Tag: Tarot Reading

Chapter Forty-Four – 9 of Cups

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

I looked around myself a lot.

I was always trying to find my place in the world. I finally felt like I had a family of a sort made up of both people I knew from the streets and the Pagan community. My life had gone from having no one to being abundant with people I considered family of the heart.

I was so used to hiding who I was. However,  since I had ended up on the streets, I had met so many people that welcomed me as one of their own. I still found it odd to realize that I knew so many people that wanted to know me. I carried a lot of self-hatred, both from my childhood and there was a small part of me that wondered who would want me?

It turned out that a lot of people did. Sophie had weekly dinners for a bunch of her Pagan friends. We would bring ourselves and meet at her house in Lebreton Flats. It would be a gathering of like minds and kindred spirits. The people gathered in Sophie’s living room changed every once in a while, depending on who was dating who, or who was visiting from out of town. but the core group of us stayed the same. There was Sophie and her boyfriend James, Lisa, Jen. The people I knew were joined by Franny and her boyfriend Michel with Janice and Kyle to round out the group. I was a little shy around the people I didn’t know, but they soon became fast friends.

We would eat potluck style with each of us bringing something different the dinner and we would sit and play games or delve into magic by creating spells or doing rituals. It was the magic that brought us together on a deeper level as you must open yourself up wide to be ready for magic and it brings people closer together. I often wondered if the thrum of magic was something visible, the air would be filled with rainbows and shadow.

I went through a lot of different emotions when I was among these people. There was sadness if someone was going through something difficult and we had to band together to lift the other persons spirits, especially if it meant that one of our group would be leaving us. The people changed over time, but the core group of us remained the same.

I was reminded of the people that I had met on the streets and the kind of family those people had been to me. Looking around the room at these people, I could not deny that I had been lucky enough to find another kind of family and I knew how lucky I was to have these kinds of people around me.

Sitting in amongst a gathering of Druids, Wiccans, Pagans and otherwise, I thought about how my street family may have given me back my body and my Pagan family had given me back my spirit. These people hadn’t known me but had accepted me because they saw my spirit and accepted me completely. The streets may have taught me to protect myself, but this world taught me to be free. It was a juxtaposition that I was still having trouble accepting. However, whenever I felt like I had lost my place, all I had to do was come home to myself and the emotions that my body held.

The people around me were full of emotions and over time, the people that shared in food, joy, sorrow and laughter showed me that I didn’t have to be emotionally cut off. There didn’t need to keep a wall between myself and the emotions that I had been taught to bury down deep within me. I knew that if I didn’t let them out, they would rupture within me. The Pagan community were full of light. There were a few bad apples, you’ll find that in any bunch of people, but everyone was completely open with their emotions. They showed me that while I had to practice ward and sigils to keep myself safe, I was free to share my true emotions with them.

It was an odd experience. I was so closed off from people before and I was being asked to be open. My life was abundant with the people that surrounded me, and the core group of people had my back. I knew that I could be completely myself with these people and it was frightening and wonderful all at once.

I had spent my entire life so far having to keep so much of myself hidden from my parents, family and friends. I couldn’t talk about my disability, the abusive home that I had survived, my sexuality or my gender. There was much that was off limits for me to be able to form lasting relationships with other people and it was exhausting.

Looking around at the people that surrounded me, at Sophie, Lisa, Jen, James, Franny, Michel with Janice and Kyle. We were an odd sort of family, but we were a chosen family together. My life was abundant with so many emotions and that was okay. I didn’t have to hide anything anymore.

Especially from myself. I didn’t want to hold on to so many unnamed emotions. When I got back to Lisa’s that evening, I filled a cup full of water and then wrote the emotions I had been holding onto for so long. I wrote quickly listing off everything I could think of. I wrote about my anger, my self-hatred, my fear of being who I truly was and being completely myself. I filled both sided of the small piece of paper and dunked it in the water.

I watched as the water smudged the ink and softened the paper, making if soft. I swirled the paper until all of it was completely wet. I took the paper out of the water and began to shred  the paper into lots of little pieces until the cup of water looked as if it held wet snow. If I looked into the cup, I could see the letters that had been the words of my emotions, their ink fading even as I looked at them as the water continued to soak into the paper.

Standing, I walked off the back porch towards the edge of the garden. I poured the entire cup of water and paper into the dirt. I watched as the paper settled into the soil and if I tried to spell words with the letters I could see. With each word I spelled, I was making that negative emotion into something else.

