There is a story I want to tell.

This might not be surprising to you; I’m a writer, after all. I tell stories all the time. But you see, I transcribe those stories. I don’t invent them myself – the stories come to me when they need to be told and I simply do the telling. This time, though, I want to tell a story that hasn’t come to me first. A story that currently is nothing more than a few wisps of concept; a story with no voice yet, no presence or intention, like a dream I can’t remember at all.

I only know how the story begins (though was that even the beginning, or was it the middle?). I only know the story is about a certain young kitten, called Thomas by the shelter but with a true name in a language far older than English. I know he will go on a difficult journey and face terrible choices. I know Bast will guide him. I know only these things and nothing more. The story won’t unfold for me (yet?), so I conducted a tarot reading to see if I could clarify at least some major aspects of the story. The cards pulled and my interpretations/thoughts are below.

Your character’s primary goal and motivation: SIX OF CUPS. A childhood cut short? Seeking a new family, or trying to get back to the one that was lost? Searching for a place to belong?

Your character’s greatest fear in relation to this goal: EIGHT OF CUPS. Fearing it wasn’t meant to be? Something about the lunar cycle – that inevitable give and take, or death itself? Not wanting to say goodbye?

The internal conflict your character has to conquer along the way: FIVE OF PENTACLES. A lack of faith? Physical health problems? Despair. Needing to let go of the past. Maybe being too attached to the Six of Cups’ idyllic world?

Protagonist: WHEEL OF FORTUNE. Change. Fate. The world will turn and destiny will come whether he is ready or not. Time cannot be stopped; there is no going back.

Antagonist: JUDGEMENT. Hard choices.  Life and death. Rebirth. Fear of regret, leaving, shouldering responsibility. Is this a corporeal antagonist, or is the antagonist his own misgivings?

Theme: TEN OF WANDS. Great responsibility. Help given freely. Owning one’s fate.

Beginning: THE EMPRESS. Mother. Union. Family? Child birth? Is this the beginning of his story, or is there something that comes before him? Is this Bast Herself?

Middle: PAGE OF SWORDS (reversed). Not understanding commitments?  Asking too many questions, coming up with too many excuses. All talk, no action. Being too hasty in decisions?

End: NINE OF SWORDS (reversed). Facing inner fears. Letting go of guilt and regret. Stress and sorrow are easing. Ready to face one’s fate with an open mind and heart. Is this the end of the journey itself, or the beginning?

The reading confirmed some of the nebulous ideas hanging out on the periphery of my mind. Thomas had to leave, for some reason. Not because it was his time, but because he was needed elsewhere. Staying would have been selfish and unfair… but to whom? Who needed him more than we did? For what reason would Bast reclaim one of Her children at so young an age? What was, is, his destiny?



four millennia stretch between us
you with your reed stylus
I with my ink and keyboard
four millennia ago, the goddess whispered in your ear
four millennia later, the dark gods whisper in mine
we are not so different, you and I

we are not so different, you and I
with our poetry and our pleading
our devotion and determination
your words reverberate in my chest
your heartbeats echo through the ages
I pray mine stand the test of time


“Sinister is Saintly”

the walls are ashes
they’re looking for you
peace, peace, peace
in the starred ceiling
you’re not lost but wandering
They are with you
we are with you always
peace in your compass
solace in your vein


If you haven’t noticed, this story is being told by an unreliable narrator. But then again, what does that even mean? If I’m the sole source, the primary source, then isn’t my interpretation the truth? If it’s not, you’ll never know otherwise. Maybe it broke my mother’s heart when I left, abandoning the empire I should have inherited from the man she loved and lost. Maybe my brother gritted his teeth as he prepared to shoulder it all as my shadow finally moved and left him alone in the spotlight. Maybe my father died disappointed in himself for carving me in his likeness, wondering only at the very end who I really was beneath his mirror mask. Who knows? Maybe they tried a hundred times to reach me but gave up when all they struck was my perfect smile. You’ll never know, though, and neither will I. My reality is the story’s reality, and my reality is full of drugs and sex and the hole inside me that nothing seems to fill.


the cards keep telling me to calm down, slow down, take a break, focus on the journey, but if I have only one life then it’s too little time, and if I have a thousand lives it’s still too little time, and if I live forever I’ll still never write it all and if I can’t do that, then what good am I? and I think once I made a vow that’s written now deep in my blood and marrow, coded in my DNA, the framework of all my hopes and dreams, and maybe once I was a princess priestess, maybe once I was a vestal virgin, maybe once I was the mountaintop oracle, but always and forever I was I am the scribe, the scribe, the scribe in different bodies, different times, but always at the core just the vow, just the devotion, and if I pause for even a moment that’s time spent, words lost, I know the cards speak truly but stillness feels like death and in the silence I can hear the crystalline crumbling of atoms and atmospheres, for what is the opposite of creation but entropy, ceaseless and unfeeling?


nothing to say for a while here, just a great stillness within and maybe the merest ripples on the surface, just the wind playing over the water, though, not anything of any real consequence passing beneath, but last night at least a precious gift from the Mother, two of the lost ones, most faithful and beloved of sons, and my dream tears as I held them in my arms and thanked them for coming, for visiting, for reminding me I am never alone and that they watch over me always, spirits that walk all worlds, souls that reach through time, and even if I have nothing to say this morning I am still grateful for that, for them, for Her