Tag: life

Chapter Thirty-Nine – 4 of Cups

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

I found it difficult to sleep that night.

The pallet of foam beneath me felt like it was a cloud it felt as if I were moving all night, trying to find my way through the caves and caverns of dreamland. I felt like there was too much light within me. I wasn’t able to close my eyes against its brilliance.

There was a riot of emotions running through me and it almost felt like too much, the pull of the water within me too strong. I wasn’t used to feeling so much about someone. Even though I physically wanted someone, my emotions had long been turned off when it came to love. I dreamed about love, about the possibility of love and I’d wanted it for so long. It was impossible to think that I loved Francis already, but I knew the possibility of love was there, if I wanted it.

I twisted and turned and eventually let myself not sleep but dream. The only problem with dreams is that they don’t always go where you want them to go. In my half-sleep state, I dreamed of every boyfriend I’d ever had. By the time I could see the sun rising through Lisa’s bedroom window, I half convinced myself that the whole thing had been some kind of practical joke that had been played on me.

I just wasn’t convinced that any man could want me that much. My mind took me in all sorts of directions from wonder (I can’t believe that this happened to me!), to fear (what if he didn’t mean anything he had said?) and disbelief (he didn’t want me and there was no real connection). I had a world of voices in my head telling me that I wasn’t good enough for Francis. It was easy to ignore what they were saying if it was just one voice, but a whole chorus of them had almost convinced me that nothing had really happened by the time I got up and went to Lisa’s kitchen to start making a pot of coffee.

As I stood there waiting for the pot to brew, I gave my head a good shake. The chorus gave a loud scream in my mind as they scattered. It would be a while until they regrouped. I grabbed myself a mug, poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table so that I could light a cigarette. The smoke helped to clear my mind, too.

I didn’t know what to do, when I was going to speak to him or what would happen. I thought of taking up my tarot deck and seeing what the cards hat to say, but for once I didn’t want to know. I really just wanted to enjoy what I had experienced last night before my mind returned to push it away again. I wanted to remember the joy of it and how for one night I had felt special.

Lisa’s roommate Frank walked into the kitchen. “I thought I smelled coffee. Thanks man,” he said. Pouring himself a cup of black coffee, he sat at the table and lit a cigarette. “I know that look.”

“What look?” I asked.

“The look of someone who has a good thing and is trying to convince himself that it’s not worth it, he’ll just get hurt.”

I sat down and took hold of my own coffee. “Is it that obvious?”

Letting out a laugh, he gave me a knowing look. “Trust me, I’ve worn that look in the mirror lots of times.” Frank looked lost and his eyes. When he looked at me again, he seemed both in the room with me and lost in memories. “Don’t do what I do. I always run and convince myself that it would turn out horribly.” He let out a snort of laughter that loosened the lost look in his eyes. “It is horrible. I’m always alone.” He puffed out a plume of smoke. “I saw that kiss, Jamieson. I wouldn’t be walking away from that.”

My pager let out a beep. Looking down at the display, I saw it was Francis’ number. I checked my pocket for a quarter, grabbed my bag and made my way to Bronson and found a payphone there. I took a deep breath and said a prayer to the gods that this call would go well and that maybe, just maybe, Francis had been thinking about me as much as I was thinking about him. I dialed his number and Francis picked up after the first ring.

“Hello!”

Even his voice over the phone made my body feel warm. “Hi!” I said. I wasn’t thinking about trying to sound cool and composed. I closed my eyes cringing in case he said there was a mistake and that there was no way he could ever be with me.

“I’ve been thinking about you non-stop. Your ears must have been on fire this morning.”

“More like my whole body,” I said without thinking.

“Mine, too.” He said. “It’s like you’ve woken me up from a long sleep. Are you doing anything right now?”

“No,” I said. “I’m not busy with anything.”

“Can you come and see me? I would offer to pick you up, but I don’t have a car.”

“It’s okay, I have bus fare.”

“Okay, take the 85.” He said. He gave me the address and I knew where it was along the bus route. “I’ll come and meet you at the bus stop and we can walk back to my place. Would that be okay? I really want to talk to you some more. It seemed like we didn’t get enough time last night.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“Good, that’s good.” He sounded as nervous as I felt.

“There’s an 85 coming down the street now. I can hop on and be there in about fifteen.”

“That’s amazing. I’ll see you soon, Jamieson.”

I hung up the phone and ran across the street so that I could catch the bus. I hopped on and thought about what I would find when I got there. Would Francis capture my attention just as much as he had when we had met?