I was letting go of the past and finally looking towards the future instead of merely living day by day. I wanted to dream of something more.

Looking down at the letters in the dirt in front of me, I tried to find a word so that I could divine what awaited me in the future.

Chapter Forty-Three – 8 of Cups

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

After the door had opened within Francis, I found myself looking at him more.

It wasn’t that I hadn’t noticed him before. What I think what I was doing was looking at him to see how he reacted to me. What I saw was worrying and I had to remind myself to not put walls or barriers between us.

Before, when he first looked at me, his face had lit up like the stars. Now when he looked at me, I could see him putting his features into a face of joy. There was a moment of worry that covered his face, one of fear and I could see him as he shoved the emotions down within him to greet me with the face he thought I wanted to see.

It pained me and I wondered when he would open up to me.

I noticed that our words, which had flowed freely before, were always spoken from somewhere else, as if Francis were speaking from a place inside of himself. I knew what he was wrestling with, and I tried to get him to talk every so often. I didn’t want to push it. Francis had to be the one to speak and I remembered what happened in the past when I pushed. I usually got hurt.

He kept saying that nothing was wrong, that he was alright, that he was okay. When I asked him if we were okay and that it was okay if he wanted to talk about it, he would kiss me. I wondered if this was to shut me up or to remind himself of the spark that was between us. I began to feel that he justified our relationship during the day or tried to find peace with it. He couldn’t hide from the voices and opinions of others when the sun shone.

During the evenings together, he would sew and stitch with deft fingers. Francis could create magic in mere minutes, conjuring something with style and flair that he would don, looking instantly wonderful. He was always making something sparkly to wear. He had even offered to make me a camo beret trimmed with gold sparkles, or we would work on our nails together while the television played in the background. Often, I would write poetry in one of my journals I always carried with me. During the night, we were most ourselves with each other, free from the expectations and opinions of others. I would read him a poem I had written, or he would show me how to properly take care of my cuticles and how to make sure to get the most even coverage when painting your nails.

During the evening, with the lights down low, we could pretend everything was okay. I didn’t have the words to get him to open up and speak about the emotions that he was carrying. In hindsight, I wasn’t old enough and didn’t know enough of the world to learn the words that I had to say. Not yet. I just tried to comfort him and enjoy the hours spent together feeling whole. The shadows kept us together, the day drove us apart.

Francis couldn’t hide from the truth.

I always picked him up from work. He worked down the street from Lisa’s at a call centre with Stacey. They worked in an older house that had been converted into an office, and they sold subscriptions. Francis and Stacey were always bringing home some kind of bonus or another for how well they had done. It had gotten to the point where a lot of the people knew me and knew that I was Francis’ other half. At first, I had eyes only for Francis when I was there and watched him working, laughing with one of his customers, Francis looking at me the entire time.

As time passed between us, our paths following the flow of water,  I started to notice that he would look away from me while I waited and his coworkers would glance at me with apologetic looks.

After work, he would take my hand, and we would walk to the bus stop so that we could spend the night together. I had begun to carry the unspoken worry during the day, and it weighed on me. I would sit and read, write and worry. I would pour my worry out onto the page, filling the page with my emotions. I didn’t know why I was worried, why it hung so heavy on me, but when Francis took my hand and we headed back to his place, I was able to let all the worry go. Everything was going to be okay, night had come and the smoke from our cigarettes could mingle together as if dancing between us.

At night, I believed in the magic of possibility and the promise of love.

I wrote him poems about speaking and truth, about the words that we kept within us covered up with vines trying to break free, and he would tell me that it was beautiful, that the words just flowed across the page. When he was reading, I could see his eyes widen, but my words didn’t reach deep enough into the well of him so that he could bring up his words so that his tongue could shape them.

He would tell me that he loved me, but slowly, I could see him walking away from me and could feel him putting distance between us. Even though I kept swimming toward him, I was somehow further and further away in the sea that surrounded him.

At night, I believed in the magic of love, and I hoped that it was enough.

Chapter Forty-Two – 7 of Cups

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

Francis and I were at a Pagan brunch when the first seeds of doubt began to find their way into our relationship.

Fox was sitting across from us at our table and there were plates of eggs, toast and bacon in front of us. I was telling Fox about a ceremony that Francis and I had taken part in the other night. I had stood for Air and Francis had stood for Fire as we made the four corners with a small group of other Pagans. A woman we both knew named Anna had wanted to perform a rite for herself and had asked a few of her friends to take part. It had been a wonderful experience performing magic with Francis and I was still elated by the whole experience.

