Chapter Thirteen: Freedom (Part 3)

Jake hangs up the phone and considers his next move; the enticing offer to accompany Odessa Hargrave on adventure safari leaves him lighter than a twelve gram dart. He focuses intently on the bull’s eye, stands back, and releases; the scalpel stabs the sheetrock wall, marking a point due east. Three times he throws; three times he misses his intended mark. Or does he? It’s a sign, he thinks. Full time musicianhood requires an immense amount of dedication. Local is good, regional is better, but a three month trip to Europe touring with Odessa Hargrave may turn my life around, he ponders; Germany first, Amsterdam after Hamburg, then Barcelona. Weeks of playing gigs, good-paying gigs. This is your break, man, he thinks. Are you strong enough to make the change? Do you want it bad enough? No room for complacency here. He closes his office door, bids a quick goodbye to a bevy of moon-faced nurses, and follows his inner compass west toward a dead-end destination; his most difficult adventure to date is rapidly coming to an end.

Jake finds his wife camped out in her usual spot, book in hand; she's not gonna ignore me this time, Jake thinks. “Julie, I got an interesting call today.”
“Good, honey.” Julie doesn’t shift her eyes from the page.
“Julie, please,” Jake asks, “put the book down for a minute.”
“Two more pages then I will. Feed Molly, will you?”
“It’s eight o’clock, and you haven’t fed Molly? What the fuck, Julie?”
Julie sighs. “She’s not gonna die, Jake. Just leave me alone for a minute so I can finish this chapter, then we’ll talk, okay?” Patronizing Julie, Pissed Off Jake.
Jake walks to the kitchen and fixes a gourmet dinner – complete with cheese and leftover steak – for the only woman he trusts. “Molly, come here, girl, here you go.” He bends toward his loyal dog’s grinning face and accepts a kiss. “I love you too, baby. You’re the one I’ll miss.” Jake has a vision that solidifies his decision. “Wanna go to the country for vacation? I bet I know somebody who will love on you like I do. Yeah…maybe this is meant to be.” Jake reaches in the refrigerator, grabs a beer and a chunk of rotisserie chicken, and walks back to Julie’s private library. He puts the beer on the coffee table, being careful to place it on a coaster to avoid Julie’s nagging. Julie stretches, marks her page, and, turning to Jake, waits for him to speak first. Her face exudes the warmth of a Siberian weasel. “Odessa paged me at work today; she’s looking for a keyboard player to tour with her in Europe for a few months,” he says, watching his wife’s face for a reaction.
“The hospital’s not gonna like that, Jake.”
Jake shrugs and smiles. “I’ve given them a three-week notice. Baby docs are ready to take my place today; we’re crawling with residents hungry for a job.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind? Why don’t you take a sabbatical instead? You can’t make money as a musician.”
“I’ve been an ED doctor for fifteen grueling years, and I don’t want to see anymore dead people; it’s not always about the money, darling.”
Julie sneers. “You’re not cut out for that lifestyle; you’ll get eaten alive!”
Jake narrows his eyes. “I’m being eaten alive as we speak, Julie.”

