So I said to myself, “You know, Jess, you’ve already written plenty of stuff that no one’s ever going to see. Why don’t you just make a book of that?”

And I said to myself, “That’s a great idea!”

I’m not sure if I was aware at the time that it was a procrastination technique. It is a great idea! Here you go:

I have years of poetry behind me. Reams of it. One of the most delightful things to write is love poetry, or poetic love letters. I could put it together in a little book, match the poems with three-card readings in which The Lovers is modified by two other cards that would describe the flavor of love in the poem, and I could call it The Lovers— Love Poetry & Tarot Readings. So I began.

 image from the Jean Noblet Tarot

I chose a number of poems then gave them all three-card readings.  Now I am trying to decide how to order them. Meanwhile, I get nervouser and nervouser because— well— these are all virgin love poems. So few of them have been seen by eyes aside from mine! Plus, I have no idea if they hang together well enough to form a book.

Whether or not anyone would actually purchase— let alone read— a book of love poetry is beside the point. I suspect maybe I would give a copy to Martin and a copy to my bestest of friends and then it would just be available on Amazon for random strangers to stumble across in the same manner that one stumbles across a needle in a haystack or an eyelash in a football field. Why, why have I spent my life writing poetry if not to share with the eyes of others? Is poetry merely a masturbatory form of writing?

In my 20s I went through the existential phase of “I write, therefore I exist.” Those things that are written are the things that make history. It was my method of self-manifestation: my Alchemist holds a pen.

Question: If a writer writes and no one is there to read it, does the writer exist?

Answer: Objectively, no. The human who writes does not exist as a “writer” in the eyes of “writer”-label givers unless the words that were written are read.

Someone wrote to me recently: “You would make a good writer.” To which I respond: “You would make a good reader.”

Enough of this existentialism.

Following is a sampler of the most diverse (not the best) of my love poetry and their associated three-card reads. But who would read this stuff? I mean, really. Who would read? Gosh, I hope nobody is reading this…

*   *   *

Expecting W___ in Oaxaca

(Lovers, Star, Knight of Cups)

This country is another world.

My bed is full of chocolate crumbs.

My patio crawls with cockroaches.

On the day you arrive

And ring the brass bell

Before the green gate,

I will sweep the tiles free from ants

And wash between my toes.

*   *   *

Two Verses for P___

(Lovers, 7 of Blades, 2 of Cups & Lovers, 5 of Blades, 4 of Blades)

I.

October—

I did not seek your kisses, mister.

I did not try to learn the way

your whiskers feel upon my neck

And be this as it may:

That I take pleasure in your touch

and would not mind the chance

to explore your navel

to see if I can find the universe inside,

I would give back all knowledge

of your affection

For the pure and simple freedom

found in unencumbered friendship.

II.

November—

The world was so loud in my ears that day,

I could not hear the words you said.

Your lips moved, your body moved,

shirtless, around the cab of that red truck—

but I did not heat the words you said!

I only heard the words you meant to say:

“Get away,

get away—

get—

away.”

*   *   *

I was wanting to kiss someone.

Do you like kisses?

I can send you some.

(Lovers, Alchemist, Page of Cups)

Send me your lips. Send me

the teeth behind your lips,

send the tip of your tongue,

the whiskers on your cheek.

Send an earlobe, the nape of your neck,

some fingertips.

Send the side of your nose,

and I will press mine against it.

I will place my fingers on your neck,

my thumb light against your jaw bone,

my lips on your mouth,

and I will press against your teeth.

Your rough cheek on my smooth cheek,

your hand on my back,

your fingers, the back of my head.

Send breath, and breathe against me.

Send a heartbeat,

and let me place my ear against your chest.

Send me all of you for kissing.

I will kiss.

*   *   *

Yuk!

What is this

“love”

stuff?

Illustrated by Patrick Valenzia

A ball upon a swinging thread

a ball upon a ball— a juggler—

manager of time eternal—

carries no whip.

Time is slave to no one and

disciplined by none—

for discipline is slaved to time.

