Writer Body and Soul

I take my lunch at Cosmic Cafe. It is a short walk from the clinic, and I get a chance to walk by a duck pond. I order the same thing that I always do: a chicken salad sandwich with house-made chips and an espresso. I take my hat off to give Prim a bit of fresh air.

Looking around the cafe, I see that most of the patrons are holding a weapon of mass destruction — the smart phone. I question if these devices are truly advancing our species or merely distracted us. The beasts will continue to evolve with nature while humans are left behind clutching onto a shattered piece of glass. I feel the heat of my own phone in my pocket. It tries to seduce me.

I prefer books.

Books create a sense of kinship for me. It’s a relationship between the writer and the reader. It creates a shared experience that connects readers across cultures and centuries. Stories possess the power to leave a lasting impression, and serve as a living memory. One such book that has imprinted itself upon my flesh is The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman by Laurence Sterne. Take for instance this quote written around 1759:

I have undertaken, you see, to write not only my life, but my opinions also; hoping and expecting that your knowledge of my character, and of what kind of a mortal I am, by the one, would give you a better relish for the other: As you proceed further with me, the slight acquaintance which is now beginning betwixt us, will grow into familiarity; and that, unless one of us is in fault, will terminate in friendship.

I share the same sentiment as the author. Though we are living lives 250 years apart, we share a desire to foster friendship with the reader. Our consciousness is connected beyond the limits of time and space.

I am deep in thought, when Tristram sits down in front of me with a cup of tea. Purple clouds that smell of lavender fields float atop his cup. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a well-worn deck of Tarot cards and a crystal. The crystal is obsidian, black as coal but its smooth surface glimmering like stars in the night sky.

Tristram suddenly spews tea across the table and lets out a belly laugh. I shift uncomfortably, grabbing a napkin to dry myself. He finally controls his giggles, wiping tears out of the corner of his eyes. “Here, read my tea.”

“Pardon?”

He holds up his tea bag with a piece of paper attached on a string. I read the text. Know the unknown, hear the unheard, see the unseen. I smirk and hand him bag the teabag. “Clever,” I say, though my voice falls a bit flat and uncertain. I have an uncanny feeling of someone rummaging around my thoughts.

Tristram takes the deck of cards and begins to shuffle. Each card folds into each other like a well choreographed dance. I find myself mesmerized by the cards that flip and turn in midair.

“I’m getting a messy energy from you.” Tristram says. A card falls out of his hand as he shuffles, and I’m not so sure that I’m the messy one. He flips it over. “Oh yes, that explains it then. You’re a romantic.”

“This card is the Fool.” I point out.

“Poetry and wit aren’t so different.” He points to a picture of a man about to walk off the side of cliff while gazing up into a rose. “Let’s just say you enjoy living life on the edge, somewhere between falling and flying.” He pushes the Fool off to the side.

“I fear you have the wrong impression of me. I’m not so much a risk taker anymore.”

“Perhaps it’s time to be.”

He locks eyes with me, and I feel a gripping in the depths of my stomach. My muscles become very still, and I feel a sensation of warm soup flow down the length of my back.  Something in my pelvis stirs, which confuses me. Lightening flashes behind his eyes, “Shall we cut the cards?”

I reach for the cards, as if tranced, smooth under my hand. I feel a magnetism near the middle of the deck, and my fingers tighten around the top half to move it aside. Tristram cuts the deck again with his left hand, and then stacks the three piles on top of one another.

Tristram flips over a few cards, and hums knowingly. Finally, he says, “Yes, you will experience abundance. Just remember that you are better together.” I reflexively spin my wedding band on my finger. “Ultimately, all signs point to yes.”

“Yes to what?”

“Yes to your question.”

“I didn’t ask a question.”

“Didn’t you though?” Tristram asks.

“Am I a romantic or a fool?” I finally ask.

“Indeed.” Tristram winks. “You’re likely about to go through a period of intensity. If you can listen to your Inner Voice and Go with the Flow, then you may experience a Great Flowering.”

I watch Tristram sit back with his hands gripping around his tea. He closes his eyes and savors his words. An undeniable sense of satisfaction spreads across his face. 

A pile of dishes clatters behind me, grabbing my attention. I turn to look to see what caused the commotion. Prim had made its way up to the espresso machine, bringing all sizes of ceramics crashing around it.

When I turn back around to face Tristram, he is gone. His cup empty and turned upside down on top of the Fool. On the back of the card is a note, “Smell the unsmelled.”