A week ago I had a boring and mundane dream of grocery shopping. Okay, it didn’t exactly turn out that way, but that’s how it started until I got distracted by a pair of thieves. The important part was why I was at that particular grocery store. I had enough points on my frequent shopper card to obtain a limited edition tarot deck that was unique to the store. There were several versions available, but you didn’t know which one you had received until after you left the store. I was eager to collect mine, even though my current collection is stable and sufficient. Interestingly enough, the store itself was eager to give me one of its decks. Then shenanigans ensued and I never made it inside the store to collect the deck.
A few days ago, I dreamt I was sitting at my desk preparing to throw cards for an in-depth reading. I pulled out my deck wrapped in black silk, the same black silk wrapped deck I have in the Waking, and placed it on the empty reading table. After getting other matters prepared, I reached for the wrapped deck and found two silk wrapped decks sitting side by side. My original deck was present, just as I left it, wrapped in black silk that was tied as I had left it. Sitting beside it was a red silk wrapped deck. It was tied in the same manner as my original deck, but the knots were much neater and the lick of silk hanging out was creased in a sharp and neat display.
Knowing that I was dreaming, I checked my storage bag for my other decks that I hold in the Waking. Each and every one was accounted for. Whatever this red silk wrapped deck was, it was not one of mine. And yet, it was mine. I had the distinct impression that this was the grocery store’s gift deck. As I hovered my hand over the gift, I was aware that the “grocery store” was a visual allegory for something, or someone, else. The identity of the giver would be revealed by the type of tarot deck received. As I lowered my hand to start untying the knot, the morning’s alarm removed me from the dream.
Last night I dreamt I was searching for a stone for a particular use. I knew I wanted it to be made of jasper, and of a rich coffee brown hued jasper at that, but I could not remember the formal name for the type of divination the stone was to be used in nor the formal name of the stone reserved for such use. I wandered into a large metaphysical and occult supply store. Most of the store was dedicated to the usual mainstream offerings and brands that you can find across the United States. Mostly high-fru items mass produced for the discerning and specially unique customer. When I allowed my biases to be seen plainly on my face, the staff finally asked me what I was looking for.
Their turn to turn up their nose at me for not being able to remember the name of the divination or the pieces that were used in it. “Just point me to the stones, and no dyed ones, thank you very much. I don’t want perfection. I just want a jasper.” They laughed at me and told me to hit up the nearest dollar store.
As I turned to leave, a very short, very squat, very stout man wrapped in what appeared to be rags made from aged leather scraps grabbed my hand. At his appearance, the staff quickly found excuses to be as far away from him as possible. “I know what you’re looking for. You won’t find it here in the commons. Come with me.”
The top of his leather wrapped head barely reached my mid-thigh. He had to reach up to grab my hand. He looked like someone had taken all of a leatherworker’s scraps and made a rolled bundle of them. What glimpses of his skin I could see was the same deep tannin hue as the leathers. His voice was gruff and hoarse, but strangely deep for his size.
The strength of his grip warned me not to make any assumptions about his capabilities.
“Come with you… where?” He did not pull against me, but he did not let go, either.”
“I run a stone shop in the back. Invite only. You know what you’re looking for even if you don’t know the language of it. That’s good enough for me.”
“Dwarven?”
“Depends on what you mean by that.”
“Stonefleshed.”
He looked up at me and the rags shifted over his face. I caught a glimmer of his eye. Black as jet and gleaming like obsidian. There was no white to the eye that he allowed me to see. This was no human holding my hand. “Not quite. But not far off, either.” He shuffled forward leading me through the shop. The staff that had hid behind product towers and presentation tables now scattered to be free of the path leading to the stone shop in the back. They peeked at our backs in our wake and exchanged worriedly jealous glances.
The door opened without interaction allowing us to pass without a challenge. It closed silently but firmly behind us. Lights came on in cases and overhead. Spotlights illumined massive carved statues. Bowls of tumbled stones were everywhere. Cushions were piled haphazardly beside open containers sitting on the floor. Tables supported microscopes and handheld ultraviolet light sources. Stones of every hues, size, and texture were here. It smelled like an old weathered quarry. I never noticed when his hand slipped out of mine.
I turned to take in as much of the initial presentation as I could visually process. When I turned back to where I started, I saw he had climbed onto a pile of cushions and relaxed in a sitting meditative pose. “Please. Explore. Anything you may break is behind glass, so do not fear to touch what you can. If I do not have the jasper you seek, it does not exist.”
That is when I noticed the stones themselves. They were all types of jasper. Tall pillars marked as ready for carving. Small tumbled flakes and paperweights. Jaspers were carved into animal forms, into ear spirals, emulating fossils, and bearing cartouches. Blue jaspers, green jaspers, yellow jaspers with streaks of defiant orange, pale jaspers looking like milky jade, dark jaspers looking like lumps of hard clay, common brown jaspers looking like miniature mountains, and red jaspers appearing to be slicked with blood.
I wandered the several rooms of the stone shop until I came back to where I started yet again. I sat down at a random bowl and slipped several dozen small tumbled pebbles through my hands. These were all jasper, but none were the stone I sought. I had a very bad case of “I’ll know it when I see it” and I feared I had probably overlooked it several times already in ignorance.
