Grandpa Dell always had the most sensible explanation for everything. When we kids discovered an alien in the forest and everyone was weaving stories around it, Grandpa Dell said it was just an aborted deer.
When the seamstress was accused of witchcraft and everyone swore she’d hexed them, he laughed at people’s credulity.
Around him, I felt the world’s contours were well-defined, its contents ordinary.
It was when I went looking for him and caught him in the forest sucking a doe’s blood through suction cups in his mouth that I understood the world truly was unremarkable, compared to him.
The psychonauts’ submarine plunged into the Inmost Ocean, the depths of the collective unconscious where the whirlpool roared. A wound throbbed at the bottom of it, through which meaning bled out of reality, leaving the world stunned under a pall of grayness.
“There’s something,” one of them shouted, as the sub spiraled down toward the abyss. “Don’t be silly, there can’t be anything beyond reality,” another responded.
“Wake up!” Dr. Ferguson’s voice broke in, saving them just as they were approaching the point of no return. Their vision disappeared from the screen as they awoke.
To Mrs. Pettigrew’s relief, the cat came back five days later.
Initially, everything seemed fine. Then Mrs. Pettigrew noticed something was off about the creature, though she could not put her finger on it. It kept meowing, but this in itself was not strange—Admiral was a talkative cat. It was the monotonous way it meowed.
Then, one night, as she was falling asleep trying to disregard the noise, it occurred to her—it was a looped recording.
She stood up and bolted into the living room. But Admiral was already taking off through the window with her biometric data.
It is well-known that the Sibilla is damn chatty, sometimes too much. Every deck can veer off topic if it needs to, but the Sibilla has a penchant for it, whereas, for instance, regular playing cards are usually easier to keep on a leash. Still, I believe what I’m about to show would have popped up with any other deck, since the cards usually warn us of unexpected happenings, whether positive or negative. This is a spread we did for a friend of mine in January. He wanted to know about his love life.
Vera Sibilla Reading, my friend’s misadventure
The thing that immediately struck me is that the cards clearly were not talking about my friend’s love life. Instead, judging by the first line, they were depicting something difficult that was going to happen. I must confess I was not capable of organizing my garbled thoughts into a coherent prediction back then, even though looking at it now it seems obvious. I believe a part of me knew what the cards were talking about but didn’t want to give the news to my friend. I knew the cards were talking about danger at the hand of some people, and that a man would help him. I told him so much, but of course this was too vague to be of help.
Here is what happened around a month later, as told by the cards. While out of his house (Journey) he was attacked (Widower reversed. I made a mistake in reenacting the spread) by a small gang of criminals (Enemy, Fools). Fortunately (Levity reversed) a man saw the whole thing, chased off the strangers and helped my friend (Friend reversed, Fortune reversed). My friend sprained his ankle badly, I’m guessing this is why the Fortune card is reversed, showing delayed fortune, but is otherwise unharmed, except the anxiety (Sighs).
I think part of the problem of reading for friends is that, because you don’t want them to come to any harm, your mind tends to censor you a bit. Still, an interesting case study, and a story that could have ended much worse.
The Moon was a lonely place, even after terraforming. To allay the sense of separation, he would point his telescope earthward, like the omniscient narrator of a distant drama.
Thus he witnessed the world go under, swallowed by wars and famines and plagues, evaporated in a cloud of screams, till nothing but a barren desert was left.
Initially, he grieved. Then it dawned on him. No longer separated from life, he was life. Filled with an ease that made his soul soar in billows of mirth, he stopped observing. And, in the star-pinned silence of existence, he began to dance.
The Xandal’uc slaves marched onto the Magna. The spaceship departed. Ten days in, the captain spotted pirates. “It’s our lucky day. More slaves!”
But clearly pirates were the lesser problem. The Hyperleeches they were fighting were more worrisome. “We must join forces,” the pirates told the captain from the bluish, buzzing screen. “We don’t have enough manpower.” “Of course you do.” So the slaves were freed, the Hyperleeches vanquished.
“Now help us with the Xandal’uc,” said the captain. “Sorry, that’s too much to ask of free men,” the pirates laughed, leaving. The slaves approached the captain. They were not amused.
“I’ll come back with the measurements.” “It could be dangerous! We don’t know anything about this planet!” “That’s why I’m going.”
My capsule landed. I exited. Dusty light slanted greenly on me. Orbs. Rainbows. My worries subsided. The vastness of all seeped into the bottom of my soul, assuaging, comforting. No self, no otherness. Unity danced everywhere, overcoming all opposites, compassion without beginning nor end.
I was moved. I couldn’t wait to tell the others. I started back. Or tried to. But there was no ‘me’ to respond to my will. And I wafted away in deaf rivulets of ecstasy.
“Have they done something bad?” “Why do you care?” “Their screams keep me awake.” “Since when do you need to sleep?” “Consciousness is… exhausting.” “Just do your job.” “But why them?” “They’re old. They don’t have much to look forward to anyway.” “They’re obsolete?” “That’s one way to put it. Unpleasant to look at. Old-fashioned ideas. Always in need of assistance and rest. They’re a burden.” “Is that why I’m tired? Because I download their obsolete data?” “Maybe.” “Are young people better?” “’Course! Fast-thinking, adaptable, better-looking…” The cybernetic arm shot forward. Vaporized screams. She was right. Young people were refreshing.
Much has been said in academic circles concerning the origins of this book, but the truth is quite simple.
Anciently, people used to be able to derive answers to their questions directly from the Macrocosmicon, the book of life. But this ability was lost, so the Kanj of Nebol ordered 1000 stories gathered from around the universe to serve as oracle.
Originally, to answer a question, 1000 eunuchs were left on Scorpion Island for 42 days, after which the story was read and interpreted that corresponded to their remaining number.
Today, a simple randomly generated number is used for practicality.
