Jamieson Wolf
Number-one bestselling author
In Your Orbit – A Poem
* For Cait who is awesome
I knew that you were a kindred spirit
from the moment that I met you.
You carry a light that shines from within.
It’s grown brighter since I’ve known you.
I’ve had the joy of watching you change
from a spark into a star that is so brilliant,
everyone who has been in your orbit
has felt the pull of the stars.
You have made me question everything
that I thought I knew and because of you,
I have been able to find my way
through the cosmos.
Your light heals those
who drift through the orbit of your life
and we are left changed by you.
Anyone with the heart of a warrior
would recognize themselves in your gaze.
You have taught me to honour
the journey of myself,
turning over each rock in my path
to find the mirror underneath.
I am forever grateful
for what the stars have taught me
and I am so thankful to be
in your orbit.
A Yellow Light – A Poem
As I walked towards her,
the first thing I noticed was the yellow kerchief.
It had been artfully tied to cover her head.
She smiled when she saw me.
“It’s so nice to see you,”
she said,
genuinely happy.
“Are you enjoying the day?”
I said to her.
The words felt oddly formal as they fell from my mouth.
I almost felt like bowing,
she had that air about her,
full of light and wonder.
There was a regalness to her,
and if I looked at her out of the corner of my eyes,
I could almost see a sceptre in one arm.
“I’m doing alright, all things considered.”
Even though she spoke at a normal volume,
her words carried weight.
I heard multitudes when she spoke,
looking at me with a gaze of knowing that was so deep,
her eyes recalled the ocean.
“They want me to go on another round of chemo. They must wait until my blood is strong enough.”
She gave her head a small shake.
“Until I’m strong enough. To take the next round, you understand this. I don’t mind the chemotherapy so much. It’s what happens afterwards.”
I knew of the journey she was on,
having been through three rounds of chemo myself,
waiting for my body to be healed enough for the next round,
ready to be destroyed again and wipe away everything,
until there was nothing left to give.
“I wouldn’t mind it so much, if I could tell if it was all worth it.”
She shook her head,
looking away and closing her eyes as a look of sadness crossed her face.
When she looked back at me,
the sadness was gone,
despair hidden away within the deep compartments of her.
“It’s been the same for me,”
I said nervously.
“But I think it’s working. I’m being put on a fourth round later this year.”
She gave me the warmest look,
and I watched as her eyes reclaimed the light.
“That’s amazing,”
she told me.
“Isn’t it strange the journeys that we have to go on? There’s no telling who we will be on the other end of them.”
The words were wise,
but filled with a sadness all the same.
“Would you like a hug?”
I asked her,
wanting to offer her some sort of comfort.
“You’re sweet to offer, you have my thanks.”
She bowed her head towards me,
and I nodded in return.
“And you have mine,”
I told her.
“Are you going to be okay?”
I asked her.
She nodded her head once more.
“Of course. What other way is there to be? Us warriors have to keep going. I’m going out for the first time in forever. I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
A smile fills her face and chases away the shadows.
“That’s right. We have to live, don’t we?”
She give me another royal nod of her head and I understand;
my audience is over.
I bow my head back to her and wish her a pleasant day.
As I make my way back into my building,
I turn and see a yellow light shining around her,
then she is gone,
as if she never was.
The Deep Terrain – A Poem
I have been trying to find my way
through the hills and valleys of myself.
It’s been a slow peeling back
of the terrain that my body holds
so that I can see what it hides underneath.
There are veins that run
in the deepest parts of me,
full of a vital life force that has no name.
Deeper still,
there are boxes, chests, caskets and bags,
wrapped in chains which wear padlocks covered in rust.
I reach for the locks on each vessel, and they click open,
coming free and falling away with a clatter of chains
that sounds like an eerie kind of music.
I realize that I am the key.
All the locks needed was my permission,
my will, to open them.
I begin to pull all the boxes and bags free
from the dark regions of myself, opening each one.
As I do, I watch the barren landscape around me,
grey earth filled with the ice-cold blue of a morning frost,
mountains in the distance whose tips are covered in clouds,
bloom with blades of grass and flowers.
I watch trees rush to the surface of the earth,
and plants start to grow,
blooming as if in stop motion animation.
I dig deeper still and pull out a jewel encrusted music box.
When I open this box,
I watch as water rushes between the rocks,
finding its path toward me.
I pull out a bag that feels as if it’s filled with clothes.
When I open it, I realize it is filled with birds
which take to the air and find comfort in the trees
that now surround me,
filling the air with birdsong.
Every box filled with mystery and memories
frees more wonders that had not been there before.
My fears, self-hatred and shame become something more
when they are finally free from the dark.
In the distance, I watch as the sun comes over the horizon.
Looking at the empty bags, boxes and caskets
covering the ground, I know what I need to do.
I began to reach into myself,
pulling out all the hurt, everything I hate about myself
and the opinions of others that have stayed with me.
They are like black tendrils made of tar that stick to my skin,
covering it in an oily residue that burns,
but I almost relish the pain because it means I’m alive.
It’s a struggle to put the darkness into their respective prisons,
but soon every one of the empty vessels are filled,
chains wrapping around each one when I am finished.
I bury those things within the darkness of myself,
planting them in the soil of myself,
knowing that when I am ready to start a new cycle
and I find myself here again,
the dark will become a light,
ready to shine against the shadows when they are
finally free once more.
Bright Spirit – A Mantra
For a long time now, I’ve been trying to work on my memory.
I wrote this mantra inside of my head and have never written it down. I composed it line by line and to help myself fall asleep, I’ve tried to remember and recall the line I wrote before. I started with three lines of the poem and then the last two came. I knew that I wanted five lines to represent the five senses. The more that I composed it in my head, the less that it felt like a poem. It felt like a mantra or spell to calm my mind.
To that end, here is Bright Spirit, written down for the very first time.
Bright Spirit
I am made from Spirit bright,
it guides me through the darkest night.
I am made from Spirit sound,
it leads me to the hallowed ground.
I am made from Spirit might,
even at my lowest, I take flight.
I am made from Spirit mind,
as much as possible, I will be kind.
I am made from Spirit wind,
when I’m at an ending,
I’m ready to begin.
The Cavern – A Poem
Every time I was taught to be ashamed of myself,
I would put a little piece of my spirit
within the shadows of the cavern.
When I had to go to school and pretend to be someone
that I wasn’t so that I could fit in,
the stone walls would take another shard of my spirit.
Others I knew would mock people like me
when they saw us in public,
pointing at them with a lisp and a limp wrist,
as if we were deserving of their mockery.
In that way,
I was taught that being queer is not okay.
For too much of my life,
I would imagine myself covered in dirt and grime,
caking my skin like the rock walls
that kept my secrets,
so that I would go undetected.
Eventually,
no matter how much of myself I had hidden,
or how much I tried to be someone I was not,
my true self shone through,
beckoning me back to the shadows to reclaim
what I had given away.
When I went back to the cavern,
it was full of light because
I had finally returned to accept
who I always had been.
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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 