The Second Sight

by cunningstuff

I really love his pudgy and stalwart nose.

I am not one to harbor superstitions. Born on Halloween, I have a pretty good knowledge of most common superstitions, and a few uncommon ones, but the fact remains, I have illogical thoughts and ideas. I really love talking to the moon, I call it my mother, and I love it when it is full on a clear night over a mountain pass. I get great feelings from such beauty, and I have talked incessantly to her since I was old enough to not be a good christian. When I was out of my boyhood city and traveling about western america, I found tarot to be an equally interesting hobby. I devised my own way of reading, I looked into the Jungian deck and archetypes, read 72 Degrees of Wisdom, played with various decks, and I developed my own style and patterns. I got extremely accurate at it, and I could read publicly, for anyone at anytime. I did this for two decades, hesitatingly starting when I was 16, to having a portable public reading mat with pillows and magnets for windy days. It was a nice source of income when I would travel, and it was fun to read for all sorts of people, but eventually, I got really tired of the same readings for myself. I would set them out, clear my mind, do the inspection and shuffle, and then get the same reading, over and over. I was to go through hell, with a long period of hermitage, and when everything was at its absolute worst, I would turn it around and begin to lead a lifetime of joy. I did not want to go through the worst of times, who does? I do think though, I am ready to start reading them again, and let me explain why.

I will not go on and on about who hurt who, or anything like that, but the worst of the worst happened to me, and it nearly killed me. I dealt with depression so severe, I could barely get up and go to work. I ate and ate, and became morbidly obese, starting arthritis at an early age, gout, and of course, a whole host of problems I probably do not know about. My motivation dropped to zero, and life became a place to eat, sleep, work, eat, sleep, ad nauseam. I stopped creating, writing, playing music, I did nothing but hole up in a fantasy world that consisted mostly of World of Warcraft, Eve Online, and SecondLife. I tried to lose myself completely, and I almost succeeded, except for one thing. I had kept a nice spanish style classical guitar strung up with four strings to resemble a bass. About 7 years ago, my apartment in the basement of a house, well, the house burned down. No one was hurt, some smoke inhalation, and one neighbors dog died, but overall, what could have been the worst tragedy was somewhat averted due to me and another friend who were both up at the time of the fire. We alerted the house apartments, and everyone got out alive. No one smiled about it but me, because I realized, I could make a difference, just being alive, and since no human died that day, it was a great day. When I got moved into another apartment near work, I began to play the guitar a bit.

After the long haul, I took hold of my horrible life and began to make changes, eventually, I got control of my eating, my eternal drinking, and my marijuana habits. The guitar was central to it, people telling me they liked hearing it and that I should continue. I finally kicked alcohol and marijuana some five months ago, and now, I am clean and clear, and I have every intention of staying that way, with a resolve that to be honest, well I don’t even need resolve, I am happier sober than I was drunk and stoned. I met an absolutely beautiful woman who loves me for who I am, and we are engaged to be married in the near future. I am, by proxy of the marriage, also escaping into another country, leaving the dull grey morass of america behind, and going to live in the sun and the wind in a land called Oz. I have at least one reality check a day, because I am in shock still at my good fortune and my honest luck. I have never been lucky in anything, and to suddenly have this poet’s tale of love in my heart, well, it is hard to believe somedays. I have started this new journey as a writer, and I am enjoying it… well… obsessively. I do not think I can do anything else now, or ever, and it is because my beloved encouraged me to try. So, to sum up, the cards were right.

Does it follow thought that it was cards? Does it follow that it was fortune and fate? There is no way I could have predicted meeting my true love, no way I could have predicted falling in love, with such energy and positive light. I know it sounds a bit weak, but it is a truth of me, I need someone to love, and to be loved in return to find my way. I was still quite horrible and half-assed until I met her, but I know that we will be together forever now, and that gives me strength and motivation I have never known in my life. I have always thought that tarot was a good way to put perspective on synchronicity, and now when the meanings of the all the horribleness are clear in hindsight, I think I might want to return to that earlier mode of thought, that one when I was a happy soul, and not so jaded and dark. I get paid in three days, and I expect to put down 25 US on some cards. Even if it is just a parlor trick, I enjoyed the time I spent on it, and I miss my second, and fairly accurate, sight.