
supports integration and reconnection.
That which we can't explain creates a short circuit
in the logical brain, which makes us lose control
and it weakens the barriers that separate us on the inside.
So naturally, our parts become integrated,
and we can go through the magical experience,
whatever kind it may be, the slightest, the most everyday,
whole, sound, and without being pulled this way and that.
If it weren't for the rational mind, we could permanently connect
with the magic that surrounds us.
Natural magic, as it was called at the beginning of time,
is revealed in every moment of creation.
For starters, we're here and we're alive.
No two human beings are alike in all the world.
We see magic in the gestation and birth cycle of animals;
or in music, where from a mere seven notes infinite worlds are created
in endless combinations; or in trips, where in a question of hours
we can travel from the harshest summer to the harshest winter;
or in two glances that meet for the first time and become inseparable.
I'm convinced that magic, in any of its forms,
enriches and strengthens our experience of living.
That's why I'm here: to invite you all to recuperate the magic
that exists inside every single one of us.
To do that, the only thing we have to do
is stop fighting it, fearing it, and ignoring it.
And yet, I am in no way suggesting that you abandon
your skepticism or your search for answers,
which are themselves worthwhile.
I don't think we should become followers or fanatics of the invisible,
nor that we should replace our left side with our right
up here, because neither of the two sides can be the only one.
What I've come to suggest is that we re-unite ourselves,
that we integrate our parts:
our skepticism with our naiveté;
our reason with our emotion;
our intelligence with our intuition.
That way we use all our parts.
All of them are indispensable pieces of the puzzles of our lives.
To test this theory, I ask you all to share with me
a magical experience right here, right now.
You're all going to participate.
And I ask all of you who are not here with us,
wherever and whoever you may be,
that you also participate as if you were here.
I need to ask you all to close your eyes now.
I'm asking you to trust me; I promise this is going somewhere.
Come on, then. Close your eyes.
Uncross your arms and legs --
I guarantee if you do, you'll enjoy this experience 30% more.
For those who have a seat back, lean against it.
If you don't have a seat back, sit up straight.
Try to breathe from as deep a place as possible, way down in the belly.
Let go of the hand of the person next to you
especially if you didn't come here together.
(Laughter)
Breathe as slowly and deliberately as you can,
and try to listen only to my voice and to the music.
(Music)
Imagine that you're sitting in your favorite place,
that one place where you could spend hours, just being there.
As you enjoy this moment, free of worries, free of obligations,
an image begins to form before you, that's wonderful to behold.
You can start to see different colors,
shapes, textures, and characters.
It's as if it were a painting, a work of art
that had been created especially to suit your personal tastes.
As you enjoy the beauty of the piece, it starts to give off a white light
that distracts you and breaks your concentration.
You get up from where you're sitting and move closer in order to see it better,
and you realize that the flash of light is actually something missing from the painting,
almost like a piece missing from a puzzle.
You move even closer, and see that the puzzle piece is big,
big enough to be a little door that you could pass through.
You stretch out your right hand, push the door, pass through to the other side.
You've come now to a deserted beach.
It's twilight, and the sun is shyly taking leave.
You can feel the warm sand under your feet,
the cool breeze on your body,
you hear the sound of the sea reaching the shore.
You look up to one side and see a person in the distance.
It's someone you know very well, yet it strikes you as odd to see them here.
You run towards one another, ready to give each other an everlasting embrace.
And in the excitement of the hug, you ask the person:
"What are you doing here?"
You wait for the answer:
"I came to see you, to give you this hug and to bring you a gift."
The person takes your hand, and places a gift in your palm.
It's a puzzle piece.
It's the piece that was missing from your painting,
the piece that completes you.
You give another forever hug to the person,
the one you're so happy to have found. This time, in the emotion of the embrace,
you realize that the time has come to set them free, to let go.
You begin to slowly disengage from the hug,
walking away backwards, in order to not lose eye contact,
holding the puzzle piece tightly to your chest.
And also slowly -- very, very slowly --
you start to get used to the idea of returning to this place...
and you open your eyes.
(Music ends)
For every 10 times I do this exercise,
8 or 9 of them, I meet my grandfather, Lázaro.
He was my teacher while he was here,
and he's continued to be my teacher for all these years since he's left.
He's given me many puzzle pieces, that I believe are, little by little,
completing the puzzle of my life.
Did that happen to anyone else,
that you met someone you thought you'd never see again,
or who you hadn't seen for a very long time?
What's your name?
Woman: Pato.
(Applause)
NJ: Who did you meet? P: A friend of mine.
NJ: What's her name? P: Julieta.
NJ: When was the last time you saw her? P: A long time ago.
NJ: Was it good to see her? P: Yes.
NJ: Pato, I brought my favorite painting to share with you and everyone.
It's "The Metamorphosis of Narcissus," by Salvador Dalí.
It's missing a piece; it's like a symbol of that door that I can go through
every time I get lost, in order to find a deserted beach,
where my grandfather Lázaro or one of my teachers
gives me a gift, a puzzle piece that helps me get back on track.
I also brought, to share with you and everyone,
a bagful of puzzle pieces.
So I need you to, with your left hand,
pull out 3 or 4 pieces at the same time, without looking.
P: Together? NJ: Yes.
NJ: Today.
(Laughter)
NJ: Now, standing off to the side so that everyone can see,
try each of the pieces to see if one of them fits.
NJ: No, no. OK.
Take the bag with your left hand, like that, and close your eyes.
I need you to, using your imagination, go back to the beach where you just were.
And with your imagination, call to your friend, because we need her help.
Ask her to come over to you, and with her left hand,
take your right hand, but don't move your right hand,
until she's the one who's guiding you.
Put your hand in the bag again, but this time take out only one piece.
But it can't be just any piece,
it has to be the piece that completes all of us this afternoon.
Open your eyes.
(Applause)
P: Thank you.
NJ: Pato!
On behalf of my grandfather Lázaro and me, I give to you this puzzle piece.
May you soon find the puzzle that completes it.
P: Thank you.
NJ: Can we give another round of applause to Pato for helping us?
(Applause)
NJ: Thanks.
A while back, I was delighted to discover that my career
had started to turn into a path.
And then one day I received an email that revealed a new discovery.
The message said:
"Hello Jansenson, my name is Sara.
The other day I saw you on a tv show.
It was an interview, and there wasn't any time for you to do magic.
The following day, while I was taking a walk in the park
with the nurse who pushes my wheelchair,
I thought to write to you and tell you that I don't believe in magic,
but that if magic does exist as you claim,
and if you're as good a magician as the show's host says you are,
then you should be able to make me walk again.
But yesterday you were on the show again, and I saw you do magic, and build a bridge
to a magical world I've never been to.
And it occurred to me that I should write to tell you that your magic gave me wings.
Now I don't need to walk."
(Applause)
There's a world in which there's no need
to run faster and faster.
It's the amazing magical world that exists inside of each and every one of us.
I hope the next time you encounter it, you embrace it with all your might.
I'm talking about one of those hugs that you hope never ends.
I'm talking about the kind of hug that makes you feel like your feet
lift off the floor a little bit.
I hope.
(Applause)