The boy looked through the windows of the dusty store front. Old leather books in different languages were caked in dust, alongside smoking pipes with very long stems, veiled by smudgy windows that looked like they’ve never been clean. Stones and crystals lined the bottom of the glass store front. Indian fabrics were draped along the ceiling on either side of the shop, while small plants and statues could be seen upon numerous tables littered about. Chipped and faded gold lettering on the glass door front displayed Mystic Management.

Whatever that meant.

The boy had seen the shop on his way to the arcade a few months ago, he had never noticed it before. Which was strange because he always went to the arcade to skip school. He walked across the street towards the mysterious sign, his curiosity getting the better of him. He got closer and approached the door, gazing through the entrance, he twisted the brass knob and carefully made his way inside.

The smell of dust, aged paper, weed, water and incense made him sneeze.

“I normally don’t let kids into my shop. You’ll have to leave your backpack at the counter, please.” said a man’s voice from the back of the shop.

The boy didn’t even notice anyone inside the store when he walked in a second ago. There on a stool, sat a dark skinned man wearing a red, green, and black tank top, bracelets made with beads and stones rested around his neck and wrists. He was tall and lanky, with a curly gray and white beard like lambs wool and white hair that was tucked into a tam. He looked like he was surrounded by smoke.

The boy approached the counter, walking past all of the strange crystals and statues, he didn’t take his eyes off the old man, who was putting something in the front pocket of his shirt. He took off his empty backpack and plopped it on the counter, which was surprisingly spotless. It was a hard polished mahogany wood with little Egyptian ruins designed into it.

The boy looked back at the old man.

“What’s mystic management mean?” The boy asked.

“The management of your mysticism.” Said the old man.

“What do you mean mysticism? Is that like magic?” Asked the boy.

The old man smiled at his question.

“Not like the stuff you’ve seen in movies.” He said. “But yes, mysticism could possibly be considered magic.”

The old man walked over to one of the dusty bookshelves and removed a thick weathered book.

“This book is an encyclopedia of different herbs, their functions and uses, and how to use them. A lot are good for tea...” the old man trailed off, as if recalling a fond memory.

“So all this stuff is for gardening?” The boy asked, pointing to all the crystals and statues scattered throughout the store.

The old man grunted.

“No. Most of them are used for alleviating anxiety and reducing stress or...that one there,” the old man pointed to a bracelet, “can transform you and manifest reality.”

The boy knew the old man was trying to sell him something. He ignored him, looking around the shop is amazement. He began walking through the aisles, the Indian tapestries creating almost a jungle of colorful sheets that wove around in a maze.

“All those books on the shelves,” the old man continued, “contain ancient knowledge of plants, Stars, healing rituals, alchemy, anatomy, biographies…”

“What’s this stuff?” The boy interrupted, holding up an unlabeled jar of a shiny green powder.

“Magic.” Replied the old man, locking the shop door.

The boy spun around, snapping back into reality as he stared at the old man.

“I’ve been watching you, boy.” Said the old man as he walked back to the counter, pointing at the boy without turning around.

“I see you standing outside of that arcade, selling weed and hanging out with them people on the corner. Why aren’t you in school?.”

“What are you, the cops?” Asked the boy.

He held up a small jar of seeds from the shelf. “These say hemp seeds! And what do you mean you have been watching me. You don’t know me! Who are you?”

“Attitude ain’t nothing new, boy. I just wanted you to sell something for me.” The old man said.

The old man disappeared behind the counter, re-emerging with a beat up orange shoebox and placed it on the counter, he opened the lid as he stared back at the boy.

The boy reluctantly inched closer towards the counter, curious to see what was inside of the box. He peered in, and saw dozens of zip lock baggies with handwritten labels on them made of masking tape. Inside a few of the bags he saw were seeds, weed, leaves, mushrooms, and powders. Others had what looked like rare gems or crystals. There were insects that were laminated like trading cards, as well as what looked like actual trading cards.

“What the hell is all this?” the boy asked, again.

“Magic, I told you.” The old man laughed. “What? You can’t read labels?”