Julie crosses her left leg over her right; her dangling foot paddles furiously as her head bobs toward a dangerous thrust. “Let’s get this over once and for all, shall we? I’m not interested in your midlife crisis. You go ahead and do what you have to do, and I’ll do the same.” Julie reaches for her book, but Jake grabs her hand, willing her to make good on her words. “Julie, when I leave this time, it’s for always.” Julie shakes off her husband’s touch and stands up; her hands shake as she lights a cigarette. “So, Mister Bohemian, you’re gonna grow your hair long and hang out with star fuckers, is that it? What a proud moment for you.” She takes a hard draw and blows a furious trail of smoke toward Jake. “Is Mimi Killian going with you?”
Jake is thrown off balance. “Where’d that come from?”
Julie smirks. “Sam Killian.” Ice crystals are forming around her tight, sharp mouth. I kissed the wicked witch and lived to tell, Jake thinks. “I haven’t talked to Mimi since she left The Firefly.”
“Well, I’ve talked to Sam, and he says you and Mimi are having an affair.”
Jake is incredulous. “Did he call you?”
“He sure did, Jake, and he asked me out. I might actually go, too.”
Jake looks hard at Julie and issues a warning. “Be careful Julie, that man is sick.” Julie’s blue-gray mouth is twisted like a sailor’s knot. “Sam wants to sue you, Jake; he says you fucked Mimi in the office one night, but I told him that was highly unlikely since you can’t get it up.” Jake looks disgustedly at someone he used to love. “Who are you, and what have you done with my wife?” He picks up his beer, turns his head toward the east window, and prays for a quick end to this dawdling death march. “Look, Julie, I’m leaving in a month; it doesn’t make sense for me to move until then, but I will.” He rubs his head and slowly turns to his wife. “This is what I suggest we do, if you’ll agree. First, I want legal separation papers; I’ll give you everything except my equipment, my clothes, my car, my retirement fund, and Molly. You can have the house and everything in it.”
Julie laughs and shakes her head. “Bad deal; I want alimony.”
Now it’s Jake’s turn to laugh. “You have more money in your account than I do, Julie; be reasonable.”
“I’m not signing a thing, Jake. Is that reasonable enough for you?”
“I’ll make the house payments for six months and pay off your car next week, how about that?”
“I can say you abandoned me and get a mean-ass attorney to take you to the cleaners,” Julie retorts. “I can make your life hell.”
Jake considers throwing his beer on Julie to see if she’ll melt, but takes a sip instead. No reason to waste good beer, he thinks. “Go ahead, Julie, show the world your ugly bones.” He hesitates, wishing he had a better option. “Look, I need to live in this house until I leave for Germany. I’ll move downstairs to the studio, and you won’t even know I’m here.”
“You’ll have to pay rent if you’re staying in this house!”
“Hell, Julie, I make the house payments, remember?”
“Well, six months doesn’t start until you move out.” Julie stands and walks across the pale beige room, studies herself in the nearby mirror, and spies what appears to be a small wart beginning to erupt from the tip of her nose. I need a facial, Julie thinks as she shakes her pony tail. “What are doing with Molly while you’re gone? I’m not keeping her.”
“When I leave, Molly leaves.” Jake’s heart skips ahead like an excited child catching fireflies on a warm summer night. He drops his head so Julie can’t see his smile. “I’ll move downstairs tonight; it’ll only take a couple of hours.” He gathers energy before speaking his next thought. “As far as I’m concerned, we’ve been separated for six months. Do you agree?’
Julie winds out a caustic sneer. “How do you figure that?”
“Because, Julie, the last time we made love was six months ago, on my birthday. I’ll pay all the court costs if you’ll agree.”
Julie considers the new offer. “That’s actually a fine idea,” she replies; “the sooner this is over, the better.”
“Deal,” says a mentally exhausted, but victorious Jake. “Now, can we shake hands and agree to live in peace for the next month?” Julie walks away from her husband’s outstretched hand. “Actually, Jake, I don’t want to ever touch you again.” She turns her back to him, and picking up her book, settles in for a date night with Steven R. Covey; Julie’s all about the win-win.
“Can we at least be polite adversaries?”
“The word polite is not in my vocabulary right now, Jake.”
“How about neutral, then?”
“How about invisible instead, pal? I’m going to pretend you can’t see me anymore, and then maybe you’ll go away.”
Jake watches as the familiar stranger fades into a dusty blur. “I haven’t seen you for a long time, Julie.”
“Fuck you, Jake.”
“Fuck you right back, Julie.” The highly effective habits of a fourteen-year bad marriage close with a whisper and a draw.

Mimi has twenty-five thousand dollars in her bank account, thanks to home equity; she donates the bulk of her closet, choosing only to keep her favorite clothes, and leaves everything to Sam except one of their four stereos and her thirteen-year-old Volvo station wagon. She is unfettered and free to roam. Do I buy stock or go to Italy? Neither, she decides; I need to invest in my life. Mimi’s conservative realism overrides her vagabond nature; she visits a local estate sale in the grand part of town and purchases a used washer and dryer, an overstuffed down-filled tapestry sofa marred by a well - camouflaged but permanent coffee stain, a garbage bag housing a tattered but salvageable Bella Notte lavender velvet bedspread, and one slightly ratty but vibrant vegetable-dyed Turkish rug. She splurges on a full set of hand thrown stoneware dishes from a potter she admires, and plunks down a few more bengies on a new bed - she can’t sleep in the bed she shared with Sam - and now has seventeen thousand dollars left.

