5. The Counsel

I'm taking a ride with my best friend

5 | The Hierophant

Last episode, Toby unlocked Extreme Bummer Mode as he recalled his childhood emotional trauma. This brings us to the next Tarot card in the deck, The Hierophant. First off, that’s a weird word you don’t hear every day. It’s a combo of the Greek words for “sacred” and “reveal.” The traditional Hierophant archetype represents a teacher, sage, philosopher, religious leader, psychotherapist, healer, and mentor — someone with a finger on the pulse of deep, spiritual wisdom and ancient texts who’s willing to divulge these secrets to a mortal who could use a bump to the insight bone.

In traditional Tarot imagery, The Hierophant is represented by a pope or high priest. Note that the Latin word for high priest is pontifex: “the maker of bridges.” Symbols often displayed on this card include the mark of the divine trinity (god-man-spirit / sky-earth-underworld), as well as a key, emblematic of unlocking wisdom for others to glean. The Hierophant — similar to The High Priestess — is usually flanked by his temple’s two pillars.

There’s another intriguing aspect of The Hierophant, which makes it one of the more nuanced cards in the Major Arcana. In Greek Mythology (and in Tarot decks that stray from the more stereotypical Rider-Waite Euro-laden symbolism), The Hierophant is often associated with Chiron, a half-man/half-beast centaur. This creature is the paradoxical, dual-natured crossroads where the civilized intellect meets the wild subconscious — the clash of unyieldingly rigid dogma and instinctually elusive spirituality.

According to the Greek myth, Chiron was an immortal who started off as an ancient healer but was wounded by a poisonous arrow and never recovered. He selflessly taught wisdom until he eventually sacrificed his immortality so another god could live. This “wounded healer” embodies empathy learned through pain. He is the “unsolvable problem:” he can heal others, but, tragically, cannot heal himself. His insatiable thirst for students, mentees, and other wounded souls is what drives him onward.

Chiron is also a major player in Astrology. Represented by a key-shaped glyph, astronomically Chiron is a comet that orbits near the paths of Saturn and Uranus. Astrologically, Chiron represents the “wounded healer” in our natal chart (a map of the solar system at the exact moment of your birth, which lends insight into your personality, motivations, and traumas to overcome). When you draw The Hierophant Tarot card, consider the wounds in your own life, and identify both the intellectual knowledge and intuitive medicine that will lead to your healing. (For bonus points, find out where Chiron sits in your natal chart.)

Last June, I published my first full Bonesick comic, The Bad Apple. I always wanted it to say so much more than I could squeeze inside eight panels. So with the Hierophant Tarot archetype, my opportunity finally arrives!

To all my readers who already met Sully, welcome to your deeper dive.

Accusations
Lies
Hand me my sentence, I'll show no repentance
I'll suffer with pride

— Martin Gore

5 | The Counsel

Once The Bickersons finally left in dejected silence, Sully grabbed their empties from the bar. He left the watery pattern of broken rings as a little homage to the couple’s epic blowout. The thin guy, Paulo, had begged Sully to take sides — as his patrons often do. Sully restrained himself to probing questions and astute observations only. This approach was crucial on “Personal Jesus” two-for-one-Tuesdays when patrons got particularly sauced. The thicker one, Jesse, was probably in the right, but it’s best to let ‘em hash it out themselves. Such is the thankless job of the career bartender.

Guitar, synth, and piano pulsed from the dance floor. Sully sang along under his breath, I’m taking a ride with my best friend. The bar door opened again, and Sully glanced up from washing the glasses in the underbar sink. He met the familiar and despondent gaze of his old pal—a courageous soul who’d been to hell and back again. “Tobias, good to see ya, my man. You look like you could use a drink, eh?”

“Yep. Pour yourself a shot on me, too.” Toby slumped into his regular stool at his regular bar, Nick Roman’s: a quick five flights of stairs plus fifty-five steps away from home. The bar was dark and moody mixed with a kaleidoscope of pink and orange from the dance floor in the corner. The shimmer and throb of synth and bass—along with the giant preserved oak tree in the center of the space—gave the bar its life.

