Tag: Journey

Chapter Sixty – Knight of Swords

by Jamieson Wolf, posted in A Tarot Guide, Finding Balance, Memoir, Someone Else’s Life, Tarot

My grief was easier to carry in the morning.

At some point during the night, I had found my way back to my tent. I awoke to the sound of voices, birdsong and the smell of coffee. In the distance, I could hear someone tapping gently on a drum. I lay there in my tent trying to see if I could find the shape of my emotions, but they were clouded by everything that my mind was trying to figure out.

I pulled on my sarong, a t-shirt and my sandals and grabbed the cloth bag that held my shampoo, conditioner, body wash and my towel.  I wanted to get clean before I had a cup of coffee. I emerged from my tent, and I met Lisa’s knowing gaze. She gave me a smile and raised her cup of coffee in salute.

“Going down to the watering hole?” Lisa gave me a very saucy wink.

I blushed under her gaze. “Yes.”

“Here, take this with you.” She handed me a travel mug filled with coffee. “Do you want me to come with you?” She did a downward glance at my legs. I knew that she was worried about me making my way down rocks at the side of the river on my own, but I had checked out the terrain the night before and I thought it would be all right.

My body had a way of disagreeing with me sometimes. It depended on the amount of pain I was in. Having lived with me, Lisa had seen what the cerebral palsy did to my body. She also knew that I had difficulty with uneven terrain. I could usually make it if I took my time, but I had to be careful.

“It’s all good, enjoy your coffee. I’ll be right back.”

I made my way to the river, following the dirt road. I took in the sounds of the water, listened to the music of people laughing and tried to put one foot in front of the other. I didn’t tell Lisa, but I was nervous about bathing in front of others naked. It was silly as Soph had seen me naked the night before, but this was different. To bathe in front of other people, you had to be sure of yourself, confident enough to bare it all. The idea was beyond frightening to me and at the same time, I thought it would help me finally feel free.

I loved myself but hated my body. It had been a source of so much discomfort for me and I had difficulty being naked in front of others, even those that I loved and trusted. I had always been taught to hide my body because I was disabled and that mindset never really left me, no matter how far away from my father I was able to get. I still carried his voice in my head and it was difficult to shake it.

I stood there wondering what I was going to do when I heard someone call out my name. It was the woman who had painted her body at the fire. She was down near the water, sitting on the edge of the rocks and she waved, giving me a brilliant smile.

“Come on down here, the water is so nice.”

Making my way down the rockface, I made sure to take my time. I listened to the water as I looked down at my feet, trying to make sure to put my foot in the right spot before taking another step. I tried not to think about getting naked, knowing that I would have to do so when I got to the water, but I focused on my footsteps and the sound of the water calling me forwards. It took me longer than I thought it would, but I did it. I got there, despite my fear.

I sat down beside the woman. She was completely naked and covered in a loose towel. It was draped around her shoulders as if it were a cape. When the wind blew, it looked as if she were riding the waves and the wind was claiming her as its own. When the wind took hold of my sarong, I held on to it, not wanting it to blow away.

“Just put your sarong down underneath your towel. You can sit right next to me.”

I tried to look around and tried to cover myself with my towel and remove my sarong, but with the wind blowing at the edge of the water, there was no way that I was going to be able to do this with any kind of grace.

“Don’t be embarrassed by your body,” the woman said. “Everyone is naked here. No one is going to judge you.”

I nodded to show that I heard her and pulled off my shirt. I held onto my sarong and let the wind claim it. The wind pulled the sarong from my body, and I stood there for a moment, completely naked and free. I could feel the wind moving through my hair and I raised my arms, letting myself feel the current of air that was all around me. My sarong flapped in the wind and streamed out behind me in the air. At that moment, I was filled with a fantastic kind of freedom. My heartbeat as if I were riding into the wind and I felt like nothing could stop me.

I opened my eyes and though I felt eyes on me, no one was yelling in horror or shock. I let myself smile a bit and sat down beside the woman. “My name’s Daphne,” she said, holding out her hand. “Merry meet.”