I was betting on yes. I sat there with my bag on my lap, too nervous and keyed up to read. I just sat waiting for my stop, wondering what awaited me on this path that I had chosen not to turn away from.

Chapter Thirty-Seven – 2 of Cups

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

We talked well into the night.

Francis’ roommate Stacey came back and placed two purses and her beer on the bar between Francis and myself. “You lovebirds okay to watch our purses?” she said. “Lisa and I are going to dance and it looks like you two have a lot more to talk about.” She gave Francis a coy smile as she walked away and held up both thumbs.

Francis flushed and smiled at her. “Go on and dance,”

I shook my head a little. “What was the thumbs up about?”

The blush on Francis’ cheeks deepened and he held up his beer to clink his bottle against mine. “Thank you for this,” he said.

“For what?” I asked him. I found it odd that he would want to thank me for anything.

“I don’t have to speak about it with you,” he said. “You have no idea how annoying it is to have introduce themselves and then ask if any of the rumours are true. I didn’t have to explain myself to you, you have already experienced the same trauma.”

I shook my head again. “Lisa said that your assault was worse than mine,” I told him.

“Don’t you see? It’s not about whose experience was worse than who’s. The fact is that you already understand the pain.” He waved his hand at the people in the bar, the smoke from his cigarette like a lasso looping them all together. “The rest of them want to imagine how bad it was so that they can quantify it, make it into something they can understand.” He said. “I don’t have to do that with you, Jamieson. You’ve already felt the kind of pain that I’ve experienced. You don’t know what kind of a relief that is.”

I looked into is eyes so that he would understand me. “I’ve only told Lisa,” I said in a shameful whisper. “She’s the only one that knows.”

“So? At least you’ve told someone. And now, both Lisa and I know, the three of us. There is magic in the number three. To me, they are like joy and from that joy is the seed to start again.”

I don’t know why the prospect of others knowing my shame and not being judged for it or being seen as weak brought me joy, but it did. The fact that Lisa and now Francis knew what had happened to me and didn’t see me as someone to be pitied brought me out of my shame a bit. In that moment, I realized that it had not been something I had asked for. It had been something that had been done to me. Something had been taken, I had not given it. I stood there looking at Francis and wondered why the world seemed so much clearer when I was by his side.

I was still frantic from my win and the energy between Francis and I felt like it was electric, as if there were strings of lightning between us that I could not see but could certainly feel. I felt things within me that I had assumed would be gone forever. Every time he touched my hand or brushed a finger along my palm, I could feel the heat begging for release of some kind. The connection between us was strong. I did wonder briefly about a connection made because of pain. In that moment, I wondered if the connection was so strong because we both wanted to find joy, so we found it in each other.

The music switched from a song with flutes and started playing a remix of Fuck You Like An Animal by Nine Inch Nails started playing. It was one of my favourite songs and I could feel the beat running through me. I wanted to lose myself in the music. Up until recently, the worlds that I found in books and the lyrics in songs and music hadn’t ever judged me. They gave me a place where I belonged.

I went out on to that dance floor and I knew that I didn’t look like anyone else. I was wearing a loud purple tshirt with a green sweater vest, white jeans and scuffed Doc Martin’s. I was the epitome of nervousness and uncertainty and as I walked toward the dance floor, I could feel Francis’ eyes on me. The intensity of his stare made me lose myself in the music even more and I let the beats of the song pull me away from myself. I lost myself in the moment and didn’t think about how I looked, what Francis thought and tried to ignore the fact that he was still watching. I didn’t care whether I was elegant or refined in my movements, I just let the music dictate how I had to dance.

I kept moving until the song came to an ending and opened my eyes. The first thing I saw was Francis and it was to him that I walked towards, even feeling like I was being pulled to him. There was no way to stop, I wouldn’t have if I could have tried. I got to him and he put his arms around me. “That was some mating dance you just did,” he said and then his lips were upon mine and the whole world stood still.

Nothing else mattered at that moment but Francis and his embrace and I happily lost and found myself as I gave in to the kiss. The air around us was silent but I could feel the beat of the music and our hearts running through me and I was alive with it. I had read and watched moments like this, but I never expected to experience one. Connections between two people like this only happened in books, movies and television and here I was having one in real life. This had to be real, I thought. This had to be real, only nothing like this ever happened to me.

When the kiss broke and the sound returned, we pulled apart and just looked into each other. All I could see were the rushing waters in his eyes and I wondered if my eyes looked full of wonder, too?

