Tour Whore, November 4, 2012

It's a NOLA Halloween
by Cameryn Moore

It’s beautiful out here, in the middle of a going-to-wild field, in the heart of New Orleans’ vast City Park, on Halloween.

My billet, a friend from the 2011 Fringe circuit, was throwing a party here. Except for the stone shelter and the lights from the stadium a quarter-mile away and my billet’s friend’s pickup truck with the generator hooked up to it, it truly felt like the faeries had gone slumming in human land for the night: twinkling strands of Christmas-light stars hung from three massive oak trees, leaf-strewn carpets and cushions, and the attire, of course, it’s New Orleans and the folks here take costuming seriously. Later on, the party would fill up with Mexican skull face paint and elaborate gilt spiral-horn headdresses and cobwebby shawls and Italianate raven’s-beak masks, and look, Little Red Riding Hood, it all jumbled together and felt strange.

For me, the pretty pictures were a channel of communication between myself and my subconscious

Early on, though, they were working on the power supply still, so occasionally the faerie lights went black, and at that moment I saw the bluish-white beam of the flashlight blinking further out there in the field, a landing strip for Night-Owl Airlines. Oh, said my friend, that’s my friend Kathy. She’s doing tarot readings. So I went. Of course someone is doing tarot readings at a gathering like this. Of course I should have my cards read.

She sat across from me, a blond middle-aged lady (much like myself), except she was wearing a pasteboard crown and a hastily assembled cape over her slacks and long-sleeved t-shirt, while I was wearing nothing but fishnets, black ruffle-butt panties, my cowboy boots, and lavender glittery pasties. In spite of my faux fur coat—a little too warm for the subtropical autumn night—the mosquitoes were having a field day. 

She explained that she was just getting started doing readings. Friends had said she had a knack, and these same friends also said that the best way to get experience reading cards is to read them at parties. 

I used to have a tarot deck. I never thought of it the way the interpretation manuals seemed to think I should, as a mystical channel of communication between myself and the benevolent spirit world. For me, the pretty pictures were a channel of communication between myself and my subconscious; they provided a visual spark for the internal combustion of my brain. I used my tarot deck for prompts in my journaling practice, for a jumpstart when I had to enter into a new project, something to get me thinking about my life differently.

I’m talking about promotion, my reach and visibility, the side projects, the whole Cameryn Moore, you know, thing.

I explained this to the lady. She nodded her head wisely, the gold-paper crown reflecting the garish flashlight glow. “So, what question do you want to ask?” I stared up at the sky, and then at the beaded purple-velvet cloth that the lady had covered her table with.

I know the question; I just don’t know how to formulate it. I’ve been sitting with it for months now, maybe even a year or more. It’s something about the next work that I need to do. I’m not talking about my plays, those will happen or they won’t, I’m talking about promotion, my reach and visibility, the side projects, the whole Cameryn Moore, you know, thing. I fumbled in trying to explain this; the woman nodded again. “Hold that question in your mind now and cut the deck.” 

The brand-new deck dug stiffly into my palm when I cut the cards, then she picked them up and laid out a pattern—“we’ll go with the Celtic Cross, I don’t know that many layouts yet”—and then began turning over the cards, one by one. “Mmm, lots of pentacles and wands,” she murmured. The Fool was in there, she tapped it and smiled…

Hahah. GOTCHA. Are you waiting to hear about a spot-on reading? Are you waiting for me to proclaim that my path blazed forth from the cards, casting a prophetic glow on my face and hers and there it was, materializing like a perfect pearl of wisdom in my mind, I had all the information I needed, all that was lacking was to transfer it to my dayplanner?

I wish, but NO.

I wasn’t expecting it to, either. I was just looking for another way to tackle the question, a sideways angle to look at my situation. While she was talking about the cards, and scrolling through the online tarot database on her smartphone for meanings, I kinda wanted to say PLEASE. Please, be quiet for a moment. I need a moment of stillness. I don’t have enough of this in my life, hardly ever.

I need to breathe. I want to look at the cards and let my mind wander the way I used to, back when I was working in a geology library and my writing dreams were trying to bloom in utter spiritual darkness. I am looking at a whole universe of possibilities and I need to just pick one star and go. 

I knew, even when I sat down, borrowed her bottle of mosquito repellent, smiled and chatted, I knew. She was not going to plot my course for me, this novice fortune-teller. She could not tell me anything I don’t know, at some level. The only meaning in this or any other process is the meaning I bring it.

Eight of Pentacles, the last card, immediate future if things remain unchanged. You are working on your craft. Trust in the skills you have already.

I put two dollar bills in her bucket and thanked her. She may not have known the meaning, but she brought the means.

camerynmoore.com