I shook her hand. “My name is Jamieson, merry meet.”

“Merry meet again.” She looked at my little bag of personals. “Now bathing in the water is easy. All you need to do it soap up first and then dunk yourself in the water.”

I moved to the side of the rockface, and I paused for a moment to let the sun touch my skin. It was freeing and the wind felt fantastic on my skin. I slid into the water, letting out a small yell of joy at the coldness of the morning water.  I dunked my head under water and climbed back up onto the rockface to soap up. We had to use only biodegradable soap, shampoo and conditioner to protect the water. I soaped up as quickly as I could. It was colder out of the water, but the sun did feel amazing. I slid off the rockface again and made sure to dunk my head again and sluice off the soap from my body. I hung off the rockface so that I could put conditioner in my hair and then dunked my head again.

I pulled myself out the water one last time and lay on my towel beside Daphne. I let the sun shine down on me and I felt a soft breeze cares my skin. It didn’t occur to me to hide my nudity. In that moment, cleaned and blessed by the water, I let the sun and wind roll over my skin.

It felt like the wind was trying to pull me forward to something greater. I could feel the wind pulling at me as if it were impatient for me to start down a new path. I knew that I was right where I needed to be for now.

I knew that I would eventually need to make a move in a new direction, but I was right where I needed to be. Daphne handed me a lit cigarette, and I watched the wind pull the smoke into the blue ether of the sky.

“Come on,” Daphne said. “Let’s go to the morning circle. I can help you up the rocks, too.”

Instead of being embarrassed that she had seen my difficult walk down to the water, I took her hand when she held it out for me. I didn’t know where the path I was on would lead me, but I embraced the wind and let it carry me forward. Standing, I threw on my sarong, grabbed my tumbler of coffee and prepared to lose myself in the forest, the wind causing the leaves around us to whisper as we moved forward to what would come.

Chapter Fifty-Eight – 10 of Swords

by Jamieson Wolf, posted in A Tarot Guide, Finding Balance, Memoir, Personal Growth, Someone Else’s Life

That night, I found myself by the fire.

We had set up our tents and cooked our food. It was a communal affair, people that Lisa and Sophie knew stopping by the fire to say hello and share food. Others would come and share their mead with us or a cigarette. The sound of fires crackling mingled with the low music of people talking. The fire of voices could be heard as everyone enjoyed their food and the joy of being together.

It was unlike any experience with food I’ve ever had. Normally, food was a means to an end to fill a void when I noticed that it was there. I had gotten so used to not eating enough. I didn’t need to. This was the first time that I realized food could be healing. More than the food, it was the people who made it and shared it with us. We shared with those that stopped by our campsite. It wasn’t much, just a spare piece of chicken or a toasted bun, perhaps a cigarette to help the words flow past the lips, but that wasn’t the point.

Every meal was like this, the entire camp taking the time to really eat, share and palaver. With each meal, a part of me was able to let go of one of the bricks that I carried with me. I watched as each person that sought use out and shared food with us took a brick from my wall. Each would make something different with the bricks; in their hand, one of the pieces of my wall would become a piece of food to give to another, or a cigarette that would send the smoke to the sky that was darkening as the day went on.

I watched as stars began to appear and I had never seen them shine so brightly. Living in the city, I could see them, but a lot of the time there was this film of fog over them. Here, in the arms of nature, the stars could show me how beautiful they really were. I don’t know if it was the lack of pollution or the magic in the air, but the stars were lit from within. They were jewels in the sky and thought I would be able to just reach up into the black velvet sky and pluck one to keep with me.

I could smell fire.  Lisa tool hold of my hand and said two words. “It’s time.”

I knew that she spoke of the fire. She had told me all about it as we planned and packed and during the ride up in the car to the island. “It’s this primal force, Jamieson. Imagine a fire as big fire, at least twenty feet across. Hundreds of people dancing around it as groups of others play their drums! Picture it, Jamieson! You have never seen anything like it!”

