Into The Magic Shop

• Two

TWO

A Body at Rest

Since the start of civilization, the source of human intelligence and consciousness has been a mystery. In the seventeenth century B.C.E., the Egyptians believed that intelligence resided in the heart. Upon death, it was the heart that was revered and retained with the other internal organs. The brain had so little value to the ancient Egyptians that it was routinely removed with a hook through the nasal cavity before mummification, and then discarded. In the fourth century B.C.E., Aristotle believed that the brain functioned primarily as a cooling mechanism for the blood, and this was why humans (with their larger brains) were more rational than the "hot-blooded" beasts. It took five thousand years for this view of the brain's insignificance to be reversed. The brain's centrality to our identity began to be understood only because individuals who had sustained head trauma through accident or war injuries demonstrated impairment of thought or function. While much was learned about brain anatomy and function, our understanding remained very limited. In fact, through most of the twentieth century, it was believed that the brain was fixed, immutable, and static.

Today we know that the brain has great plasticity and can change, adapt, and transform. It is molded by experience, repetition, and intention. It is only because of the extraordinary technological advances over the last few decades that we can see the brain's ability to transform on a cellular, genetic, and even molecular level. Extraordinarily, as I learned, each of us has the ability to change the very circuitry of our brain.

My first experience of neuroplasticity happened with Ruth in the back room of that magic shop in a strip mall. I didn't know this at age twelve, but during those six weeks she literally rewired my brain. She did what, at that time, many would have said was impossible.

• • •

I DIDN'T TELL anyone about my plans to go to the magic shop every day, but then again, no one really asked. Summer in Lancaster was like being in some hot, windswept, seemingly endless purgatory-there was always a restless feeling that I should be doing something, but there was nothing really to do. The apartment complex I lived in was surrounded by little more than packed earth and tumbleweeds. Occasionally this landscape was interspersed with an abandoned car or a derelict piece of machinery. A thing no longer wanted or needed-thrown away in a place no one would notice.

Children, and adults as well, perform best when there is consistency and dependability. The brain craves them both. In my house there was neither.

No set time to eat, no alarm to remind you to wake up for school, and no bedtime. If my mother's depression lessened enough for her to leave the bed, a meal might be made. That is if there was food in the house. If not, I would go to sleep hungry or go visit a friend and hope he would ask me to stay for dinner. I thought I was lucky because, unlike most of my friends, I never had to be home at a particular time. I didn't want to get home until late because I knew if I got home earlier there would often be a fight in progress or some other event that made me wish I were somewhere else, someone else. Sometimes the thing you want most is just someone to tell you, tell you anything. Because that means you're important. And sometimes it's not that you're not important, it's just you're not seen because the pain of those around you makes you invisible. I pretended I was lucky because I didn't have anyone to bother me-to tell me to do my homework, wake me up for school, or tell me what to wear. But I was only pretending. Teenagers crave freedom, but only if they're standing on a base that is stable and secure.

• • •

RUTH HAD ASKED ME to come to the shop at 10 A.M., and I woke up early that first day feeling as if it were my birthday and Christmas morning both rolled into one. I had had a hard time going to sleep. I had no idea what she was going to teach me, and I didn't really care. I just wanted to talk to her some more, and it felt good to have somewhere to go. I felt important.