“Well, this is a nice surprise,” he said.

I had to agree. Even though we didn’t kiss again that night, it felt like a decision had been made between us. I gave him the number for my pager and felt a thrill when he placed the number in his wallet. “I’ll call you.”

I nodded, trying to swallow my heart and keep myself from giving it to him right away. I needed to keep my heart to myself tonight so that I could relive every moment. Even if nothing else ever happened between Francis and myself, I had to know that this night happened.

I had to believe that wishes did come true.

Chapter Thirty-Six – Ace of Cups

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

I wanted to open my heart to him right away.

I had never felt so seen. We had barely spoken to each other, but I knew he felt this way, too. In that moment, I wondered if there was something about the trauma that we had both experienced and if so, that was okay. Like recognized like.

At the same time, I knew that things were shifting. We both wanted to know each other. I thought that in some way, we could heal each other. That was at the back of my head when I looked at him, but at the forefront there was this surety that this was right, that we were right for each other. It wasn’t even a question, it simply was. He got me another drink as we watched people regale us with their talents. One man did stand up comedy and garnered a few chuckles. Another woman, Elena, she sang with her guitar. Her song was about a bird that had flown up to the heavens only to find out that their place was here on the ground.

Then it was my turn. I gave Francis a nervous shrug. “You’ll do fine,” he said. He took my hand in his and squeezed it for a brief moment as it to propel me on. I knew that I could do this but having him believe in my helped a lot. It had taken so much to find myself within the words written on paper, it was another thing to speak them out loud.

“Thank you,” I said into he microphone.

I looked around at everyone and experienced the slightest moment of panic, but then I felt Francis’ gaze on the back of my head and it was a comfort to know that he was watching. “I came out to my parents a few months ago,” I said. “When I told them that I was Pagan, they were so shocked. After them calmed down, my mother patted my hand and told me: ‘Well it’s okay if you need to sacrifice anything darling. Just do it on Sundays because the maid comes on Mondays, that’s a dear.’”

There was an eruption around the room, and I took comfort from the joy that came from that laughter. I was able to look at everyone and not from the notes that were in my hand. I was actually smiling.  “My father was really confused about it at all at first. Finally, he nodded, giving his approval. He was like ‘Well, son, if you need to play light as a feather, thick as a board, that’s okay with me. I can tell you a thing or two about different kinds of wood.’”

The crowd roared and I felt elated that something I had written had been able to evoke such a response. I let out a snort of laugher that reverberated around the room because I still had my mouth near the microphone and the laughter increased. I thought it was now or never, I only had the one joke left and I hope that it would go over as well as the snort.

“I told some more of other friends that I was Pagan and I had one of them make a disgusted face. ‘Look,’ they said. ‘I know that a lot of you like to be naked all the time and I have no judgement on that. But all I ask is that you wear clothes at dinner, okay?’”

I marveled that this crowd of people were looking at me with joy and light and not looking at me like I was someone to be pitied or looked at as a project to fix. I had often been made to feel like Quasimodo because of my disability and sexuality. But at that moment, I didn’t feel like that at all and the feeling that was running through me was just so fucking euphoric. At that moment, I felt like I was beyond my body and my spirit was full.

I did a little bow and went back to Francis, who handed me a new beer. “A herald to the victor,” he told me and the image of the Six of Wands slipped into my head. I had always been the one fighting for everything in my life. It felt wonderful to be considered a victor.

I accepted the beer, and we brought our bottles together. The resounding clink was like a bell that rang through the air between us. He looked at me and gave me a smile that just seemed to make everything in my world fall into place. I had no idea of the journey that the bell would signal for either of us, but I was here for the ride.

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.

Chapter Thirty-One – 10 of Wands

by Jamieson Wolf, posted in A Tarot Guide, Memoir

Content Warning: This chapter deals with the subject and details of a sexual assault.

The house was always filled with other people.

Lisa’s stepson Paul was helpful but was lost in the woes of being young and misunderstood. Her roommate Frank was a tall thin man with a long goatee and coke bottle lenses in his glasses so that it looked his eyes were mere like shiny green beetles. His hair was frazzled and I wondered if he exited merely on coffee and cigarettes. Lisa’s boyfriend Carl visited fairly often and I wasn’t sure how well they got along. It looked to me like he was trying to hold on to flame and wasn’t sure what to do with the bright fire.