And indeed, I hadn’t. Though Lisa, Sophie, Fox and Jenn had given me their impressions of the fire, nothing could have prepared me for what I saw as we rounded the turn in the dirt path and came upon the fire. It seemed bigger than what I had imagined, impossibly big and I could see sparks that filled up the night sky, dancing with the stars.

I could hear a wind that spoke higher than the fire. It called to me, welcomed me to fire and the flames danced higher as the breeze took hold of the flames. I was pulled by it into the crowd of people already circling the fire. They had painted their bodies with sparkly paint, draped feathers in their hair and had hung bells around their necks and writs. One woman had painted over her nipples with red and gold sparkles. She had red hair and it reflected the actual flames in front of her it looked as if her hair was made of fire. She held out a hand to and I took it. I took it, knowing that I was making a choice.

I took her hand, knowing that it would leave me changed. I didn’t want to run from myself anymore. The smoke, flame and the music of people’s voices were a music to me that was soon joined by the sound of more drums. I swirled into the flow of the people, the light turning all of us into spirits, made of wind, fire and flame. The light transformed mc in that moment; as I danced, I moved with the others and let myself feel the thrill of the music. I danced and moved with the others, others singing out loud with the music, filling the air with magic and sound.

I lost myself to the beat and the thrum of the drums, the feeling of the air moving around me. I let myself be free of the weight I was carrying and the need to keep myself separate from everyone else as if there was something wrong with me. Someone handed me a bottle of mead, and I took a health swig of the liquid before handing it back with thanks.

I danced so that I could be free enough to fly. I gave myself over to the air and release what was holding me back. I let my mind go and soon, there was only the dance and the beat that moved me. Looking up into the night sky, I saw the stars playing hide and seek with the smoke from the fire and I knew that I would be okay.

Chapter Fifty – Ace of Swords

by Jamieson Wolf, posted in A Tarot Guide, Memoir, Someone Else’s Life

I had given the pages to Lisa ten minutes before, and I’d already had two cigarettes.

I hadn’t written a short story for such a long time. I had filled page after page with poetry, bit and pieces of dialogue, but I hadn’t written anything close to a short story since my days in high school. I hadn’t felt that I had anything to say as a story, but there were too many words in my mind, too many syllables sneaking past my lips that I had to find a way to get them out of me.

A story seemed like a good way to use as many words and letters as possible so that I could relieve the pressure that even poetry couldn’t ease. For every word I put down, ten more came to the surface. They didn’t fit in my poems, and it was as if these words found the form of poetry too confining, all shoved into form and shape. When I wrote poetry, I tried to follow the flow of the poem and convey what I wanted to say in as few words as possible. These words felt different. I could hear conversations between two people, and I knew that those words didn’t belong in a poem.

I needed to cut through the cloud of words if I was to get any kind of peace. Opening my current journal, I wrote the first thing that came to mind. It was a short story about a boy named Oliver that didn’t believe in magic, and yet magic was all around him. A troll showed up under his bed and the troll had a flatulence problem and kept farting throughout the story. When I was writing the story, I wrote what wanted to come out and had a fantastic time. Yet, when the story was done, I thought it was silly and stupid. Part of me had been reluctant to show it to Lisa, but she had seen me scribbling away and she wanted to know what I had written.

“You know, this is as good as Charles de Lint,” she said.

I blushed and mumbled my thanks, trying to find words that could express my joy at having Lisa compare my story to Charles de Lint. I knew that she meant it, too and how much she revered his work. Both Lisa and I loved Charles de Lint. My biggest influences for wanting to write in the first place were authors like Stephen King, Tanya Huff and Charles de Lint. I wanted to tell my own stories, but I didn’t think I had anything new to say. Lisa had pushed aside my worries. “Jamieson, every story has been told already. You just have to find your voice and tell you own.”

“If every story has already been told, then why would anyone want to read my writing?” I had asked her.

“Because they will have been waiting to hear what you have to say.”

I hadn’t been so sure, but I had sat down and written my story anyways, regardless of what the internal critic yelled at me. When I got to the end of Oliver and the Trolls, I wrote down the beginning of a new short story. I didn’t know where the words were coming from, but I didn’t want to stop their flow. As Lisa had sat there reading my story and flipping through the pages, I had told myself that even if she didn’t like it, I would keep writing. I knew that I had a story to tell.