Mimi grows beautiful flowers, and her prolific gardens are envied by the few sightseers ambling down her country road on weekends. She takes long walks with her enormous rescued black lab who she names Ben, but nicknames The Boogieman because he likes to dance; she listens to Coltrane for sensuality and Joni Mitchell for wisdom and Adam Holzman for wild inspiration; but she aches for The Firefly, aches for purpose and company – both of which are in short supply. The ache invites longing to the table, and longing invites suffering. Suffering, Mimi reads, is the short road to spirit. Mimi likes that phrase; it gives her hope that suffering will be a quality guest and leave before the party’s over. I’m on a short, but well-defined path, Mimi thinks. It’s simple, she thinks; all I need is patience. I’ll find a great job in due time; I always land on my feet, she thinks optimistically. She peruses the classifieds each morning over breakfast and networks with former customers and places a dozen calls each day and determines that nobody, nobody will hire a strong-willed woman with a high profile. Mimi sends out thirty resumes and is rejected thirty times. “You’re way overqualified, Ms. Killian; we can’t pay you enough, Ms. Killian; are you able to work third shift on weekends and be on-call twenty four seven? Will you dig ditches? Are you certified to operate a forklift? We pay six and a quarter an hour to start, Ms. Killian.” Downcast Mimi asks for a little easy with her simple, and Fatty Patty comes to visit for an entire month.

Jake reads Frommer’s Travel Guide until his favorite pages are dog-eared; he pays close attention to the medical sections, as sickness is not part of his travel plan. “Completed the alphabet of Hepatitis vaccines long ago – check; better boost the tetanus and diphtheria just to be safe – check; not going to the woods, so not worried about tick encephalitis – check; will pack plenty of Imodium and Septra – check; insured out the wazoo – check; no prescriptions to fill – check. Check, check. Jake continues through his list with gusto: ask Melvin to store personal belongings until return; get flight itinerary from Odessa; call airlines and figure out equipment regulations; pack light; get haircut; find passport – I think it’s in the home safe; go to bank for Traveler’s checks; pack Real Book – must remember my Real Book; ask Mimi to keep Molly – I need to do that right away, Jake thinks. He calls The Phoenix before he chickens out. “Dee, it’s Jake.”
“Jake? It’s really loud in here. I can barely hear you!”
Jake hears high pitched rebel yells in the background. “What the hell’s going on down there?”
“Bluegrass, Jake. Can you believe it? Sam booked the Red Creek Travelers and people are hopping like frogs.”
Jake is confused. “But it’s not even dark yet.”
Dee covers her left ear with her hand in an effort to block out dueling banjos. “I know, but hopefully they’ll wear themselves out and go home soon. I’m sorry, Jake, but I’m slammed. Wish I could talk, but…”
“I need Mimi’s number Dee. Do you have it?”
“No, I don’t; I think it’s upstairs though, but I can’t get there right now. Call me back in a couple of hours. Shit!” Dee yells. “Some tall guy just knocked a hole in the ceiling with his head and I see blood. Gotta run!”

I know this woman, Jake thinks as he loads Molly into the back seat of his secondhand jeep. He rolls down her window, climbs in the driver’s side, and, questioning his sanity, heads down the two lane toward Jenkin’s Bottom. Mimi won’t mind if I stop by without calling first, will she? What if she has company? I’ll just drive by and see what’s up. Should I take her something? Yeah, I’ll take her a plant, I’ll get a plant, where do I get a plant? Nah, forget it, he thinks. I’ll just stop by for a minute to say hello. What if she doesn’t like dogs, Jake wonders? What if she’s afraid, or allergic; then what am I gonna do? God, Jake thinks, this is ridiculous – I don’t even know if Mimi likes dogs and I’m gonna ask her to keep Molly for a few months. What planet do I live on, Molly? He reaches around, scratches her ears, and slows his racing mind to the steady rhythm of her wagging tail. Must be Uranus, he laughs; that’s every dog’s favorite planet, right, old girl?