There were always people coming over and they would stay for a coffee or sit with Lisa in her backyard smoking cigarettes or pot. Sometimes, song would break out when someone started to sing, or the music of laugher blessed the air. Lisa’s home was a place of freedom and there were a lot of people that felt as comfortable there as I did. Her home was an ever-moving tapestry of people, and it was hard finding a moment alone, if at all.

I read a lot and ventured into the solace of words to get some private time. I found comfort in books by Charles de Lint, Christopher Moore, Anne Rice, Stephen King and Tanya Huff. My reading tastes had no boundaries, and I read everything that I could. When I read, I could find solace in a world that held so much, and I didn’t know how to find my place in it.

If the days were filled with people, the evenings were more so. Paul would bring by his girlfriends, Frank sometimes brought someone over and if Carl was staying the night, I would sleep on the couch so that Lisa and Carl could share her bedroom. I tried to cocoon myself as much as I could. I spent a lot of time with the other people that came by Lisa’s, but I cherished the moments that I spent alone within another world contained in pages of a book, or staring up at the night sky and wondering about the journey that the stars had taken so that we could see them.

One evening, Lisa and I actually found ourselves alone. The sky was dark, and the night was warm. We were both smoking a cigarette and reading our books in the light from the kitchen. The air was warm against my skin, and I relished the silence of the night, only broken by the sound of a nearby mosquito.

I could feel Lisa’s eyes on me and I turned to face her. I could tell from the set of her gaze that she was about to ask a very serious question. She had that kind of face that always told me where the conversation was about to turn. I admired that about her. Lisa never thought to hide anything of herself from me.

“I’m going to ask you a serious question and I hope you aren’t offended. I know we’ve talked about it a little here and there, but never full out in the open. I called you a warrior witch when we first met. What battles have you fought? Who drew first blood?”

I shook my head, watching a stray wisp of smoke disappear in front of my eyes. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“You don’t date. You just sleep around, and you don’t look for anything more, or you choose guys that you know are bad for you.” I’d been wondering when she would bring this up. I had told her about what had happened with Shades. “What gives?”

I think it was those two simple words which were able to break open the dam that I had kept under lock and key for such a long time. In that moment, I took a breath and looked at the smoke rising from my cigarette as it floated into the sky and away from me.

“It’s easier that way.” I told her. “I came out of the closet when I went to university, did I ever tell you that? I finally felt like I was free to be myself away from everyone that had know me and had expectations of the way I should live my life.”

I couldn’t look at Lisa. I knew that if I did, the spell would be broken and the words would dry up, too afraid to be seen as well as heard. I knew that if I wanted the words to come out, I had to look away. “It was the first guy I ever went on a date with. The first date went well. He took me out for coffee. His name was Mickey, and he was hairdresser. We talked about art and creativity, and we really clicked.”

Lisa didn’t anything, but she put her hand on my right knee to comfort me. In her own way, Lisa was letting me know that it was okay, that my words were safe here shared between the two of us and the comfort of the night. “He picked me up for a second date and he took me to his friend Wendy’s place. He kept giving me beer to drink and I was having fun. The fun took a hiccup when I blacked out for a bit. I remember Mickey picking me up off the floor and he took me into the hallway to walk it off.”

I could feel Lisa’s hand getting warmer. I took comfort from that warmth, and it made the cold I felt from that long ago night that I still carried with me lessen a little bit. It was as if she were trying to fight against the ferocity of the memory with the power of her touch. “I don’t know how, but we ended up in the stairwell. He was kissing my neck and then he turned me around, so I was facing the wall and pulled down my pants. I was so out of it, but I had enough sense to ask him what he was doing. He told me he was going to fuck me.”

I let those words hang in the air for a moment. I had never told anyone this before, had never spoken of what had happened to send me into the downward spiral that I had went through during my time at university. I hadn’t talked to any of the therapists or my friends and family. I held onto the shame so that it was mine alone.

“Afterward, we walked back into the apartment, and everyone was whistling at us and I couldn’t help grinning. It was only later that night as I lay in bed in my dorm room that I realized I had been raped.”

I heard the click of a lighter and Lisa passed me another cigarette. Mine had gone to ash. I flicked the butt into the ashtray and took the new cigarette. I drew in a breath of smoke and let it go free. I knew that tears marked my face, I could feel the wetness on my cheeks. Lisa squeezed my knee.

“You really have to meet my friend Francis. He’s gay and he was a rape victim, too. Sometimes, it’s good to talk about what happened to you with someone else who understands what it’s like, you know? You can help each other heal.”

We were silent after that with only the sound of the mosquitoes and the meow of a stray cat from across the street to fill the absence of sound.