Introducing Proximus Englethwait, magicologist

“We’re having an unscheduled class today in the lunchbreak.”

Groans around the class.

“We’re going to listen to a talk by a magicologist.” Mr Foggle was looking a bit hot under the collar. He evidently felt uncomfortable breaking the news to the class.

“I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about this earlier but to tell the truth there was a bit of a mix up with the dates.” Mr Foggle didn’t like lying to the class, but sometimes it was necessary. If he’d been absolutely truthful he would have said that neither he nor any of the staff at St Peter’s Secondary High had any idea how this had been arranged, or when, or by whom, but there it was in the school diary this morning, though they were all willing to swear that it hadn’t been there yesterday. Anyway, there was no way to cancel the visit by this speaker – not at the last minute when he was travelling all the way from... that must have been a typo – Faerie it said in the diary entry. “No such place,” Ms Bates the geography teacher had told the group of assembled teachers who were discussing this debacle. “Maybe he’s from Faro in Portugal...” she suggested, “or the Faroe islands chipped in Mr Dean.

“Well, wherever he’s from it isn’t local so we can’t just cancel this lecture unceremoniously,” pronounced Mrs Datwich, the headmistress. “It wouldn’t look good.” So, without a clue who this speaker was, other than the name Proximus Englethwait, it was decided to proceed as if everything was in fact...

“Proximus Englethwait – Mike sniggered. What a ridiculous name.”

“A magicologist – what’s that?” was a question that several of the children were now asking. So was Mr Foggle and the other teachers. It seemed all too likely that the word was connected with magic – “but why on earth do we need to hear a talk about magic?” Mr Foggle asked Mrs Datwich, the headmistress. “It’s a load of nonsense as far as I’m concerned.”

Me too, Mr Foggle, but the children will enjoy it. This is one of those extra-curricular activities that can be so enriching for our pupils.

It sounds like you approve of this proceeding – Mr Foogle complained.

No, but if it has to go ahead, let’s assume that it’s all for the best.

Proximus Englethwait was a small, elflike man.

He started talking and the lecture hall was no longer the same place it had been a moment before. The chairs and desks were still there if you screwed up your eyes and looked hard enough, but you had to make a real effort. It was much more comfortable not to notice them anymore. They seemed to have faded into the background – like they no longer mattered.

“Welcome to Faerie,” he started.

Now if they’d been in their right minds the school would have raised objections to this obviously absurd statement. How could a speaker standing on the dais in St Peter’s main lecture hall welcome the assembled pupils and staff to some other place – Faerie or whatever he called it. But strange to tell – no one was objecting. You might say this was mass hypnosis. You might say he was joking or speaking figuratively, but had you been there you would have said neither. For no sooner had Proximus Englethwait said this than everyone breathed a sigh of relief and got up.

“Got up? What do you mean?”

“Yes, what are you on about?”

Ah, there you are dear attentive readers. I understand your concern, but if you let me continue all will be clear. The two readers – I will allow them to remain anonymous for the moment – you can find their names in the footnotes on page 764 if you so wish – settled down again – so on we go.

Everyone got up because they were no longer pretending to be in the lecture hall. Any one who really wanted could put his mind back into the lecture hall where he had been sitting – and there indeed he was still sitting if you made the effort to settle back into that reality – but it was much easier, much more pleasing, more joyful, merry, gay in the original sense, to be here with Proximus Englethwait.

It was like getting off a plane. They stepped out of the lecture hall onto what looked a bit like an airport jetbridge. A few steps along it and they were in a processing hall – a bit like passport control. Everyone found they had a kind of passport in their hand – with their name, photo, age, star sign and favourites written in it.

Favourites? – this particularly reader couldn’t help interrupting me for a moment. I don’t mind really. Molly’s a good sort, you know.

Yes – instead of biometric data there were a list of things that each person particularly likes – favourite colour, food, games, music – that kind of thing. Actually, there weren’t photos as such – just very lifelike pictures which seemed to reveal the inner person – his or her soul seemed to shine through.

So once everyone had gone through passport control Proximus Englethwait explained what was happening. They were all seated on a kind of sofa which didn’t make much sense in terms of our three dimensions. It was just a normal comfy sofa but it seemed to stretch round further and further so that the whole school was sitting on it comfortably all within arms-reach of... “Please call me Merry. We use the name Proximus Englethwait for security reasons when opening the bridge and bringing you back to Faerie.”

Somehow, no one was particularly surprised. It all seemed to make perfect sense. Obviously we need to avoid contamination – your world has some rather dangerous thoughts which are able to do all kind of damage if we give them free access to the whole – so we don’t.

and a name, as you all know, is a password that opens gates into your mind and soul. 

You make it sound like these thoughts are secret agents – said Freddie. He’s always talking about secret agents.

Actually, they are. They live a life of their own. They come and go into your head and attack any ideas that don’t fit the agenda.

Er... what agenda? – asked Mrs Datwitch, querulously.

Whatever you’re supposed to think. It changes with time but what doesn’t change is these agents masquerading as thoughts that knock you this way or that – back into line – so that nearly everyone ends up thinking and doing just whatever they’re supposed to. It’s very clever really.