Sully scanned the Scotch lineup and grabbed the Macgoodstuff. “Thank ya, friend. Occasion?”

“It’s that time of year.” Toby sighed with frustration as he glanced up at the Beefcake calendar that hung up on the wall behind Sully, next to an old camping lantern rigged so it never turned off.

Sully followed his buddy’s sight line and winced. “Ah yes, the Abandoversary.” He’d been Toby’s late-night confidant for at least a decade now. Their relationship had been further calcified by Sully’s sponsorship during Toby’s SkinFree therapy and transition. Sully had been so relieved when Toby agreed to the arrangement, especially considering that Sully quit the program just a couple weeks before the Procedure. The two dug through Toby’s psychological sludge on a regular basis, but with no real progress.

Sully pushed Toby’s drink across the slick wood and lifted his own shot glass of Scotch with a sturdy, “Sehha!”

Toby raised his glass to meet his friend’s. “To terrible fathers,” he toasted and drained the glass in a single swig.

“Two-fer Tuesdays?” Sully suggested, his hand on the bottle next to them.

Toby pushed his glass forward. “You know it. Just leave the bottle; I have off tomorrow.”

Sully raised his eyebrows, “Really now? Out for good behavior, are we?”

Toby shook his head and took a sip. “Nah, there’s some sort of big restructuring project going down. Tomorrow’s an all-hands meeting for managers and up. My boss said I shouldn’t bother though.”

Sully crossed his arms and leaned on the back counter. “You cool with that?”

“No choice.” Toby shrugged and recovered the thread he wanted to pull on tonight. “Sully, you think bad apples are forgivable?”

Clearing the slate for their session, Sully gave the bar a thorough wipe-down, and topped off his pal’s glass. “Sure, bud.”

“It’s just…well, people say they forgive, but they’ll never forget, right? They’ll just resent you indefinitely.” Toby took a long pull from his drink.

“We talkin’ they, or we talkin’ you?” Sully counter-posed.

Toby cracked a smile. “The whole lot, I guess.”

Sully leaned forward on the bar. “Sounds to me like you’re really askin’: are bad apples forgettable?” After Toby mumbled a non-response, Sully rubbed his beard and continued, “The way I see it? You one-hundred percent atone for your sin, your mistake, you’d want folks to remember all that, right? Witness your full circle, 360-degree transformation?”

Toby set down his glass and pondered Sully’s point. He continued, “What if there’s no way to atone? What’s done is done. Still forgivable?”

Sully asked, “Let me ask you then, is this about what your dad did or about what you did?”

Toby paused a beat before he lobbed back, “Aren’t they one and the same?”

“Is that how you see it?” Sully asked as he walked down to the end of the bar to retrieve a stack of pint glasses one of the servers had dropped off.

With his Scotch raised again, Toby toasted, “Yep, to a bushel of bad apples! Toss ‘em!”

Sully returned to his post with the pint glasses and began to wash them out one by one. “Not to mix metaphors… and, um, no offense…” Sully gestured toward Toby’s skeletal profile. “…why cut your nose to spite your face?”

Toby shrugged, “None taken. I get it. This SkinFree life was supposed to be a fresh start.”

Sully interrupted, “And yet, here you are, yet again, on March 13th like all the other March 13ths, drink in hand, talkin’ to my sorry-ass face.”

Toby swirled the last sip inside his glass and considered the definition of insanity. He tried one more angle: the cold truth. “Sully, if I forgive him. He gets off scot-free. What he did to me, to my mom—they still won’t let me near her, by the way, if you can believe it—it’s like I’m giving him a free pass to ruin lives.”

Sully nodded. “Following.”

“But then, same goes…” Toby lowered his voice, “…for me.” He stared into the dregs of Scotch in his glass and continued, “Sully, I don’t deserve a free pass. I deserve to be forgotten. Wiped off the face of the earth like I never existed. Just like him.”

Sully considered Toby’s conundrum. He rubbed the faded snake that coiled around his forearm—an old habit he’d developed over years of dropping knowledge. “First, my friend, I’m sorry about your mom. So she’s still up at State?” Toby nodded. Sully continued, “That’s shitty, man. Seriously. I’ve got a question though.” Toby raised his gaze.

