Monday morning. The Monday morning after a beautiful and intense Samhain ritual with my friend Monica's circle. {Briefly, Samhain is the mid-point between the autumnal equinox and the winter solstice. Up north, we know it as Halloween. The moment when we cross the threshold to the three dark months of the winter-tide... The time of the dark goddess... The witches' new year... It is said that at this time of the year, the veil between the worlds of seen and unseen are at their thinnest. A great time for divination...}
Back to that Monday morning... Albie was home sick, two friends were coming over for a visit, and I thought I'd make a quick exit and take our dirty clothes to the laundry. (I will miss you $3 dollar wash and fold!) The laundromat is a half a block away, across the street, past the first intersection. I approach with my two bags, and argh! It's closed! I stand there, wondering what to do. Things like this, the small details of daily living, they leave me a bit muddled. I am confused. Why is our laundry closed? Is everyone alright? Should I take my clothes elsewhere? What if elsewhere uses too much perfume and then my clothes disgust me?
As I am standing there, befuddled, a man walks by. He passes me, gets to about 10 paces beyond me, and stops. Turns around. Comes back to talk to me. Now, in conventional, norms of society rules, well, he's a bit odd. Round and ballish, of indiscriminate age -- not too old, not too young. Wearing a bright green shirt. Ruddy complexion. Carrying a "Disco" bag. And in a laughy smiley kind of voice, yes, he's laughing while talking, he says, "Ha! You're trying to wash your clothes and you can't -- how about I wash your soul?"
And I'm now more muddled, but laughing too. Wouldn't you if someone offered to wash your soul? And so I giggle, and I muddle, and I think I grunt in response.
And so he continues -- he'd like to do a tarot card reading, right there, on the sidewalk, for me and my bags of laundry. He whips his Kabbalah Tarot deck out of his pocket, explaining it's not about the money, I can give or not give him anything...
My first impulse is to brush him off... Like, how charming, yes really, quite nice you are -- but I must get home to my son and my friends, BuhBye! But then. True impulse says, you crazy lady -- say yes!
So I say yes. And then this Fool, La Loca in her masculine form, proceeds to do a reading, on the corner by the laundry, for me and my dirty undies. At 9 in the morning. And I just flow along.
I don't remember much, I have to admit. There was a whirlwind of cards, one reading after another. But some things stood out. Each time I pulled cards, (he did about 5 three card readings,) he'd impishly say, "Hay, mira! Que buenas cartas!" Really good for the ego, that is. He did a reading for Albie, and they were all "coin" cards. There were a bunch of 5 cards, which often represent for me my own personal struggle with being human, with my humanity. The five also coincided with a vision I had (during meditation in the samhain circle) of myself as a five-pointed star.
He kept throwing around Hebrew words, which connected me to the feeling I've carried with me for quite some time, that inside of me, somewhere, there lives an old Jewish woman.
The thing that stuck with me most, was what he said when I pulled "The Moon." Now, in my life, I use the Motherpeace tarot and I am quite used to Vicki Noble's more feminine, feminist interpretations of the cards. So my interpretation of The Moon would have been a bit different... But Mr. Green Shirt Fool, what he said was: This card shows your dependence. The Moon needs the sun to shine, it does not shine in and of itself. You need to shine, without dependence on another. (Or something like that.) He kept saying something about a mascara. Singing almost, "Mascara, mascara -- Mas Cara! Entendes? Mas Cara!" (Mascara means mask, mas cara means, more face...)
Anyhow, that was it... Without going in to too much detail, that's been where I is at. Just the other day telling Chris how he needs to recognize my greatness, or some such bullshit like that. Big belly laugh bullshit. And in many ways, it's the core of my learning here in Buenos Aires: How to be a Solar Woman? How to shine with my own light? Here, at the glorious age of the middle?
The reading finished, we made an energy exchange (money for reading) and he walked off, carrying his Disco bag. He laughed as we parted, "I've never done that before! Washed the inside of a woman who is trying to wash the outside!"
And I watched him go, funny round messenger man, grateful that I took a moment to pause, and walk through the portal that had opened before me. I picked up my clothes, and walked home. The laundry was still dirty, but the soul was clean.
