Why am I here?
On my way back from my hometown this evening, I remembered something Very Important that I'd forgotten for a while.
I spent a little time reconnecting with my parents, who are doing well and keeping busy. Dad has become quite the eBay entrepreneur, selling bits of their rather enormous collection of collectibles to people who appreciate them, at prices that he
appreciates even more. Plus: he is still playing music, and now that he is turning a decent profit on their collectibles, he is playing music on his own terms. As he put it: his hobby became his job, and his job, his hobby. I don't think I've ever heard him speak so well of how his life was going.
I also spent a little time reconnecting with my Best Friend, the Discordian Pope Chakra Khan K.S.C. He and I have both seen better days, but he appears to be doing well for himself. At the very least, he and I are still happy to be in each other's presence; I'm still running very anxious these days, but we get to talking about the things that we love, and the air above our heads fills with little green ++'s. I even got to see his lovely and magical girlfriend; and many smiles, and loving overdue hugs, were shared.
On my way out of town, I stopped on South Lake Ave to pinpoint the location of a particular new-agey bookstore and magical parephenalia shoppe called Alexandria II; the last time I visited, the place had moved, and I didn't feel like I had time to look for it before coming home. This time, my body and mind were still chattering from all the social interaction of the day, and I needed some time to myself to slow it all down a bit, so I went on a short excursion. Since it had only moved a couple of blocks, and I knew it was still on the same street, it was a lot easier to locate with a slightly clearer head.
I lost my Rider-Waite deck a while back — probably left it in a hotel room somewhere, but I don't remember where exactly. I would have replaced it before now, but the new-agey bookstore here, which used to sell such things, took all of the high magickal shit out of their store and replaced it with fluffier touristy crap. Rather, almost the entire store is different now. So I waited until I was in a place where I knew I could grab one. Yeah, I could have gotten it online, but I wouldn't ever do that. It's too impersonal. I need tactile feedback to make purchases of this nature. So I bought my replacement deck. On the way out the door, I repurposed the Rifleman's Creed
into an impromptu mantra: "This is my deck. There are many like it, but this one is mine."
On my way home, I was getting tired, so I exited the freeway at one of my favorite resting points, took a walk, felt the cool air, relaxed, and looked up at the stars. Slowly, the events of the day began to click at the neural network in my brain, and I began to remember something Very Important. It was Very Important because it was an answer to an existential question I'd been asking myself for a long time while counting my failures and racking myself with various anxietyings. Why am I here?
The memory was this: I was in that bookstore with my friends, looking at the various tarot decks and picking a random card from one, wihch turned out to be a Knight of Swords. Its corresponding booklet described him as a "Keeper of Sacred Knowledge". This sparked conversation about how said Sacred Knowledge was Kept. We likened this persona to a Librarian, and thought of the ol' masters, like Crowley, the Masons and the Golden Dawn, and how they secured all their
Sacred Knowledge in complex ritual that was strongly ciphered, but composed entirely
of meaning. (This also synchro-meshed itself with a distant-past incident wherein I was labelled a Protector
There are very few paths to my heart that I open to anyone. I'm a very guarded person, and I have a lot of secrets. But I realized, as all these thoughts collided in the stars, that it's not just because I'm an old distrusting curmudgeon. It's because I'm good
at keeping secrets. I am
that Librarian, that Keeper of Sacred Knowledge. I love words and thoughts. I'm skilled
with words and thoughts. I'm sometimes so lost in my thoughts that I forget to temper it with the other elements, which can be harmful. But the flip side of this is that it makes me an excellent Librarian. My Library thrives on information, and I know how to keep it safe so that no one can reach it, if such security is necessary.
Most people can't do that. They can't hold on to their own secrets, because they're heavy.
Having a secure place to store them, in my Library, makes them — and their donors — lighter. Epiphany: This is why I'm here!
I am a Keeper of Sacred Knowledge; a Librarian. This is my gift to you. Your secrets open a path to my heart. All that Sacred Knowledge is weighing you down. Donating it to me and my Library makes us both lighter. Do you understand?