“The room hummed with magic,” I told Fox. Beside me, Francis took my hand and gave it a squeeze. He had felt the magic, too and we had talked about it afterwards.

“Man, Francis. You lucked out with Jamieson, and you really robbed the cradle!” he said with a loud laugh.

Beside me, I could feel Francis freeze and then he removed his hand from mine. Beside Fox, Lisa gave him an angry frown and smacked his shoulder.

“What? What did I say?”

“You’re just fucking clueless, that’s all.” She said. Her tone was sweet, but her eyes were like steel daggers.

Francis chuckled beside me, but there was no humour in it. He waved a hand at Fox, but I saw the shape of a gesture in that wave. Francis’ middle finger was clear in the air in between all four of us before the rest of his fingers popped into view. “It’s alright,” he said. “It’s all right,” he said again. I could tell from the tone of Francis’ voice that it wasn’t alright. There was a grim set to his mouth that I hadn’t seen before. Whenever he looked at me, he was smiling.

After brunch, we took the bus back to his place. We barely spoke on the bus. Our relationship was normally full of conversation. We talked about everything, and Francis never put me down or called me stupid. We were equally fascinated with each other and the life I thought we were building together was one filled with magic, words, music and love. Francis and I were in the process of discovery, and I liked to imagine the path that we were forging together on the surface of the map within my mind. Everyone has a map like this, with roads already traveled and paths yet to be found.

On the map within me, I could see where our paths had converged, and the lines radiating from that point were brighter, drawn in shades of flamingo pink, sunset gold and the brightest cerulean blue. Looking back over the map, some of the lines that were drawn had been jagged and sharp enough to draw blood; a lot of them had. I traced the lines that blossomed like a flower ever since Francis and I had started dating and they flowed like water and air.

Which was I surprised to feel a jagged wall between Francis and myself as we rode back to his apartment. Indeed, there were no words shared. I tried to talk to him and figure out what was wrong, but he just kept shaking his head. We got off the bus and mad our way to his home in silence. No one else was home yet, so we just made our way to his room. I watched the man I love sit on his bed and crumple into himself as if the wall he had been a moment ago had just come tumbling down.

“You must think I’m an idiot, I’m sorry Jamieson. I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” I asked, sitting down beside him on the bed. I was surprised that I didn’t put any walls up. I knew that we were about to have a conversation that I might not like, but I loved Francis so completely that it didn’t occur to me for even a moment to be fearful.

He took my hands in his and they were warm. When Francis raised his head and looked at me, I was surprised to find tears in his eyes. “You’re only six years older than my son.” He let out a sob and I watched a tear slide down his cheek. “I don’t know what to do. What direction do I take?” There was desperation in his voice. “I love you, I know that, and your love is a gift, such a gift and I never thought I would find love again. I thought that I was destined to be alone for the rest of my life, and then you appeared as if sent by the gods. But you’re only six years older than my son.”

I knew that Francis had two children from when he was married before he came out of the closet. I knew that they were still a small part of his life, but we had never talked about them. Our relationship was still so new, and Francis and I hadn’t been together for long, even though our love was deep. He had never brought them up before.

“Well, did you want to talk about it?” I asked. I knew he was hurting over something, and I wanted to help him heal. I loved him so completely that I thought that love could heal anything.

He kissed me softly. “No, I just don’t know what to do. I mean, I’ve gotten lots of comments from people like Fox, but I love you and that goes beyond age. I love your spirit and I’m so happy to be in your glow. I’ve just been in a funk since the brunch. Fox’s comment really got to me.”

“What can I do?” I asked softly. I knew that he was still upset, that Fox’s comment had unlocked something within him. Maybe it had already been unlocked if he had been getting comments from other people about our age difference. I saw nothing wrong with being nineteen and Francis being forty-one. “Tell me what I can do and what you need from me.” I wanted him to know that we could get through this together. When Francis looked at me, I watched him search my face and knew that he was wishing I was a few years older. It had been the first time he had looked at me like that. He had always looked at me and accepted me just as I was and I didn’t see that within his eyes. It was there for a moment and gone in the next.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “You must think I’m an idiot, I’m just being an idiot.”

When he kissed me, there was no hesitancy and no wall between our lips, so I gave into the kiss and let the sound of worry and anguish in his voice fade from my mind, sure that our love wouldn’t falter and that our map would be filled with so many lines, it would look like a spider’s web.

I hoped for this as much as I willed myself to forget.