“Seriously, Jamieson. I mean it. I mean, I love your poetry but it’s all dark and moody. This story is the first time that I’ve read something of yours that’s funny. I mean, you’re a brilliant poet and I love the spells you write, but this is the first time that you’ve done something funny. It’s so good. You got dark and full of shadows down pat, but I think you have a real gift with humour.”

That surprised me. Up until I had written the story, I hadn’t even thought of writing something funny, but it’s what came out. “I wanted to write about a boy discovering magic,” I said. “There’s no reason that magic has to be huge and terrifying. It’s all around us if we have the eyes to look.”

“Jamieson, the biggest magic in the world if laughter. I know that this story will make people laugh and there is so much magic in that. You need to try writing more. What happens to Oliver next?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, why not find out?” She clicked open her lighter and lit a cigarette for each of us and passed one to me. “I know that all artistic folk like you exist on another plain from the rest of us, you have to in order to hear what you do and be so driven to create. But I’m glad you cut through the doom and gloom a little and found your voice.”

She took a puff of her cigarette and let out a huge plume of smoke and I couldn’t help being reminded of the caterpillar from Alice and Wonderland who spouted wisdom in the form of a riddle. I wondered if I had finally found my voice, or at least another facet of it.

I thought of Alice going down the rabbit hole and I knew that by cutting through the fog of self doubt and writing something different from what I was used to, I was going down my own rabbit hole.

I wondered who I would be when I found my way out on the other side.

Chapter Forty-Nine – King of Cups

by Jamieson Wolf, posted in A Tarot Guide, Finding Balance, Memoir, Someone Else’s Life

I knew that I had given almost all my heart to Francis.

Some of it remained to love others in my life, but he held so much of me in his hands. Francis had taught me to love completely. I had never done this before and I struggled against it, but the longer we were together, the easier it was to love with my whole heart. We had been together for a few months now and in that time, Francis had helped me to rewrite what I thought love was.

We would talk late at night about what we wanted to do with our lives, the smoke from our cigarettes entwining and dancing between us. In every fantasy, we were together. It was wonderful to have such comfort with someone else and be completely myself.  Francis encouraged me to be my complete self and not hide who I was from anyone. “You’re so easy to love, Jamieson. It would be easier if you let people in.”

I shook my head. “It’s easier this way,” I said. “The less people that see the true me, the less people that will hurt me.”

“I know you were hurt before.” He took my hand in his. I had told him about growing up in an abusive family and how I was always the one to try and keep the peace, so I got hurt the most. I told Francis almost all the things my father had done to me. There were things that I could not tell the man I loved the most. I was completely myself with Francis, but I could not tell him everything that had shaped me. I thought he would look at me with disgust if he knew everything.

“You don’t have to carry it with you,” he said gently. “You can let it go.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think I can. I don’t know how.”

“I can see the pain when I look into your eyes. You’re far too young to be carrying so much pain.”

“I don’t know what to do with it.” I told him. “It’s like it’s all entwined?” I motioned at my head and my heart. “Like the dark seeds that were planted in my head have bloomed dark flowers.” I held my hands upward on either side of my head.  “I’m sorry, that doesn’t make much sense.”

“It does,” he said. “You need to find a way to uproot the dark, Jamieson.”

That sounded ominous, like playing with shadows in the darkness where they could bite. I looked into his eyes at and for the first time in a long time, the sea that was always riling and turbulent within Francis’ eyes was still. The sea looked calm and still. He had been able to overcome the waves.

I wondered what kind of choice Francis had made for himself. I don’t know why that occurred to me, but it seemed like when I looked at him now, Francis seemed like he had been able to shuck off his own sadness. There had always been a light that shone brightly, but now when I looked into hie eyes, I could see the light of dusk as it hit the waves, carrying the glow into the night.

