Jamieson Wolf
Number-one bestselling author
The Music of Stars – A Poem
* This is my first Pay It Forward offering of 2019. It is a poem written for Rhonda Prasad.
There is a grace about you.
It fills up the room
and everyone is bathed
in a soft, pulsing glow
It’s as if you have called the very stars
to light you on your path forward.
When your laughter breaks free,
the stars begin to sing
and their soft pulse
keeps time with your heartbeat.
You reach out to touch them,
to run your fingers through them,
as if they are water.
You don’t just direct yourself
from one place to the next; instead,
you carry the power of fire within you.
As you walk, the stars watch,
following every movement.
Even the stars are awed by you
as you don’t just move;
you dance upon the stars.
You are the vibrant expression
of a mind and spirit that
is filled to the brim with joy.
Every time I see you,
it takes me a moment to realize
that the stars don’t merely come from you,
manifested by the sound of your laughter.
It is more that you are made
from the stars themselves
and you leave a trail of stardust
everywhere you go.
Wolf, Wand, Lion and Sword – A Poem
I carry my talismans on my skin:
Wolf, Wand, Lion and Sword.
The Wolf is my protector and Patronus,
standing between me and
whatever means me harm.
I like to think that,
when I am asleep,
it riles against the disease
that flows through my body
and fights for me when I cannot.
The Ace of Wands reminds me that
I am capable of magic
and carry magic within me.
It stands as a symbol of my spirit,
the creative fire that drives it,
the flames that send stars into the sky.
It is my spirit about to begin.
I like to think that
when I am asleep,
it is slipping new stories into my dreams
and keeping the embers burning.
The Lion is a symbol of my courage
and the strength to love myself.
It symbolizes being strong enough
to take on the worst enemy,
even if that enemy is me.
I like to think that
when I am asleep,
it is wrapping me in a big hug,
letting me know that I am loved.
The Ace of Sword cuts through all the mental clatter,
until all that is left
is the sound of clarity.
It is the pen that rises above the page
and slashes down amongst a lightning filled sky,
causing the words to flow.
I like to think that
when I am asleep,
it lets words seep below my skin
giving me stories to figure out later
when I am on my own.
I carry my talismans on my skin,
symbols of healing,
of strength and the power to create,
the will to live,
of clarity and understanding.
I carry these talismans on my skin,
and they stand for the strength, magic and clarity
that I carry within.
Islands Among the Clouds – A Poem
I am not afraid.
That is the first thing I say to myself
I have been on an internal journey;
I’ve had to scale the flat terrain of my body,
every peak and valley and crevice,
the rivers of my skin
and the gardens of my mind.
I went to see a mystic who was able
to look within me and make sense
of the riddles contained within.
Though I had been on an internal journey,
there were still areas
that were unknown to me.
She was able to delve within my mind
and show me what
I could not see.
Inside, there were clouds that
were the grey of a spring sky
that was ready to shower water
upon the land underneath it,
wanting to help the flowers and ideas grow.
She turned her mirror toward me,
her scrying glass able
to see without and within.
I looked the grey clouds,
that looked full of the promise
of water that would bring life
and looked further still.
I noticed three small islands,
small pieces of land that shone
bright white like the very sun itself.
I pointed at them,
the touch of my finger
sending ripples across the glass.
“What are those?” I asked her,
my voice full of wonder.
“What is that place?”
She smiled at me.
“Those are sky islands.” She said.
I looked at them again,
pressing a finger upon the glass
to send the clouds rippling once more,
as if they were full of songs yet sung.
“They are made of stardust and hold wishes yet fulfilled.”
I looked at the islands among the clouds
and wondered what I would wish for
if I were ever able to reach the islands.
She took my hand and held it palm up,
running her fingers along the lines.
“The wishes are already within you.” She said.
“You don’t have to travel to distant lands. You carry them inside of you.”
I reached out for the scrying glass
and she gently held my hand again.
“Just fly towards them and whisper your wishes.” She said,
her voice soft and melodious.
“The possibilities are endless.” She said.
I nodded and closed my eyes.
I could see the pulsing lights within
and I could almost touch them.
Holding out a hand towards one
of the islands within the clouds,
I said:
“I wish…”
The Blue Scarf – A Poem
When I was seventeen,
she gave me what was to be
one of my most cherished gifts.
I remember the warm twinkle of Christmas lights,
the crinkle of the wrapping paper,
how what was hiding within
felt soft and malleable.
I tore open the paper to reveal
the loveliest knit scarf
in two different shades of blue.
“Now, you see the stripes on the ends of the scarf, Jamie?”
I looked at them and nodded.
“You’ll notice I made them a little different.”
I took a closer look and saw that she was right.
They went: small, small, bigger on one side
and small, bigger, biggest on the other.
I ran my fingers along these stripes,
imagining them like musical notes.
“I made them different because you’re a little different.”
From her, I knew that this was
a compliment and high praise indeed.
She had always encouraged my differences
and made me want to celebrate them.
I was never ashamed to be me.
Throughout the next twenty-three years,
I wore the scarf every winter.
It kept me warm against the cold,
helped me feel safe when I needed safety
and was part armor, part blanket, part hug.
I remember her telling me:
“Be yourself, everyone else is taken.”
She was a constant source of wisdom.
The scarf followed me through everything
that I have lived through.
Every winter, it would greet me
as if it were an old friend
and it was always a small joy
when the weather got cold
because I would be able
to wear it again and see
my cherished friend once more.
I said goodbye to you today.
As I put the scarf on before saying goodbye,
I ran my fingers over those dark blue stripes
and imagined what kind of tune
my blue scarf would play.
For twenty-three years,
the blue scarf has been a piece of you
that I carry with me.
Now, whenever I put the scarf on,
I will picture you taking hold of my hand
and walking beside me over the ice and the snow,
perhaps running your fingers along the dark blue lines
and singing a little tune.
Now, whenever I wear the blue scarf,
I will be reminded that,
even though your body may be gone,
your spirit lives on in all who knew you.
You are with all of us,
everyone who loves you,
and our lives are
all the better for it.
The Light That Comes From Me – A Poem
I am broken and mended,
a crystal that has been shattered
but has fused itself back together
so that it can shine.
I am broken and cracked,
a piece of glass that has experienced trauma,
but persevered because of it,
the light shining through the cracks.
I am broken but filled with light,
a chalice that has been crushed
so many times but each time,
I have gathered the pieces of me
and put myself back together.
Though I am whole again,
there are cracks in my body;
I carry them within my skin,
they look like spider’s webs
and I like to follow them
to see where they might lead me.
These cracks have let the light in.
I never truly started to live
until life was taken away from me.
From the moment that it happened,
I have been trying to prove
that I was not broken
and that I was whole.
I have shied away from the word
b r o k e n,
seeing it as something
to be ashamed of,
as if it meant that I was only random pieces
of myself held together with string
and bits of tape.
Instead,
I should have realized that
the moment I broke
was the moment I was truly
alive.
I am held together
with the light
that comes from
me.
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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 