Time takes its own self— tarries—

then bolts! like a bang! bang!

ball upon a ball—

The juggler bows himself in two.

One fluid focused motion

vaults him on a ball upon a thread

whereon he lifts his mask revealing

time itself— master of us all.

I am the fulfillment of my

desire— having sown

I reap command— command!

and I command myself—

secure as I swing— curled in—

one with the wind— sure

my fortune I have sown—

sure, assured, secure.

—Big Bang Theory—

Exploding past the question—

“Who Am I?”

The Alchemist comes screaming forth—

“I Am!”

Positive meaning:

Search through your bag of tricks to find creative ways to solve problems. Clear your head. Focus. You can do it!

Negative meaning:

Learn the difference between tricks and trickery. Deceit and manipulation do not make up for poor design. Stay grounded, be clear, be true.

Learning to Leave Behind Things that have Ceased to be of Use

The summer of 1993, when I was 20 years old, I exited the Benjamin Rush Recovery center in Syracuse, NY, where I had been an inpatient in the Eating Disorders Unit for five weeks. As much as I hated it there, I was terrified to leave. The remission rate for eating disorders is dismally low.

The previous semester in college I had: received a perfect 4.0 in all classes of my double major of English and Biology including the dreaded biochemistry of which I honestly had little interest; joined the cross-country team, earned myself Rookie-of-the-Year, MVP, and raced the national championships; and published poetry in a snooty magazine. I had also been bulimic, among other things, throwing up between eight and twenty times a day. I was a physiological, psychological disaster.

Upon leaving the recovery center, I moved into a little room with a hole in the wall in a moderately large house in Oswego, NY, where I lived unsupervised by doctors, nurses, and shrinks. I gave myself one allowance and one rule: I could eat any I wanted, as long as I did not throw up.

Change takes a long time.

It was ten years before I allowed myself to say, “Okay, maybe I shouldn’t eat just anything.” Since then, I have been exploring ways to heal and recover through food rather than in spite of food.

I got better.

I think I am getting better.

Anyhow, I thought I was getting better.

I was recently diagnosed with Graves Disease. My visit with the endocrinologist was more or less an explanation of a handful of ways to destroy my disobedient thyroid. Shocking, really, as I feel more-or-less okay other than chronic insomnia and lethargy and stinky farts. Why would I want to get rid of my thyroid? Why can’t we all just get along?

Some people have managed Graves Disease through diet. It means a lot of rules. I wish I had an expert to guide me. Nonetheless, I am going to try.

Healing means:

learning to leave behind behaviors which have ceased to be of any use

and finding new behaviors to fill the void.

Things that can be changed by our actions:

• the nature of one’s self and one’s own actions (this is the most difficult change to enact)
• the appearance of our selves and all things in the world and beyond, both sentient and non-sentient (this happens constantly, both intentionally and unintentionally)
• the psychology or mindset of living things (our actions cause others to have reactions, some of which have lasting repercussions)

Things that can not be changed by our actions:

• the base material of which something is made (we can enable reactions that do so)
• the actions, reactions and beliefs of other people places or things (we can act as catalysts that enable or disable them to change themselves)

VERSES

God, give me grace to accept with serenity

the things that cannot be changed,

Courage to change the things

which should be changed,

and the Wisdom to distinguish

the one from the other.

—as phrased by Reinhold Niebuhr, 1943

For every ailment under the sun

There is a remedy, or there is none;

If there be one, try to find it;

If there be none, never mind it.

—Mother Goose, 1695

WORDS

—from Webster’s New Twentieth Century Dictionary, Unabridged 2nd Edition, 1971

Action

n. The fact or process of doing something; the state of acting or moving; exertion of power or force.

Belief

n. An acceptance of something as true or real; a firmly held opinion or conviction.

Catalyst

n. A substance which either speeds up or slows down a (chemical) reaction, but which itself undergoes no permanent chemical change. [The mechanistic explanation of catalysis is complex.]

Change

v. To make or become different; to transform; to arrive at a fresh phase (moon); to move from one to another; to use another instead of.

Serenity

n. The state of being calm, peaceful, and untroubled. Clearness; brightness.

