Imaginary Life (all there is)

a poet's tarot

Imaginary Life (all there is)

Somewhere between mindfulness, zen, and science fiction, we try to hold on to the present moment. We are trapped in our own imaginary life. Past regrets throw a gauze over our future ambitions. Future successes taunt us, make us want to take it easy, not worry so much, don’t sweat it. All is now. Time flies. (I got that from Mr. Vonnegut.)

Yet, here we all are, in our imaginary life. The seconds ticking (wait, no ticking clocks in this house) spinning the hand around my Apple Watch(tm). Breathe in. Joy. Strength. Energy. Hold for five. Breathe out. Negativity. Fear. All that other shit.

At this very second I’m ticking, but it’s keys on this keyboard. One dog, the chihuahua, is sleeping on the back of the red comfy chair, making her feel safe. The bigger and goofier dog, a terrier mix is swirled around his red (with white polka dots) blanket. We are breathing together. Well, in the same room. The windows are open. The day is beginning. This sentence just flew from my fingers like magic.

Here I am. My poet pal, the one who made the tarot card in the image, is still looking for his imaginary life. He’s living in some highly contested moments of his own making. Where to go? What to do? Who to love? Where to spend his time? Listen to voicemails or not?

Reaching out beyond his boundaries with postal mail and art. My archaic friend of 23+ years. Here I am flicking supportive sparks in the hope of igniting his verbal and non-verbal communication skills. At the moment, he can only communicate with me via coded tarot cards that take 2 – 3 days to travel the few villages between us in time and space. These are missives from a distant star still bright in my night sky, like Venus near the moon. I am not the moon. That’s our mother/goddess/lover/muse. She’s always with us. Some of us more physically than others.

And, without a pet or a poet to snuggle with, he must search the horizon and his soul for a signal. Hell says, “Give up. This word business is never going to get you where you want to go. STFU.” I say, “Let’s talk when you feel up for it.” The bitchy-at-the-moment goddess says, “Come unto me, I will love you until the end of the world.” It’s not like I’m worried about my imaginary friend. I just miss him as I check the mailbox each day for new readings.

Read more Short-Short Stories from John.

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