“What shape are you looking for, lass?”
“Um, well. It’s long and pointed like a pendulum bob, but it’s not a pendulum bob. It’s double ended like a stone wand, but it’s not a stone wand. It’s small enough to be gripped firmly in my hand, but not so small as to be lost in that grip. It’s worked so it tapers and points, but there is not a facet to be seen anywhere. There’s a name for it, for that shape, and a name for its use… but forgive me, I can’t remember!”
The bundle of rags did not move for a while and I feared I had offended him with my ignorance. “There is such a stone. If it is to be yours, it is here.”
A display of stone rods distracted me. About the size and shape of individual chopsticks, but hewn from various hues of mottled jasper, they caught my attention. “Glass? No, these are jasper, too! But…”
“But?”
“The shape. This thin a rod made from stone with natural fractures running haphazardly throughout makes for a weak item. It looks like a magician’s rod, or a stylus. But I’m afraid to even pick one up because of the fragility.”
“And what did I say before?”
“That anything in my reach could not be broken by me and not to worry. I’m trying to remember that, but my caution keeps tripping me up. You wouldn’t be the first to underestimate my strength.”
“You wouldn’t be the first to think me a wee little thing.” I winced as he chuckled. “Yes, you could break it from carelessness and abuse. But you’re not the type to break other people’s toys without cause. And I’ve given you no cause, so I’m not worried if you accidentally break one. After all, natural fractures means failures can happen for no other reason than they can.”
I played with a black and red rod in the bowl of sand sitting beside it. The combination of fragility and strength in the rod made me very aware of the interaction of stone and sand. A glimmer of understanding started to bloom.
“Oh, that reminds me! Did you get the deck?”
I dropped the rod into the bowl of sand as his question reminded me of the other two dreams. “Eh? That was from you? I got it, but I haven’t opened it yet. There’s something a bit off about it.”
He slid off his cushions and waddled over to me as I wiped the retrieved rod clean of sand. As I returned the rod to the standing display, he started chuckling again. “Well, that explains why you can’t find the jasper. You haven’t all of the deck yet.”
“All of…? It’s a physical deck, isn’t it. That’s why it wasn’t quite all there on the desk. There is a component that is here, in the Dreaming, but it is a physical, tangible deck.”
He nodded as my face frowned in anger. “Look… Mister… I’m not chasing physical items again. I got burned a hundred ways to Sunday chasing allegories and I’m not getting on that merry-go-round again. If you, or whoever sent you, want me to have that deck physically, you are going to have to provide it.”
He nodded again. “Sounds about right. You’ve received the deck over here, so it’s bound to you now. When the deck comes to you over there, you’ll know what kind of jasper is needed to unlock it over here. Don’t try to chase the stone without having the deck first. The deck unlocks the stone, and the stone unlocks the deck.”
I laid down on the floor in frustration. “But all tarot decks are essentially the same, right? Seventy-eight cards, or seventy-nine if you have a Happy Squirrel. There’s a Fool, a Devil, a Queen of Fire, and a King of Water and all the other hullabaloo that comes with someone’s visual interpretation of what they think the perfect tarot should be. I’ve been through this before, trying to chase the perfect deck. And all I have is ashes for my trouble and the understanding that I don’t need what I thought I needed. I have all that I need already.”
He leaned over me, still mostly hidden by the wrappings of old leather scraps. I could feel his smile despite it being hidden. “It’s a gift, you daft lass. It’s not about what you need. It’s about what other people want you to have with no strings nor expectations attached.”
“I’m not throwing money at this.”
He nodded. “Expected.”
“I’m not looking up decks for possible acquisition again.”
“It wouldn’t be the right one if you did.”
“I’m going to file this dream away and continue on as planned.”
“Seems prudent.”
“It’s a damn pendulum, isn’t it.”
He sat down, shortening his already squat presentation, and laughed with deep rumbles. “What makes you think that? And why a damn pendulum?”
“Because I can’t use the one pendulum I have now. And the shape I’m looking for is very much like a conical pendulum, only its carving is incomplete because I don’t have the physical deck that unlocks its shape. And knowing how the Universe conspires against me, it’s going to be something that will require me learning a new skill set to use properly. Tarot, I got. Basic cartomancy, I got. Pendulum, I don’t got. I do have a slingshot, so don’t fucking tempt me too much, okay.”
His guffaws rattled all the loose stones with percussive rumbling. “It might be. It might not be. When you get the deck, you’ll see.”
“Yea, well, I’m not holding my breath.”
“Good. Dead bodies on the shop floor really stinks up the place.”
I couldn’t stop myself from laughing at his rejoinder. A different door opened, causing a bell to announce the arrival of a customer. The sudden glare of sunlight streaming in shocked me and burned me out of the dream.
Another deck, eh? One I can’t give any suggestive input as to what theme it is, eh? Yea, well, Waking World check time. Weaver may be given many gifts over there, but who gives Keri gifts here? Yea, that’s what I thought. Another dream of wishful thinking.
I really did like the jasper rod, though. Wonder if I can sand down a chopstick and paint/stain it to match. Hmm.