Mara & Thomas

This record of events was retrieved from a series of journals by a woman named, Mara. They were found buried near the tombstone of her companion, Gallagher, a black dog, a proper dog, a witch’s companion. Near his bones the record of her trial and error, of trial and success. Mara stretched her psychic rubber band to the edge of chaos, but it never snapped. A lot of paths were wound down, a lifetime of strange dreams. Mara did not need to hold out hope for hindsight, she was aware of it all in exactly the moments it transpired. She is the one who followed her path into graveyards and over roof tops, in silence and dreams, in large crowds of strangers. Somehow both a recollection of events and a recognition of characters.

Mara was a storyteller and therefore, a weaver of fate. She got friendly with fate you could say, and you can feel it in her writing. She recognized her entourage of emotions as spirits that existed within her. She was on the hunt for sovereignty.

“The melancholy friend who arrives at the thought of wealth, why are you so seduced by a cage? Why Thomas do you appear at the table for food and wine when freedom visions occur on your horizon?”

As I read through her journals, I noticed that along with her poetic entries to one particular spirit, Thomas, there was uniformity and organization in her work. She used the same color journal for each year. 2005 is when it began, twelve journals, all red. 2006, eleven journals, light blue. 2007, nine journals, yellow. 2008, six journals, green. 2009, three journals, tan. 2010, one journal, black. I went through everything page by page, and I made the fortunate move of beginning with the one black journal, smaller than the rest, well-worn, and probably carried in her pocket at all times. I started at the end and worked my way backwards in time, hoping to get a glimpse of my own journey somewhere along the way.

In that black journal I found a symbol on both the first and last page. Nowhere else did it appear in any of her journals, and nowhere else had I ever seen its likeness. The pages in between were filled with text, organized as follows: date, time, moon phase, working, procedure, supplies, images, somatic response, and synchronicities.

She was on the hunt for freedom. She needed to be alone in silence and secrecy for a time. She had a mess of a father and a mess of a life under his care. Mara did get out of that town. She disappeared one night, under dark skies on a new moon. She landed in Sweden eventually, lived a long life and died in her home. When we saw her body for the last time before the burial, I noticed a tattoo on the palm of her right hand, and the same tattoo on the ring finger of her left hand, scaled down in size. It was a strange symbol that looked Nordic in nature. This symbol was of course the same one I found in her final journal on the first and last page. It was a power symbol for her I suspected, and the more I stared at it, I began to understand why. The symbol was almost mesmerizing. It seemed to move around the more I stared at it, like a fire bouncing and changing. It was almost like looking at a cell move around under a microscope. Flickering, moving jaggedly, circularly, then still for a second or two and back to movement. It was animated with life force of some kind.

After reading all of Mara’s journals, many times over, it is clear she had a companion on her journey, and that was Thomas. The symbol was bound to Thomas and he was Mara’s guide to freedom. As I read through all the years of entries, I noticed locations were highlighted each year. So, in the interest of understanding Mara’s process and the nuances of her relationship with her internal companion, Thomas, I followed the map of their journey by visiting each location. First, Medicine Bow, Wyoming, 2010. Clearwater, Florida, 2009. Palo Alto, California, 2008. Deer Borne, Michigan 2007. Portland, Oregon 2006. Buffalo, New York, 2005. At each location, I questioned family members, local folks, and friends in the area. In each place, I was eventually led to a remote location and there it was every time, a significant landmark with the symbol from the black book carved into it. I dug near each symbol looking for more journals but what I found was a note from Thomas and stacks of hundred-dollar bills.

Wyoming, “Mara sends her love.” Florida, “What do you really value?” Palo Alto, “What is natural to you?” Michigan, “Learn how to protect yourself.” Portland, “What do you really stand for?” Buffalo, “How long will you wait?” Each location, a question, and a bundle of hundred-dollar bills. I finally went home, with $20,000 in my bag. I went back to the site where the journals were first found and dug even deeper. Something was here, I could feel it. The symbol of Thomas I thought, or perhaps another load of money. What I found instead was a note, buried so deep I almost missed it. From Mara, “I am your Thomas. Make a symbol for me, and let it dance into the future of freedom for the next generation.”