Hey y’all,
Since Sun and I got a late start from Eugene, we didn’t get far.
Sun suggested we stay the night in Ashland because we’d have a place to crash there - a friend who she had met at EarthDance in September working in his kitchen
She didn’t tell me her “friend” was the Knight of Cups. I also thought she had a girlfriend, but hey! Sexuality is fluid.
Since Sun had made 0 book sales on my behalf, I was agreeable to a free place to stay. I also learned yet another lesson in getting what you pay for, but more on that later.
Again, I don’t regret giving Sun a ride because she had great stories, it was another chapter in this grand adventure, and awesome things would come of it. Just not in the way I thought they would.
Before we went to the Knight of Cups, she also turned me on the luscious Jackson Well Springs, a lovely place to soak and sauna naked at night. I wouldn’t have found this wonderful place without Sun.
She ran into another friend from her time in Taos, and ran off to have tea with him.
Finally we made it to our crashpad and the Knight of Cups.
His name was Matava. I’m pretty sure he named himself. He was originally from New York. But once he had awakened to a higher vibration, Matava donned loose, flowing garments to indicate his enlightenment, and made his living with exotic cuisine and Ayurvedic smart drinks.
I think he was a caterer with a New Age edge.
I had to admit his tea was excellent. But I doubt it made me more intelligent. As far as his healthful cleanse cookies were concerned, they tasted funny - probably because they didn’t have any sugar
Sun and Matava got reacquainted with a lively discussion over the wisdom of human design and Chinese astrology. Matava consistently referred to the Chinese and Western astrological significance of his absent housemate. I don’t remember her name, but she was at least 10 years older than he and owned the house.
“She’s a Fire Horse AND a Scorpio,” he said. “She’s very Scorpio.”
I suspected that meant he’s her lover who pays no rent, and the Fire Horse Scorpio gets pissed off with her errant Knight of Cups on the regular.
And then Sun started disrobing.
Like a lot of Pacific Northwest hippies, Sun dressed in layers of heavy sweaters. As she and Matava animated over all things New Age, Sun took off one heavy sweater after another, along with her leggings and woolen socks until she was down to a t-shirt and loose, flowing skirt and bare feet. She also contorted her body in visually appealing stretches that thrust her ample breasts into the limelight.
When Matava slid down to the ground in a bent-knee crouch, Sun followed suit, with her long skirts making a pretense of modesty. Once they overlapped their big toes and gave each other that look, I knew exactly where this night was going.
But I was exhausted and it was time to crash at the crashpad.
Matava had made up a massage table in the living room for me to sleep on and I was out within minutes.
Unfortunately, exhaustion didn’t render me deaf. The High Priestess, Sun, elevated the Knight of Cups, Matava to the state of the Lovers, and woke up the Fool who had given her a free ride. I was tempted to make some noise to disrupt the high vibration of their coupling, but why?
From what I heard, it sounded rather average.
The next morning, Sun hinted that she'd forgotten how much she liked "Matava's company," with the implication that she could hang in Ashland even though a storm was coming that we would be wise to beat. Then we hit Evo's Cafe. The High Priestess went to the market to replenish the supply of ass-wipes for the Knight of Cups. The Fool checked email and pulled out my tarot deck and started shuffling, wondering how I was going to gracefully extricate myself from this situation.
Upsidedown Temperance asked me for a reading, even though he had no money. One of the eccentric, homeless youth that has found some sanctuary in the most tolerant coffee house in the affluent arty community of Ashland - home to the Shakespeare Festival every summer - took a seat and I gave him a reading, which he interpreted for himself. Once Sebastian had satisfied his need to talk about his neglected talents while he had someone's attention, he left the table after a couple of hints.
A well-preserved, nicely groomed black man with a shaved head and pretty face at the table on my left who had observed the interaction of the reading, started up a conversation. His speech was as refined as his looks, so I gave him a brief rundown of my story and explained that the cards were a gimmick I used to get people's attention to the book. He then asked me what I thought it meant that the cards got people's attention. What did I think people were seeking? Of course, I didn't know.
"They're looking for that third voice," he said.
His name was Amien and he had moved to Ashland from Santa Rosa, California just six months before. At fifty-two, Amien had had many lives, as a professional dancer and an artist, he had designed sets and done the lighting for many productions, and although settled was in chrysalis for his next life incarnation. He encouraged me to do a storytelling, although he preferred philosophy and science fiction. The noise of the cafe distracted him after a couple of minutes, so Amien suggested going by his cottage and doing the storytelling there.
"It's very peaceful, I'll make some tea, and it'll be much better."
Never, never, never go off with strangers, always said my mother, the Empress. You may come across the Devil, maybe even Death, and then what are you going to do?
But I am the Fool, and I am no longer a little girl. Amien gave off a good vibe-ration, my instincts told me it was safe, so I went. Besides, I thought he was gay.
Besides, it is the Fool's nature to trust. Will this step send me careening over the cliff or dancing over the rainbow?
If one doesn't trust, one doesn't get to meet the Magician...or the man who makes things happen.
Amien was a highly talented artist from what I saw of the pieces in the mother in law apartment. After listening to "The Birth of Ella Bandita," he bought two books, offered me his spare bedroom - a good hidey-hole for the Hermit - and said he'd like to throw a party for me.
"We'll make it very nice, very selective," Amien said. "So you will meet the kind of people who can help you."
The best part, it really was no strings. Amien had his libido and his attention distracted by a sweet young thing, half his age, who led him around by the nose...or the head. I provided good conversation, a sympathetic ear, and good counsel.
"It'll be my first soiree," he said.
Ain't it grand how artists support each other?
That night, he introduced me to the Hierophant, who had the mother-in-law apartment he lived in. Melody was a teacher, whose daughter also was a self-published writer. She was also throwing a dinner party that same night, so Amien suggested they coordinate their events and I be the guest storyteller for both parties.
He helped with making up the flyer/invites, thinking up such refinements as "intimate setting," and "light refreshment provided" and a discreet "Books for sale."
The party had a good turn-out, and The Fool got to take a turn as the Star, entertaining the Court with a tale. Emperors, Scholarly Hermits, Lovers, and Empresses made up the audience.
It was grand, but alas not perfect.
As much as the Magician warned the Fool to be selective, I gave a flyer to a woman whose Tower had come crashing down. He had met her and was surprised that I gave her an invite.
"She strikes me as somebody with a Ramona complex," Amien said. "I suspect she's missing parts."
He shrugged and said it'll be what it'll be, but the Magician called it. Just as the Star had told the climax to an audience of enthralled Courtiers, and was forty-five seconds away from the end, a Queen in the audience interrupted.
"There's somebody out in the cold."
Turning around there was the woman of the fallen Tower peeking in the windows, wanting to be let in. The Fool did, and gathering my wits, finished the tale. Honestly, it was more disruptive to the audience than it was to me.
An hour later, the Fool realized what a mistake inviting the fallen Tower to the party.
"That's why I consider myself legitimately schizophrenic," she hooted in laughter at her own joke.
The Magician gave the Fool many a pointed look until there was an opportunity to generously volunteer a ride in the Chariot of my Brown Beast.
It occurred to me that I shouldn't be compassionate at the expense of others. After all, this sanctuary was home to the gracious Hierophant and Magician.
They didn't ask for this.
"I told you so," said Amien as soon as I came back from giving Julia a ride home.
Other than that, The Fool took a step off the cliff and ended up with the World in his pocket.
I love Ashland!!!!
Peace,
Montgomery