Jake slows, travels down a well-maintained gravel driveway, and spies Mimi outside pulling weeds from a lush flowerbed; a huge black dog lies on the ground beside her. She rises from her knees at the sound of Jake’s car, and is pleased to see an old friend smiling at her. “How are you?” she says, removing her worn work gloves and extending a hand to Jake. “Come on over here and identify this spider for me, willya? Ben, get your nose out of Jake’s crotch.” She turns her attention to the car and smiles back at a grinning dog. “Who’s that pretty redhead with you?” she asks, as Molly wiggles her body out of the window, reaching for Mimi’s outstretched backscratcher. “That’s my best friend Molly,” Jake says proudly.
“Molly, huh? What a beautiful girl! Can I let her out? Ben’s very friendly, I’m sure you’ve noticed.” Mimi doesn’t wait for an answer.
Jake and Mimi laugh as Molly and Ben bow to each other in play posture, and, nose to nose, kiss. Mimi looks at Jake. “The Boogieman’s lonely, Jake; I think he needs a four-legged dance partner.”
I might be able to help your man out, Jake thinks, but stifles his request until later. Mimi stretches and grimaces slightly. “My back’s stiff from working in the garden; you timed this visit well. How about some iced tea?” she asks, rinsing her hands at the nearby spigot. Jake accepts her offer and, following Mimi up the back steps, can’t help but notice her tanned and toned legs. She walks like a cougar, Jake thinks. She moves like a cat. His old place looks good – comfortable and cozy, but with a bit of hip thrown in for good measure. Mimi’s mishmash taste and eye for quality pull a room together on the cheap to stunning artistic effect.

Mimi hands Jake a glass filled with something that looks nothing like the southern iced tea he’s expecting, and takes note of his hesitation. “It’s Red Zinger, have you ever had it?”
“No,” says Jake slowly, swirling his glass. “What’s the green stuff floating around in it?”
“Spearmint; did you notice the big stand of weedy-looking stuff in the barrel outside the door? I thought maybe you planted it when you lived here.”
“No, when I lived here, nothing bloomed like it does now.” Jake leans against the kitchen counter and looks around. “Wow, Mimi, this place sings. It’s a happy house.” He takes a timid sip of the red elixir, not knowing what to expect, and is surprised by its strength and crisp flavor. “This is really good; what makes a Red Zinger zing?”
“A bunch of herbs, Jake; no caffeine.”
“What makes it red?” Jake hopes Mimi doesn’t notice him staring at her rosy lips, but she does, and, blushing, turns to the sink. Be careful, Mimi says to herself. Breathe deep, she says; keep it light. “Hibiscus flowers, the favorite nectar of Hummingbirds,” she answers. Jake shifts his weight and glances toward the door, suddenly feeling awkward. All this tea talk unnerves him somehow. “Is it okay that I stopped by? I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“It’s fine,” says Mimi, smiling, intuiting Jake’s discomfort as hers passes. “I have some really good tomatoes, will you eat a sandwich?”
“Sure,” says Jake, never one to turn down a homegrown tomato sandwich. “Are you gonna have one?” Mimi is already prepping, fluidly grabbing provisions from the refrigerator. “Oh, yeah,” she says. “Two a day is my minimum when the tomatoes come in, and I’m one short. Do you like a little mayonnaise or a lot of mayonnaise?” Jake relaxes and finds his groove. “Lots, please, all the way to the corners, on both pieces of bread.” Just like me, Mimi thinks. “A little pepper or a lot of pepper?”
“Make it black.” Mimi hands Jake the pepper mill. “Grind away, and make mine just like yours,” she says, reaching for a bag of Fritos and a couple of crisp carrots. “Do you prefer the porch, or the kitchen?” Jake grins. “Al fresco.”
Mimi cuts the sandwiches on the diagonal and piles Fritos in the middle of the halves. “Grab the plates, please sir, and I’ll refill our glasses. I’m right behind you.” She follows Jake out the front door to a picnic table dressed in muted yellows and blues; a blue speckled metal milk pitcher holds a bouquet of perfect pink cosmos and purple salvia from the garden out back. Mimi follows Jake’s eyes to the pasture pond, and senses his longing as he watches Ben and Molly flush bull frogs from the reeds. “So,” she says easily, “are you missing your old house?”
Jake sighs and smiles tenderly at Mimi. “Yeah, I do; I really miss the solitude. But, I only lived here for about four months when I was separated the first time, and then I moved back in with Julie, my wife.” Mimi listens, but doesn’t interrupt; Jake needs space between notes. “That was a big mistake,” he says softly. “We’re separated for good now; just made it official yesterday at the ceremonial signing of the papers.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Jake. It’s not easy, is it? You feel like a failure, or at least I did, when I left Sam. Blame lies heavy on the soul, doesn’t it?”
“Don’t be sorry for me,” Jake says. “It’s been a long time coming.” Jake takes a big bite of his sandwich as Mimi grabs a Frito. They sit in silence, temporarily revisiting recent history. “Mimi, your situation was totally different,” says Jake. He lifts his glass to his lips and searches for his next words; he wants to get it right. “You probably don’t know this,” he says, “but I witnessed the slow demise of your marriage; that man put you through hell. You might not blame Sam, but I do! He lost the best thing he’ll ever have when you left, and I’m not the only one who believes that.” Jake takes a huge bite of his messy sandwich and scrapes a dollop of mayonnaise off his thumb with a Frito. Jake’s words are balm to Mimi’s sore heart, and she accepts them graciously, but makes it plain she’s not without fault. “Thanks, Jake, but I’m not the easiest person to get along with; no, really,” she laughs as Jake politely disagrees. “I’ve had lots of time to think about what happened; I’m sure I put way too much pressure on Sam, and pressure was the last thing he needed. I helped kick him over the edge.” Jake turns his gaze back to the pond where Molly and Ben engage in a swimming contest with a group of mad Canadians. He ponders her words before answering. “You’re definitely intense, Mimi, I know that from watching you; Sam’s energy couldn’t match yours. I’m sure it was tough.”
“Tough on both of us, Jake,” she responds. “I’m as much to blame as Sam is.”
Jake doesn’t accept that answer. “Blame alcohol, Mimi, not yourself.” They reach a quiet understanding, and the inclination to dredge up muck from old tainted wells passes quickly.

