“Well…”, I said to myself last night. “Well, that wand isn’t coming back from the Path of Teth by itself. Enough being afraid of possible consequences, enough allowing other people’s words from distracting me. I’m going to go to Chesed, give my regards to Jupiter in whatever form he takes, and then go get my damn wand!”
Isn’t there some old adage about “best laid plans”, or some warning about hubris or some shit?
I found myself at the doors of a castle made of gleaming gold. Gold everything. Gold cobblestones led up to the gold doors framed by gold columns.
Red gold, white gold, yellow gold in faded hues and intense hues. Gold so pure and so polished, it made Apollon’s sheen look like something that flaked off a kid’s goldenrod crayon.
Gold, bitch. Can you handle the weight of it?
Literally.
And for all that visual splendor, it was the density of it all that struck me. There is a cost to riches, to power. The crown changes the one that wears it. The mantle devours the one that bears it. I am reminded of my raven feather cloak and the gradual shift of my identity as a result of it.
But I’m not here for that. I don’t even want a tour. I want permission to begin my trek across the Path of Teth from Chesed. (Because I’d rather not get my ass stomped into the ground again at the hands of the Fearless Legion of Geburah, thank you very fucking much.)
There is a (gold) door knocker here. I look at it and wonder if it is a test in itself. Those that belong here would never need to knock. So do I just waltz in and con my way through? I’ll either impress Jupiter with my daring, or piss him off and be thrown under the dungeon.
Who the hell do I think I am? Hermes? Mercury?
I knock.
The sound of it is the same as tapping a sewing pin on a boulder. Only those absolutely still would hear it, and even then, only if they were listening for it.
A small gold window slid open. “Your claim, please.”
My claim? The attendant sounds like how I feel when answering the phone. “Who the hell is trying to scam me, this time?”
I don’t pack enough punch to back up any bravado. Might as well try the direct approach, then. “I am Weaver Threesouled. I ask permission to travel through the realm of Chesed that I may step foot upon the Path of Teth and reclaim what of mine has been placed there.”
I heard something like the rustle of paperwork. Figures the sephira of government would have records to sort through. “You are not approved for travel.”
Oh. That was curt. Wait. The window is still open. Is ke waiting for me to say the right thing? “What am I approved for?”
“An audience with [Jupiter].” The way the attendant said the name confused my ear. I understood ke meant ‘the lord of the sephira’, which my mind immediately translated as ‘Jupiter’. But I also know that my mental translation is wrong in some way. I am making a false assumption.
“What preparations should I make before my audience?”
“You will receive instruction prior to being seen.”
I think it’s a safe bet to say I will not be having that audience this time. I nod and start to thank the attendant for kir time.
“I have questions for you. You are not obligated to answer, however your responses will be used to allow us to serve you better.” I bit my tongue to keep from laughing out loud at the standard corporate speak. Not obligated, my ass. I know this game. “Are you a god?”
Whoa… That is a trick question if ever there was one. I had to pinch myself to not respond with something about Zuul. “As Weaver Threesouled, no.”
I hear the sounds of something thin scratching on something dense. “Have you been upon the Path of Teth before as Weaver Threesouled?”
Hello leading question. What are you trying to get me to say? “No.”
A quick scritch, then silence for an uncomfortable moment. “Then you will not be allowed to descend the Path of Teth from Chesed until you have ascended it first. Only divinities may descend the Tree without having ascended it first. You will have to start from Geburah, assuming you will have permission to enter there without having to start from a lower sephira. However, this does not disqualify you from your audience with [Jupiter]. If you fail to appear on your own volition after a period of time, an escort will be sent to assist you.”
Whoa… a warrant to appear? A fucking warrant? Is this a thing? Why does the Lord of Chesed want to see me? Isn’t my Silent Harlequin Jupiter my personal representation of the Lord of Chesed? Just what the hell is going on here?
“Have you any further inquiries?” The attendant’s voice was as flat as the gold around me gleamed.
“None.” I think I’ve dug my hole sufficiently deep thank you very fucking much.
Without any farewells the small window in the door closed and sealed. There would be no further progress made tonight, so I turned and left. I bitched profusely about bureaucracy as I did.