I rebuffed you. I rejected you. You’re not my type, I said. You refused to take no for an answer. So you persisted. You pushed. There was just no stopping you – the man of double fire. The Knight who goes after the object of his desire – like a predator to a prey. You took one step forward and I took one step back. You were enamoured, by the thrill of the case. The only problem is – I’m not the type of woman who likes to be chased.
That Sword you hold in your hand is a weapon. It can harm. It can hurt. Sometimes the wounds you inflict won’t be physical. But your sharp words can scratch a soul. Your careless words can make a humble heart burn. Not your heart, of course. For it is so closely guarded.
“I love you,” I blurt out.
I don’t know where those words came from or why I said them. But once I’d said it, I knew that there was no taking them back.
From 2014-2017, Saturn and I sat down for a long chat. He talked slowly and I listened. It was a tedious process. Don’t get me wrong, I have great respect for Saturn. Without his laws, structures and systems – the Solar System would collapse. Having said that, Saturn and I are fundamentally different. To me, life is a grand adventure. To Saturn, life is a tremendous responsibility. It’s not that he’s right and I’m wrong or vice versa. We’re just different.
A lot has changed since we last saw the Fool: a brave yet somewhat naive individual jumping off a cliff with blind faith, courage and nothing but a small knapsack full of dreams. He’s lived through the Fool’s Journey and the many different experiences that have changed and shaped both him and his worldview. In some ways, he knows better now. In other ways, he’s still the same – brave, bold and willing to take the leap into the unknown.
Paris is the city of overrated museums. There are so many that a visitor doesn’t know how to even begin doing them justice. So I’m both surprised and relieved that most people don’t know about The French Playing Cards Museum. After Day 1 in Paris where I overdosed on the usual tourist haunts with the way too many instagramers, I was desperate to get away from the crowds and do something a little more quiet and low key.
But what is the white rose? Why does it exist? And why does it continue to exist even after Death has left its mark? Perhaps it’s a reminder of purity – that even after all those transient life experiences – there’s a part of us that remains forever untouched.