When we held each other that night, there was a deeper softness to his touch. I could hear the wind that still made the waves move within him. It took me a moment to realize that I could feel the wind within myself, that every time the breeze from the ocean that was inside Francis pushed the waves, I could feel the air enter me. I had never felt so alive, and I wanted to fly to where the wind wanted to take me. As I fell asleep beside Francis, I could hear the water and the air as they travelled over the water. I tried to hear what they were whispering to me, but the waves soon lulled me to sleep.

When sleep came, I let the wind take me.

Chapter Thirty-Two – The Prince of Wands

by Jamieson Wolf, posted in A Tarot Guide, Finding Balance, Memoir

Lisa thought the perfect time for me to meet Francis would be at the next Pagan get together.

“It’s like a dance party talent show,” she told me with a twinkle in her eyes. “I told Francis all about you and now you two can meet and heal your wounds a little.”

“I don’t see why all of this is necessary,” I told her.

“Because you’re too afraid to think of how it might help in the future. You’re so focused on the now. You’re too much in the moment.”

“That’s all I have.” I said. “Thinking that way has always done me well.”

“You need to think of the possibilities,” Lisa told me. “You can’t just stay in the now. You’re going to miss something if you do.”

She told me that I had to think of a talent. “You were in drama, right? So how about you do a monologue? That could be fun.”

In truth, I had loved dramatic arts, and I loved to write monologues. They were a solo performance or speech that was supposed to bring you into the moment and make you feel something. They were also done on their own, so it suited me fine when I was in dramatic arts in high school or theatre classes in university. I loved the singleness of them; I was able to be on stage and I didn’t need to depend on anyone else to learn their lines. Plus, the light shone on me. I could be in the spotlight if I was someone else.

“Why don’t you do a monologue about the misunderstandings that people have about being Pagan? That could be a fun angle.”

I decided to run with the idea and began writing things I’d like to say in my piece. I knew that others would be singing, telling jokes, reding a story they had written, that kind of thing. The event raised money for an online chat board. I didn’t have a computer and had not been on the internet for years, so I had never used it. However, I thought of what Lisa had said about putting myself out there and living for a bit. I thought of The Hermit card the tarot and I thought I had been charging my light for too long.

It I looked at it within me, I could see clear across the forest to the fields beyond. Every blade of grass in the garden of my mind was as clear as day. I was tired of keeping my light in the darkness and shadows because I was afraid of being seen. I had to let the light out eventually. I used to love being watched on stage, the laughter that my part would create or the fear and joy. I loved being able to create emotions in other people and I don’t know when that joy stopped for me. What Lisa was asking me to do was to step out of the shadows and to let my light shine.

I was terrified of speaking in front of other people again, of being seen, but I also wanted to be seen. I couldn’t hide forever. I tried to think of what I would say about Paganism and thought that going at it from a funny angle would be best. I loved comedy, so I would do my monologue from a place of humour. Once I had a focus, it was like the words came pouring out of me. I filled page after page with words and once that was done, I read them over and saw some things I liked and some I didn’t.

Though I had always written, I hadn’t written a play or a scene for years. I loved the shaping of the words and it was like I was trying to find my way again. I went out for a break and a cigarette and took my pages with me. Lisa was already outside and she handed me a smoke. “What do you got?”

“I think I have something.” I said.

“Do you feel like practicing?” Lisa asked me.

I read out a little bit of my piece and was surprised when Lisa laughed. I looked up at her shocked.

“Don’t look at me like a deer in the headlights. That was funny! You’ve got this, Jamieson. You have to start believing in yourself, but your young yet.” She took a drag off her cigarette. “You’ve got time. You can’t be afraid to shine, Jamieson. You have to hold your head up high and not hide yourself. You shine too brightly for that.”

I shook my head. “I don’t though.”

“Don’t what?”

“Shine.” I said. “I don’t shine.”

“You should if you let yourself.” She butted out her cigarette. “Come on, let’s hear it again. This time, don’t be so hesitant. Lean into the jokes. You’ve written something really great here. We can trim it back so that it works better.”

I thought of the opportunity to shine underneath the comfort of a light again and nodded, looking down at my words and tried to let my light shine brighter with each word I spoke. I could no longer be afraid of myself.