An instance of the magician Montreal Canada A random day in November 2018 Prologue
The Fool the magician and the knight of cups It started innocuously enough, as it’s bound to happen whenever I sit down to shuffle the cards; today’s chosen deck: the Dark Mansion Tarot, my special familiar of the divination arts – one with Burtonesque lines framing framing colorful tall tales of secrets to be unfold as I would later lay them down to peek into the ciphers they would whisper to me. It snowed outside and this early winter cheered my soul with delight. Big, immaculate, fluffy, ethereal flakes tumbled down in a graceful intricate waltz, twirling and dancing away their souls, ever more thicker and stronger in number, rapidly color-blinding the landscape past my window in cocoony white. My mind leaped and danced with the snow, lost in wander. My hands shuffled, adrift in hypnotic motion. So then, my dear little fairies of multiple wonders, what should I expect and be cautious of today? I asked almost absent–mindedly – my cards knew all to well, this first shuffle was the light, casual, courteous greeting, the friendly neighbor visit with freshly baked crumpets and warm drink The Magician, The Strength and The Fool sat at the table, my welcoming committee. Oh Intriguing, I thought, how interesting – that Fool to introduce and seal the well established duo. I frowned and grimaced. What are you doing, Fool, what are you meaning to tell me? I took a sip of my tea and pulled two more cards to define the Magician. The Hermit and the Emperor followed. A knowledgeable recluse, definitely an older man, dominating orderly chaos, family man or father figure, assertive, maybe a Virgo, but not necessarily, keeper of thoughts and feelings, not one to blabber in futility, wise. I placed the Strength underneath the Magician and the Fool under the Strength. Let’s see what you are telling me, you little rascals. The Queen of Swords soon rejoined Strength, the Knight of Cups flamboyantly cruising in her her stern footsteps, a wanting hand reaching for her trails. The message was an undeniable a portrait of me. My heart pinched a little. I could see the court cards looking straight at me with smirking faces. The Fool opened the dance to the Two of Cups and The Lovers. I rose an eyebrow as if the cards were real people sitting at my table, having breakfast with me. Are you guys for fucking real ? Because – nuh–uh – no way in hell mate! Yet, I couldn’t but look at the cards, line by line, each individually, as a whole, as trios, vertically, diagonally up and down down up left to right right to left and and I sighed. The Queen of Swords was surrounded – a strong knowledgeable, wise, male figure on top of her, a new romance, a new relationship below her. Cornered between the Magician and the Lovers, on one axis, the Emperor and the Fool on the other. I bit my lip and drank more tea. So be it, if that is what you are telling me, I’ll have to buy it, I suppose. I put the mischievous pixies aside and pulled a few more cards, masochistically hoping for a sign of temporality, anything to tell me it would be a short lived little flame. The Four of Wands was next. Traitor – I whispered. I pushed myself back and closed my eyes. Maybe if I stayed cozily at home, I would reduce the chances of silly romance happening. Yes. that was a plan. More tea. Maybe cake baking. And good old YouTube. My Home page served the usual entertaining beauty gurus drama as reported by the drama, tea–spilling and commentary community.communities Palette this, collaboration that, shading here, scamming there. The usual run of the mill mindless inconsequential trivialities; comforting, entertaining, safe, since my passion for makeup products was as hot as the ninth circle of hell, and somehow, the Noon hour striked like a punch and I protested, to no avail, at the time irrevocably gone, Lost and having left me with insipid, vapid, nonsense that these people went through over the past twenty four hours. My friends – or anyone for that matter – could legitimately critic my cold hardheartedness in the mater of not feeling pity for these people and their could legitimately critic my cold hardheartedness in the mater of not feeling pity for these people and their I couldn’t legitimately feel bad for taking said shared videos at the same entertainment value as a big budget Hollywood production entertainment value as a big budget Hollywood production … and minus Hollywood. A second mug of tea was made. A rapid sandwich and a serving of crunchy baby carrots welcomed a refresh of the home page. time froze for an indiscernible amalgamation of moments Third thumbnail from the left: a middle aged man with immaculate white hair mustache and beard, sporting an eye-catching pine green, finely weaved tweed three-quarter jacket coat with ornamental steampunk glasses in the chest pocket, looked straight at the viewer with a quizzical look with a quizzical look – interrogating – inviting to sit down and listen. Video title : The Darkness. Channel name : The Magician. My heart squeezed in my chest : The Magician. My heart skipped a beat. No warning – no excuses. No. Fucking. Way. I should have not clicked. I should have refreshed and hoped that the suggestion would have gone away, lost in a meander of meaningless other videos, music, computer building, video game playthrough, tarot reads but no, I decided against my better judgment, because in the curiosity of the moment, his face was appealing like a night light So inevitable to a foolish moth, and there was the Fool Guiding me to my own demise “The storm was brewing like a mad demon’s ungodly stank of a breath, suffocating me, choking me, gripping and stealing my last grasp of gasping air and I stood there, frozen in motion, incapable of moving forward or stepping back.” My heart stopped. My mind froze with him. My attention was in distress. My stomach had forgotten about the hunger striking it. My tea was getting cold. “The monster was approaching, closing in, and escape wore the cloak of futility and the mask of irrevocable judgment of misfortune; it’s roar was a deafening murmur of death.” I swallowed a hard gulp.