“I can read what they say! So, what? You want me to sell this junk? I don’t even know what half of this shit is or what it does or for how much…”

The boy began to read the labels. On each label was written what was in it, how much it weighed, and the price.

“$5 for a gram of weed? That’s stupid, I sell mine for $10.”

“Well that’s why I have inquired about you.” Said the old man. “I’m in need of assistance.”

“What kind of assistance?” The boy asked suspiciously as he glared at the old man.

“I need an apprentice.” Stated the old man.

“What the fuck are you talking about, old man?” Said the boy. “Who in the hell are you supposed to be, Merlin?”

“No, but you don’t have to curse so much.” Said the old man, gesturing to the stool he was previously sitting on behind the counter. “Have a seat.”

“I’d rather stand.” Said the boy.

The old man sat down. The boy’s senses were becoming hyper aware as his legs started to feel a bit weaker. He was still unsure as to what kind of situation he was in.

“What do you want with me?” The boy asked.

“What I am proposing,” said the old man,”is to teach you what I know so that you may succeed in your journey.” He pulled a half smoked joint from the front pocket of his shirt like a magician.

Smoke billowed out across his big curly beard and dark wrinkled face, making him look quite mystical. He puffed away thoughtlessly, then held out the joint to the boy, who took it reluctantly. He took a few long drags from the weed, feeling a lot more relaxed all of a sudden.

“For your nerves.” Said the old man. “Everything in this world has its place and use. From a simple crystal to the most enormous temples. Plants, rocks, animals, and even the in between. All things are One, and the One is all things. I have simply become knowledgeable about this over time through my own studies...”

“So what are you some kind of hippie?” The boy interrupted. “You gonna tell me how drugs freed your mind or something?”

“Hippie. Alchemist. Druid. Scientist. Whatever.” Shrugged the old man.”Sometimes labels should be on bags. But yes, if that is what you want to call me. If that is how you manifest.”

“Why me?” Said the boy out loud, very confused.

This time it was the old man who interrupted.

“You, because I can recognize healers when I see them. The universe speaks to me and I do not care to ignore it. These bags of ‘stuff’ inside this box are things that I have found to be the most effective to the growth and transformation of a human being.” The old man lightly tapped the box with his fingertips. “When the essence of something has been abused and disrespected the value of said thing becomes less and less over time.”

“So you want me to sell this? On the streets?.” The boy laughed.

“The people are sick. And even worse, they are poor. Not only inside their pockets, but in their bodies, their minds, and spirits too. They doubt themselves. They doubt their realities. These people have not yet awakened to their dream, and remain asleep in a world that was created for them.”

“What are you talking about?” Asked the boy. “You want me to flip something for you?”

“No.” Said the old man. “This box is filled with things that heal people. That unblock their spirits. It’s about more than just making money.”

The boy laughed at the old man. “I’m still not paying for that shit.”

“But you could pay for my knowledge and expertise.” The old man smiled. “For anything that is inside this box, I can show you each one will not only heal spirits, but they can also morph the mind and transform the body as well.”

The boy thought the old man was crazy. He was interested in what the old man was saying, but he was also extremely skeptical.

“The enemy is fear,” Said the old man solemnly, recognizing the boy’s symptoms. He leaned forward so close that the boy could see the color of his eyes. “I can fix that too.”

The boy’s eyes grew wide. What the hell is all of this? He thought. This old man could cure fear? The boy wanted to run away, but his legs couldn’t move anymore, so he just stood there.

“But only if you want it.” Said the old man. “I can only help you if you REALLY want it.”

The boy’s vision seemed to become slightly blurry, the old man’s face distorting into different shapes. He thought about it seriously.

He had been fascinated by this shop for weeks. Now, that he was finally there inside, he had a feeling that all of this must be happening for some reason. Something wouldn’t have led him into this shop for no reason at all.

Besides, he wanted to know if these objects could really morph minds and transform bodies.. Even though the old man sounded crazy, he didn’t sound dangerous. He was probably just desperate for money because he had no customers.

“What would an apprentice have to do?” Asked the boy curiously.

The old man smiled. “Not what, but where and when. You are at the where. The when is now.”

Next Chapter: Chakras