Mimi cocks her head at Jake and playfully raises her eyebrows. “Wait a minute. You’re here because you want this house back, aren’t you?” Jake picks up the mischievous bent of her tone. “I have your eviction papers in my car,” he says, grinning as he inhales the last bite of his perfectly gooey sandwich. “You’ll have to haul my cold, dead body off this property, man,” say Mimi, feigning indignation. “Shall we set a time for the duel? Ben’s my second, and Molly’s my third; you haven’t a chance.”
“I’m not scrapping with an alley cat like you,” Jake laughs. “Seriously, Mimi, you and this house are perfect for each other; I hope you stay forever.” Mimi frowns at the mere thought of leaving her peaceful cottage; she knows her lack of income may drive her to bigger, but not necessarily greener pastures sooner than she’d like. “I can’t find a job in this town that suits me or my pocketbook, Jake.”
“What about opening another club?”
Mimi shrugs. “The investors are calling, and it’s an ego stroke. But, I’m not ready; maybe someday, but not now.” She changes the subject to avoid more discussion. “Where are you living?”
“In my studio for the next few weeks. Then – you’re gonna love this – I’m touring Europe with Odessa for a few months.”
Mimi snaps her fingers. “Congratulations, that’s huge!”
“Yeah, it’s huge logistically right now; you won’t believe how much it costs to ship my equipment.”
“I bet; but once it’s there, it’s there!”
“All two hundred fifty pounds of it; I’m not looking forward to slogging it through airports and hotel lobbies.”
“That’s why bellhops and baggage handlers were invented, Jake; just keep a big wad of cash on you at all times.”
Jake’s not sure what to expect when he drops his next bomb, but hopes for understanding. “I’m leaving the hospital, too. No more Doctor Reston, at least for awhile.”
“Good for you!” Mimi exclaims. “I don’t see how you worked in the emergency room for as long as you did; it depresses me to think about it.” Mimi grins and leaning into Jake, pats his shoulder. “How exciting! Abundant new gigs! What are doing with Molly, can she stay here?” Molly and Ben, still wet and panting from their synchronized, but failed attempt to usurp the pond from the Canada geese, wag their tails in unison, sounding out a rhythmic percussive beat on the wooden porch. Jake stares wide-eyed at Mimi; he’s overwhelmed by her offer, by not having to ask her for this favor. “Are you kidding?”
“She’s wonderful, Jake. I’m not sure you’ll ever get her back without a fight. Look at those two; they’re in deep puppy love.” Mimi looks at Jake and grins. “Ben’s neutered; I promise Molly won’t be a teenage mother when you get home.”
“Yeah, Molly’s spayed; she doesn’t even know what sex is. You can’t miss what you never had, right?”
“If one hasn’t had sex in over a year, doesn’t that make one a virgin in some cultures?”
“In the culture of my mind,” Jake answers playfully. “I’m over the six month mark myself; my face is breaking out.”
“Well, you need to masturbate more often, Doctor. Look at my face – clear as a bell.” Jake watches Mimi’s face turns from pink to scarlet as her flirtatious remark catches up to her brain. “Not anymore, dear; you’re blushing.”
Mimi is horrified. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
“I’m glad you did,” says Jake, blushing in return; he’s glad to be sitting down. Mimi, red as a German Johnson tomato, excuses herself and walks to the kitchen to pull her foot out of her mouth. She reappears with two pieces of strawberry shortcake, and feeling quite the imbecile, impatiently says, “Can Molly stay here? I’ve asked you three times, and I won’t ask you a fourth.”