“It’s shadow soon towered over me, a tall darkness leaning down on the miserable. Puny spec of existence that I was myself, a moment ago, defiant, heart burning with rage, now reduced to a humbled silence agonizing in dread.” So was I! “Air was a cold void. My soul was burning from the lack of oxygen. My heart had about the livelihood of a withered, shriveled, memory of life past and gone. – And yet.”
I held my breath and my heart held it’s own. “And yet – there I was; standing in the eye of the storm, feet solidly anchored on stony path, hands in my coat pockets, eyes fixed on the darkness standing before me, looming down upon my fragile existence, questioning the very defiance of my soul.” Dulled thoughts poked at my mind; sandwich, tea; cold. I pushed the disruptive thoughts away. “The Darkness bent over and blinded my gaze. The wind whirled all around me and stole the little breath I had preciously pocked in my lungs. Was this my sour end? Cold void burning my existence like a parchment paper in Hell’s blackened fires.” My heart was burning, gripped between unforgiving piercing claws. Air was tight and scarce in my lungs. “Time stood still in it’s mute deafness, my breath, my heart equally silent and frozen. oak opened, and it seemed time was a dragged, broken fraction of odd stillness. What was not my surprise when a blinding pale golden foan gracefully leaped out like the first rays of daylight breaking the night’s last relics of darkness, glimmering, shimmering showers of rose gold soon followed, piercing the cloak a hundred, no, a thousand, ten thousands of arrows tearing it apart from within.” My heart too was showered in warm glimmering golden light. “Darkness turned to dust and time took a breath, it’s exhale blowing the black ashes past the foan and past me.” I sat back in my chair – bathing in relief, catching my own breath. The man in the video seemed relieved too, I sensed a barely noticeable shift in his general aura. “The foan cautiously tip toed around my marbled ghost, stopped in front of me and it’s big dark eyes gazed and scrutinized the depths of the last hidden walls of the cavern of my Soul.” I dared take a sip of my tea. “Your heart is pure and free” the foan spoke to me “give me your sorrow, let me set you free.” the foan continued.” And I felt faint, dropping to my knees, the stony path welcoming my ragged, dull, body like the most fluffed dropping to my knees, the stony path welcoming my ragged, dull, body like the most fluffed duck feather duvet and most luxurious silk bedding would welcome a most exhausted princess caught unfortunately outside, in a raging rainstorm.” My heart ached for him. Yes, let the foan set you free. Let the golden light heal your heart, I urged him silently. “Tears streamed down my face, silent pain oozing out of my heart. The foan approached, breaking the last barrier between us, leaving me in muted shock as it’s soft tongue reached out to collect a tear running down my cheek.” I sighed a silent sigh of relief and contentment. “Darkness around me faded like morning fog dissipates in the daylight’s embrace as the dawn time of every day came about, and I found myself adorned in golden serenity, shrouded in a cloak of majestic peace, the foan no longer a golden foan of light but a girl, of ivory skin and silken sandy hair wrapped in glowing white foggy ethereal gown, smiling gently down upon me.” My heart started beating with ease again. The man smiled at the camera. A soft, almost imperceptible piano tune lurked in, somewhere from behind the man, a whisper of a melody and the screen slowly faded to black as the piano tune grew in crescendo and volume. I applauded I I didn’t know why, I just applauded at my screen as if it had been a live performance. And I found myself silly, but so be it! I was alone in my small apartment, I was free to applaud … The Magician. You Motherfucker!