Jamieson Wolf
Number-one bestselling author
The Daughter of Wands – A Poem
When I first met you,
I was struck by the light
that emanated from you.
As I came to know you better,
I admired your free spirit,
your willingness to love,
and your thirst to live.
You have been a constant
source of inspiration for me,
always willing to lend me
some light when the need arises
until I was able to find my own.
You are a visionary, always able
to look into the murky clouds
of the future and succeed,
even when you’re not sure
of the outcome that awaits you.
You are brave, able to take on
any challenge that confronts you
when most would admit defeat.
You are passionate in everything
that you take on, all that you do,
filling all those around you
with excitement. I am often
in awe of you, of how,
like a snake sheds its skin,
you cast off the parts of yourself
that are holding you back
so that you are left only with light,
with the pure vibrancy of you.
I have seen you transform
into the many facets of yourself:
Mother, friend, lover, confidant.
You are all this and more
and I am filled with wonder
at the thought of you
and what you have yet
to become.
A Journey Through The Cards – A Poem
I am on a continual journey.
I often feel like I am the Fool
from within my deck of Tarot cards.
I am standing at a precipice
looking around me at the world,
not as I knew it, but as I know it now.
I’ve been on this journey for years’ now
and have met many obstacles.
There have been times when
I wanted so badly to give up,
when the Swords showed their edge
and drew blood. But Swords are two-sided,
so that at other times, they helped me
to rebuild the Tower that had fallen to the ground.
When I started to get better and believe
in my own magic, in what I could create
and the strength of my spirit,
it was the Wands who were my guides,
lighting the fire inside of me
so that it burned bright and strong for all to see.
They urged me to create, to live, to dance.
I did not have to do this journey alone.
My Cups overflowed with people
that I met along the way or that I already knew,
some who would lead me towards my Strength,
like the Empress or the Princess of Pentacles.
Yet there were those who would want me to be
the Hanged Man like the Devil who wanted
to keep me down. Still I ventured onward,
the ground littered with Pentacles that
shone like the Sun brought to land.
Yet it wasn’t riches that I desired
but a rich life. At one point on my journey,
I looked up into the sky and saw
The Star shining so brightly.
It had been there all along, guiding me
towards my future. If I had given in,
I would not have the life I have now.
In a way, Death did come to me,
giving me an ending to something
I could no longer tolerate and
a new beginning to something new,
something wonderful. I stared up at the sky,
the seventy-eight cards fluttering
past my vision, each of them a portal
or a window so that I could look inside of myself,
see every step I had taken, the cards like
stepping stones in the darkness across the sky.
As I watched the Star burned even brighter,
shining down upon me. I knew that my journey
was not over, but I was not alone.
I would continue, for this is my journey
and I will take it one card at a time.
To Touch the Sun – A Poem
He got on
the bus wearing
a smile. I
called out to him.
“Morning!”
He gave me
a vague wave
but his smile
widened. I had
heard him mumble
a few words,
a few syllables,
to himself. Sometimes,
when he did
speak, it was
stilted, as if
the words were
weighed down by
memory and he
was unable to
pull them out.
I knew that
he was mentally
disabled but I
didn’t know what
kind. It didn’t
matter. I always
saw people looking
when he mumbled,
when he shuffled
to find his
seat, when he
made noises at
the back of
his throat. People
would stare at
me when I
spoke to him,
as if apologizing
for the fact
that he was
speaking to me.
He sat in
the seat behind
me. We rode
this way for
a minute or two,
me in my
seat, he in
his, until he
said to me:
“Do you ever wonder what makes the clouds glow so brightly?”
I turned to
face him. He
was staring out
the window at
the early morning
sunrise with childlike
wonder. I shrugged.
“I don’t know. I think the sun has something to do with that.”
He touched the
window, drew a
finger along the
glass as if
he were able
to touch the sun.
“The clouds always look happiest when they’re orange. I like red clouds fine, but they look happiest when they’re orange and the air outside is crisp.”
He took a
deep breath as
if he could
smell the air
outside instead of
the stale air
inside a bus.
“Or when the clouds are yellow. They look so happy, so full of joy. I want to be happy like that, bright like the clouds.
He took a
deep breath as
if he would
never get his wish.
“I remember when my mother used to take me out to play as a child. The sky was always pink when I was with her. I don’t like purple though.”
I had been
mesmerised by his
voice. It was
the most I
had ever heard
him speak.
“Why don’t you like the colour purple?”
He looked away
from the window
and right at
me. I saw
right into his
eyes, they were
a deep and
gorgeous blue, so
clear that it
seemed he could
see into me.
“The clouds were purple on the morning my mother died.”
I’m shocked by
his words and
there doesn’t seem
to be anything
I can say.
I try anyways.
“I’m sorry.”
I mutter lamely.
“Don’t be sorry. Whenever I see pink clouds, its my mother saying hello.”
The silence is
broken only by
the sounds of
the bus and
other passengers. I
think he’s fallen
silent when he
speaks once more.
“It’s my mother saying hello.”
The Armor Inside – A Poem
My life is filled
with needles and pills.
I take an injection
every day and pills
three times a day.
At first, the act of
injecting myself each day
was a hindrance, the pills
a liability. I felt they
were a sign of weakness,
an indication that
I was somehow lesser
than everyone else.
A sign of my weakness.
The very act of having
to rely on a needle
was a daily moment of fear.
As time has passed, however,
I’ve grown. As I’ve grown,
how I view myself has
changed, a little at a time,
until the needles and the pills
just became normal,
a part of my daily routine.
Instead of something to fear,
the pills and injections
have become part of
the everyday. Now, whenever I
take my pills, I imagine
them filling me up
with light and everything good,
until I’m so full of light
that it can’t help but shine outwards.
Now, when I take my injection,
I imagine that each needle
is another piece of armor
being placed inside my body,
protecting me from the illness
that resides inside of me.
Each injection is another
piece of armour, another
link in the chainmail
that is keeping me whole,
from the inside out.
Magic Made Real – A Poem
As a child, I used to dream
of magic made real,
of distant lands where magic
held sway, where it was a
real, vibrant thing that
coloured the sky and shone
from the eyes of everyone.
As I grew older, that dream faded,
replaced by the words and actions
of others, those so rooted in
the mundane that they pulled
me down into it and the world
no longer shone brightly.
As I grew older still,
magic could be found only
inside books because they
would never hurt me
of judge me, never mock my
dreams of flying on the back
of a dragon, or riding across
hills in distant lands that
I yearned so much to visit.
Now, I am living that dream
because of you. We have travelled
to far away worlds on the wings
of large metal birds, we have seen
strange creatures that defy description.
You have helped me to believe
in time travel; we have been together
for over two years, and yet
it feels like I met you only yesterday.
We have celebrated and created memories,
each more magical than the last.
You have given me so much.
My life is brighter
because of you and the love
that you have given me.
I believe in magic and wonder
once more and know that you
are magic made real.
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Jamieson Wolf has written a compelling story about navigating multiple sclerosis and cerebral palsy. His story will touch your heart, make you cry, then laugh, and inspire you. A touching memoir with a bit of magic…and tarot! ~ Theresa Reed, author of The Tarot Coloring Book
Jamieson Wolf 