(to be read aloud, except in the case of parenthesis)

Change.

(inhale)

Let go, let go.

Fill your lungs and then let go.

(bigger inhale)

Let go, let go.

Let go, let go.

Fill your lungs, fill your lungs.

Fill your lungs and then let go.

(biggest inhale)

Let go, let go.

Let go, let go.

Fill your lungs, fill your lungs.

Fill your lungs and then let go.

Let go.

(full release)

(full inhale)

(full release)

(full inhale)

(full release)

(full inhale)

(full release)

(etc., as necessary)

My mother has a highly accurate ability to manifest objects for loved ones.* Often times she does not have to leave the house; she merely has to go to the attic or somesuch location. Otherwise, the objects invariably turn up at garage and estate sales. Generally, a simple object will show up within a year of a serious request. More complex manifestations may take longer, tho I have never known her to fail, except in the case of a butterdish, but that is because she can’t believe I seriously want a butterdish and therefore refuses to manifest it.

One time, she manifested a pot top for a woman clear across the country. She had never seen the exact top to that exact pot before, but within a few months of declaring she would find it, she did. Unfortunately, the top was too small. Fortunately, the woman had another pot that needed that exact top and furthermore, my mother found the correct top shortly thereafter. She has not seen a similar pot top since.

She purchased the glass shelves in this picture for a total of $1.oo without knowing what she would do with them. She bragged about the shelves heartily, so I offered to take them off her hands. They sat in my basement for a year until I realized where they needed to be: housing my tarot deck collection to keep it out of reach of destructive little hands and mouths.

My partner has little patience for manifestation, and some things must simply be purchased new, so we went to the hardware store & bought six black metal brackets for four or five dollars each and a tube of clear silicone and installed the shelves in the living room above the couch. I spread a thin layer of silicone on top of the brackets and let it dry before putting on the glass. It makes a wonderful rubbery barrier. I then put silicone on the bottoms of all the bookends. Delightful stuff. I am very happy with the new setup.

*I believe she can manifest knitting machines and sewing machines and fix them to perfect working condition for anyone.

Gods exist due to our worship in one form or another. [See the moral from Dec. 6th 2013]. That which brings us closer to god— the Hierophant— is that which is able to increase our worship of god [See March 10, 2012]. My preferred form of worship is love, altho some seem to prefer fear. Thus, the illustration was to have been Pan and a nymph, which I’m sure some would have taken as devil worship. Really, the only way one can worship the devil is to place one’s self-pleasure above all else, which is what I’m supposed to have depicted in the Devil. Gods, on the other hand, take many forms. Some have crooked hairy legs and goat horns.

Although I was in love with Pan, I would have been quite happy to have been seduced by any god. Unfortunately, gods stayed away. Fortunately, muses abounded. Unfortunately, at least one of them was strong-headed. I had meant to depict the Hierophant as Pan and an adoring nymph. Somewhere along the line, my muse got ideas of her own and moved my hand to draw a bull-headed, bull-handed man reminiscent of the Minotaur.

The Minotaur is not one of many; thus, one cannot say, “a minotaur.” The Minotaur is a result of a bestial love affair between a snow-white bull and Minos’ wife Pasipha. King Minos was supposed to sacrifice the bull that Posiedon had given him, but Minos really, really liked that bull and decided to sacrifice one of his own in stead. Provoked to great annoyance, Posiedon caused Minos’ wife Pasipha fall in love with the bull. Pasipha hired Daedalus make a wooden cow for her to hide in. The bull was suitably duped— pacified, so to speak. Pasipha became pregnant. She birthed the Minotaur: the taurus (bull) of Minos, a terrifying and destructive monster. Daedalus was again called in, this time by King Minos who ordered him to design a gigantic, intricate and inescapable labyrinth in which to hide Minos’ own shame. For his efforts, Daedalus was rewarded with imprisonment, but that’s a whole other story.

My point is, despite appearances, this is not the Minotaur. My misdirected muse caused me to draw a nice, loving holy man with the head of a sacred bull. I do rather like him, myself.