“What if your dad’s out there somewhere, and he doesn’t need your forgiveness? He’s paid his dues. He’s moved on. He’s even…” Sully paused and looked Toby square in his eye sockets, “...forgiven himself.”

Their mutual stare was interrupted by a cacophony that barreled through the bar’s front door. Sully turned his attention toward the noise.

The ruckus pulled up to the bar’s end in a grand spectacle of fluster and flamboyance. “SULLY, I GOT BOY PROBLEMS!”

“Oof, looks like my next session’s already here.” Sully glanced back to Toby who had already pulled out a twenty and placed it next to his empty glass. Sully grabbed both and said, “Thank ya, friend. Same time next week?”

Toby nodded, slid off the barstool, and made his way to the door, dragging more in tow than the burden he’d arrived with. He thought to himself, “‘Addition by subtraction,’ they say.” He pushed the glass door without looking back.

From the corner of his eye, Sully watched Toby leave. He held a finger up to his next client, “Just a moment, hon. I’ve gotta make a call. I’ll start your drink.” He walked toward the liquor line-up and pulled whiskey and a hot pink liqueur. He placed the bottles on the bar, grabbed a martini glass, crouched down, and picked up a beige cordless phone tucked way back underneath the bar. As he stood up, he glanced to the DJ, who was also the bar’s owner Nick, and gestured to turn down the volume just slightly. Sully extended the antenna, tapped a single plastic button, and cradled the phone on his shoulder while pouring the brown and pink liquids into a shaker filled with ice. 

“Hey. Yeah, it’s Sulaiman. … Good. But, hey B? Our boy is real dire straits. … I’m not sure what to tell him. You think he’s— … Hmmm, I guess you could. … No, he’s off tomorrow surprisingly, so—. … I dunno, he didn’t say anything about that …”

Sully mumbled affirmatively while he threw three cherries into a martini glass. His concern melted into a fit of laughter. “Shit, you know me too well, girl! Wounded healer. You crack me up … You too, please let me know. …’Night, B.”

Sully grabbed the phone from his shoulder, tapped another button, pushed down the antenna, and placed the phone back underneath the bar. He gave Nick a thumbs up and allowed the heavy lyrics to sooth him. He threw a few more liquid ingredients into the shaker, grabbed the glass of cherries, and clocked into his next session. 

1. Synchronicity of the Week:
   I wrote The Counsel story slice a little over a week ago, then this past Friday, I watched Episode 6 of HBO’s mycelium masterpiece The Last of Us, which featured a cover of Depeche Mode’s “Never Let Me Down Again” by Jessica Mazin.

2. References:

   The opening lyric is from “Condemnation” by Depeche Mode. Between both of my fathers, the trifecta of Music for the Masses, Violator, and Songs of Faith and Devotion were in heavy rotation. The Singles 86-98 cd became the soundtrack to my life starting in my emo-teens, through college, and through post-grad. Yada yada, I’d definitely be at Nick’s “Personal Jesus” two-for-one Tuesdays.
   
   The “Macgoodstuff” could be famed Macallan Scotch whisky, but is really my incredibly subtle nerd-nod to MacCutcheon, an easter egg predominantly featured throughout the show Lost, but also on other JJ Abrams’ and Abrams-adjacent shows like Fringe and Once Upon A Time.
   
   When they toast, Sully says “Sehha,” or صحَّة , which means ‘health’ in Arabic and in some regions is said colloquially as a wish for good physical, mental, and moral wellness.
   
   The oak tree in the center of the bar is a reference to an old favorite watering hole in my university town, Paul’s Club. The true irony is that, since I graduated, they moved the bar (AND the tree) to a location down the street. That location? The shoe store where my dad worked and the last place I saw him.

3. Next Time: We’re really diggin’ into the bowels of Bonesick now, so don’t pack away those emo-pants just yet. Next episode we ask, “Is it better to have loved and lost than to never have opened your raw, beating heart up to another vulnerable human at all?”