I preordered tickets to see
Lord of the Rings:
The Two Towers as soon as they were available. Tomorrow night at midnight I’ll arrive at
The Senator to be among the first people in
Maryland to see the movie. I don’t fit the profile of the typical fan who’ll be there – I can’t correct
Liv Tyler’s Elvish grammar, I won’t debate the authenticity of the costumes, and I haven’t even read the book recently. I’m not looking for a
religious experience, just a little modern day
movie magic.
Last year while seeing The Fellowship of the Rings, I laughed, I cried, and I fell in love with the world. I found a world where moonlight could open doors, birds could be spies, and even rings had eyes. When I went home that night, I started drafting a letter to Peter Jackson, the director. I explained how much I loved the movie and I begged for a chance to be an extra in one of the following films by defending how much I looked like a Hobbit with the same curly brown hair so prevalent in The Shire.
I showed a friend of mine my draft of the letter, and he pointed out that the movies had all been pre-filmed: I was heartbroken. Watching the movie made me believe that the world could be anything. I spoke of my secret dream of forging my own magical rings with sweat, tears, and blood. (Blood magic has always been the strongest of magics.) I spoke too of the package I received in the mail one year with a return address “from the Faeries” that contained my stuffed animal I had left in the forest of Monhegan Maine, and I spoke of the faerie houses I’d built in thanks every year following. The friend didn’t call me on the childish behavior, but instead dubbed me a ‘true believer,’ the only nickname I’ve ever been given. I didn’t actually fully believe in the existence of these supernatural sprites, but that’s okay, because even grown women…have been known to play make believe.
Despite my midnight plans, I don’t expect any ghosts or ghouls to come from the witching hour tomorrow night. The only magic I’ll see will be on the screen, created by hundreds of computers and by people who only did what they could to get the money or the fame. But the magic I’ll experience will be through the screen. For three hours, I’ll enter this foreign world and I’ll be convinced it’s my reality. I’ll believe so many things.
A German philosopher from the 1940s claimed that to know something, to really know something, one must love it first. He claims love is the ability to see the full potential something has and to accept it. While I’ll agree with him that much, I must elaborate. To see the full potential something has, to truly love it, is to believe in it.
Unlike friends of mine, I’ve never been blessed with the magic some find everyday. When I find myself falling down the rabbit hole, I have never been woken up by the beauty of a star inside a tulip, or by a sorcerer of a soul mate who anticipated my anxiety with a preemptive phone call. I have never found the kind loving God some know; it’s hard to find that kind of a god when you’ve watched the life force drain from someone with your very eyes.
With no factual proof magic exists many people find it easiest to dismiss the thought as childish and immature. Magic is childish, and beautifully so. It lies in wonder. Children are the true magicians. The first time the first child pointed his finger at the moon – that was the creation of magic. Magic comes from the ability to perceive infinite possibilities in the blink of an eye, the head of a pin, or a flash of light. You have to believe, because the true beauty in life comes from making the most minute experiences glisten with delicious golden honey.
I’m ashamed to say that after the movie tomorrow, I probably won’t be falling asleep until four in the morning: it’s no smart move the night before a major test, but I couldn’t let the opportunity pass me by. I need to allow life the opportunity to remind me about love, wonder, magic, and belief. I need to remember why I first was dubbed “true believer.”