“You are not what I expected.” The lady paused outside the chamber for a brief chat.
“What did you expect?” I replied, genuinely curious.
“I thought you’d be more … ominous. More dark. I expected you to be arrogant, I guess. You revealed some pretty deep things about me, some really intimate thoughts, but you were … you were kind about it. You didn’t use your “power” (she literally used finger quotes) like a weapon. Why do you blend these mysteries with kindness?”
As if the two were mutually exclusive; like you can’t bend a spoon and still hold the door open for someone.
I’ll tell you why: because mystery without kindness is arrogance in a velvet cape.
It’s showing off for the mirror instead of the audience. It’s hollow thunder, impressive, sure, but it doesn’t make the flowers grow.
The best magic, the kind that stays with you, is equal parts wonder and warmth. A good mystery whispers, “There’s more to this world than you thought.” And kindness replies, “And you’re part of it.”
I’ve met plenty of magicians, mediums, and storytellers who guard their secrets like dragons over treasure. Fair enough, I’ve got a few things under the table myself. But I’ve also learned that a mystery shared with empathy lands deeper. When someone feels seen, they don’t just marvel, they connect. That’s when the real magic happens. That’s when the candlelight means something.
So, when I step behind the table (or the curtain, or the camera) my aim isn’t to fool you. It’s to remind you how beautiful it feels to not know everything. To sit in the dark for a moment, and trust that something good will reach out a hand.
Because the truth is, mystery without kindness is a trick. Kindness without mystery is a greeting card. But together? Together, they’re a story. And I happen to know a few of those.
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