Clever? It sounds positively devilish! – said Ms Hogarth, the art’s teacher.

Well yes, but there’s a plus to every minus, isn’t there. Just think – if you didn’t have those critters masquerading as innocent thoughts controlling your minds, you wouldn’t actually be able to stay in the drama of life on Earth.

We wouldn’t?

No, of course not. You’d naturally, automatically recreate the magic and beauty of Faerie on Earth. It would make no sense for you to make life so difficult for yourselves. You’d see through all the fake advertising and you’d naturally do whatever really feels good – so you wouldn’t waste your time with negative emotions, with greed, anger, jealousy because as you can see now that you’re back here – none of those are beautiful, none of them lead to happiness, none of them make any sense.

Then why do we do it?

You’re asking me? Rosebud.

“Rosebud? My name’s not R...” but before Sue Carter could finish what she was saying, the biggest smile appeared on her face, now that she’d remembered her real name.

“Shall we do this all together on the count of three?” Merry suggested.

Everyone seemed to know exactly what he was referring to. They always did this, just they hadn’t remembered a moment before – the unnaming when you take off your assumed name and recall your Faerie name.

“Here goes. All together now – and the words came to all of them spontaneously:

One two three – they clapped their hands once, did a little shimmy and turned around once –

I conjure a key – and they all held an imaginary key and turned it in an imaginary lock –

To set me free –  you could feel a door opening and see the faces change as each one recalled his or her real name.

This was always a special moment – when the Earthonauts remember their true name which is like remembering themself again. There was a lot of hand shaking, back slapping, hugging and kissing go on for a few minutes, and then everyone settled down again on the sofa.

So, you were asking Rosebud why you do it – why you go to Earth under an assumed name, which your parents then give you.

Oh – I was being a bit dim-witted wasn’t I, Merry.

Not at all. That’s the question that takes your mind back to the connecting link – that brings you back to your real identity. Someone has to ask it, so well done.

But what about the readers? Katie Bradshaw, now known as Moonglow asked.

They’re no different. They can only get so far by thinking about things in their mind. Unless they take the trouble to open the birdcage door and release their real name that’s trapped within – letting it flutter around – they’ll never see this as anything more than a childish story.

But how can they? It’s so difficult when you’re living with all those thought thingies in your head.

Never underestimate the power of story – Moonglow. Story has the power, the magic of Faerie woven into it – even if it’s a seemingly muck and brass, down to earth tale about life on the farm...

Or school...

Or family problems...

Or war...

Or sickness...

Yes to all these, Merry interjected. Story has a kind of secret code hidden between the words, or even between the letters, that helps the reader feel, remember, reconnect with Faerie.

So we don’t need to do anything to help them? asked Juniper Berry.

We don’t have to do anything – but of course we’re free to do whatever fills us with delight. So why not? We can help them if you like.

But how?

Story.

How's telling a story going to help people trapped in a nightmare they can't awaken from?

Telling a story won't, but the minute you start living your own story - full of poetry and magic - that shifts the balance massively. It affects everyone and everything.

But how do we live our own story?

Stop avoiding it. Stop telling yourself you can't - that you're unworthy, not good enough, afraid to, or whatever excuse you've managed to concoct. Story is all you're here for, all you can really achieve, all that matters, because as soon as your story comes alive, you're living in harmony with Faerie which means there's no longer any separation between the two sides. You become the gateway. You become the dancing Shiva, dissolving all illusions. You become the equation 0=1. But don't take my word for it. Try it out. Let the hero inside awaken. Let your hero guide you back to wholeness, completeness, self-realisation - to story's triumphant end.

But do you think we're not trying?

Trying? What's that got to do with it? Flying - story is about flying in the face of adversity - in resigning yourself to the romance, the impossibility of whatever seems to be weighing you down, because inside you feel, sense, know the pulse, the heartbeat of Faerie, the poetry, the magic of life itself that opens your wings when you've finally taken the plunge from the nest you were sheltering in. Let the inner poet be your guide. You can't fool him or her. Your verse is either alive or dead.

Er... Merry, we're not most of us poets you know.

Not? You're telling me you're not. You've done everything possible to kill the poetry, to poison its life streams, and yet the poet still lives, waiting for you to rekindle the flame.

How? It makes no sense.

Blow on it. How do you think. The poetry is a natural result of the interface between the two sides - between Faerie and DDD.

DDD? What's that?

What you call 3D reality. Death, doom and destruction I call it. Just a joke. There's a wave action between the two sides that flows through your very core - through your heart, and if you give it a little breath, a little love and encouragement, the fire will kindle beautifully, no matter what, no matter what, no matter what...

And Proximus Englethwait seemed to end his lecture with the words "no matter what". There was muted applause. A few polite questions. It hadn't been the kind of talk anyone had been expecting. Magicology, like dragonology was a dry, practical subject - or that's what the audience imagined as they left the lecture hall, oblivious to the 2 week vacation they'd just had with Merry at Faerie's premier rest and recuperation camp for tired and troubled 3Ders.