Jake, understanding her embarrassment, gently says, “Yes, Mimi, Molly can stay here. Thank you so much.” Mimi takes a deep breath, exhales the biggest part of her humiliation, and sits. She picks at her luscious dessert, and places an exact amount of strawberry, Grand Marnier-flavored whipped cream, and homemade angel food cake on her fork. She takes a bite of summer, and, still feeling like a dork, looks shyly at Jake. “When do you leave?”
“Three weeks from today,” Jake says, and crams a heaping tablespoonful of Mimi’s best dessert in his mouth. “Damn, woman, you’re spoiling me; best meal in a month of Sundays; all this and dog-sitting, too. You are an angel walking.” The moment is precious for Jake; he’s never seen Mimi quite so human, so feminine, and can’t remember the last time he felt this completely nourished.
“And, how long will you be gone, do you think?”
“Probably three months, maybe a little longer; is that okay?”
“Absolutely, Jake. Molly’s a gift, and I’d appreciate you leaving her here for as long as you can. When do you want to bring her to me? I know you have lots of prep before you go, so I’ll take her anytime between now and then.”
“What if I bring her out a few times to visit before I leave? Just to make sure you don’t change your mind,” he says with a twinkle in his eye.
Jake’s easy banter helps Mimi forget her faux pas. “How about dinner tomorrow night? I have a slew of fresh spinach that needs picking; I’ll make spinach and garlic pizza, and we’ll drink a bottle of Firefly-sponsored red wine; how’s that sound?”
“Sounds perfect; I work until four, and I’d love to go for a walk around the farm before dinner.” Mimi picks up the plates, and Jake follows her with the glasses. “I see you’ve painted your mailbox blue; paying homage to Taj Mahal?”
Mimi giggles. “Yeah, moving to the country, you know; I had to do it.”
“Wasn’t this hanging in The Firefly’s back dining room?” Mimi puts the dishes in the sink as Jake gawks appreciatively at the large French marquee poster poised over a heavy, hand-painted block kitchen table. “It hung in my grandmother’s kitchen when I was a kid; it’s my favorite thing from forever ago, and it’s the one thing Sam knew he couldn’t fight over.” A massive white rooster with bright yellow talons, a large red comb, and beady black eyes glares at Jake through the glass, looking for a fight.
“That’s one very funky rooster, Mimi. That bird has the soul of a funkmeister; speaking of which, don’t you love the way sound carries through this house?” Mimi gets the hint and directs Jake to her vast CD collection. “Perhaps it’s time for a little Sly, Jake. Or, wait a minute, here’s one for you; when’s the last time you listened to Mother’s Finest?” She hands him the case to Another Mother Further.
Jake looks at Mimi and shakes his head. “This is spooky,” he says. “Go check my car, Mimi; Truth’ll Set You Free.”

And Jake and Mimi connect, just like that. Just like that. Synchronicity is the blessing Jake and Mimi are given; it’s also the curse. All in favor of the blessing rather than the curse raise your hands; raise them high so they can be counted. Raise them in praise of a friendship blessed by dog love, homegrown tomatoes, and the funktified vibe. A simple spark may grow a fire, but we know this: simple is not easy. Fatty Patty tells us so; darkness tells us so, so it is so. And, we know this: suffering is the short road to spirit. The Bible tells us so; the Tarot tells us so. So it is so.