The Poet Caster

The magician loved to soar with his son the invisible dragon over the Great Southern land. He observed the empty, flat deserts of the interior from above, an emptiness and nothingness that reminded him of other corners of the universe, far from the blue planet called earth.

Today he would pay a short visit on the Poet Caster. "Take us down, good dragon." 
The invisible dragon descended toward a small green space where people were enjoying the afternoon. "Call to me when you are ready, good father."
The magician alighted. "I will." The dragon returned to the sky.

The magician found the Poet Caster sitting at a small bench with her guitar, composing her dreams into works of art. "May I join you?"
She looked up at him, still caught up in the inspiring world of her latest song. "Sure."
He questioned her, looking for an inner doorway. "What kind of music do you play?"
She responded with a mixture of optimism and self doubt. "I write song words. I've been poking along putting my work out there hoping it will gain a bigger interest. It would help if I could play guitar…"

The magician had found the doorway. He opened the door, and walked into her inner world. "I play guitar. May I?" He played for a few moments, simple chords, but very expressive. 
She was pleased for the interesting distraction. "That's nice. You play well. I can only play basic…"

He interrupted her, picking up on her last word, casting a spell. "The heart is a basic instrument. It knows no theory, no structure. The heart understands only love. But this basic instrument drives us, powers us, brings us to pleasure and pain, passion and exultation. The heart is our companion on the roller coaster ride of our lives. The heart is a basic instrument that is simple to master: simply love the roller coaster ride. After you have mastered this basic instrument - when you love the roller coaster of your life, hanging on to each wild turn, screaming at the top of you lungs - then your guitar playing will be all you want it to be…"

She listened, and liked what she heard, but had difficulty accepting the message. "I think I need more lessons before my playing will be good enough…"
The magician accepted her message. "Great. Lesson One." He handed her the guitar. "Play me one of your songs, and ride a roller coaster with your heart as you play."

She looked at him sideways. He had an enormous, cheesy, childish grin on his face. "Okay…"

She began to play. The first song was about magic washing powder. The magician loved it. "That was great! We all need a little magic washing powder to clean up the mess in our lives. And you played very well. Play me another, please."

The Poet Caster had to agree, she had played well, much better than usual. But she tried to change the topic. "The words are from a book called 'Reflections'…"
The magician kept her on track. "Lesson two. When you are on a roll… or even better, on a roller coaster… stay on track. Play me another of your songs. Please. I'm asking nicely."

She played him many songs that afternoon. Songs about the mess in her room, with papers floating about. Songs where the souls of lovers are used for kindling. Many of the verses were tributes to ancestors, elders, parents passed on. Others told tragic tales about women with men that love then not, or perhaps only maybe.

And the Poet Caster felt good, really good about how well her very simple, expressive guitar chords supported the words. "Thank you. You must be some kind of magician…"
He smiled, and stood up to leave. "Perhaps. Are you a witch?"
She grinned back. She always felt she could make magic with her verses. "My broomstick is …my pencil."

They bid each other a pleasant evening, and the magician strolled to the edge of the green space. The invisible dragon was waiting for him. "I liked her songs…"
The magician climbed onto his son's enormous shoulders, and they rose into the air. "So did I."

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Part 2

The Poet Caster is alive and well and living in the Great Southern Land.