Hey Reader

This morning, I closed a journal. Not just physically, but mythically.

One more volume in the living chronicle of my inner life—filled with wandering thoughts, fragmented truths, and soul signals scratched across paper. A private ceremony of becoming. And it ended, quite fittingly, with the Fool.

Not just any fool—but the Jester. The Eternal Trickster.
A hunched figure in green and red, with mischief tucked into his sleeves and riddles stitched into his gait. He arrived by tarot card, drawn seemingly at random. But you and I know better. When you’re walking a mythic path, randomness is just the soul’s disguise. Synchronicity is how the unseen winks at you.

I laid the card across the final written lines like a seal. A punctuation mark. An archetypal signature. Then, almost without thinking, I sketched his cousin—the one who lives in my own imagination. Crude. Raw. Smirking. A face with eyes that see through things.

And as I drew him, I realised something:

There’s a kind of poetry to ending a cycle of self-inquiry with the archetype who breaks cycles for breakfast.

The Trickster doesn’t play by the rules. He slips through the cracks of convention. He tells the truth by dressing it in jest. He shows up at endings only to remind you: this is where it begins again.

And that… lands.

Because for me, journaling isn’t just a habit. It’s a ritual. A form of mythic cartography. A mirror that reflects the self beneath the self. It’s how I track the undercurrents of my story, how I speak with the gods that live inside metaphor.

To close a journal is to complete a spiral. A mask has cracked. A loop has looped. A version of me has been seen and released.

When I flip back to those first pages—those early scrawls from weeks or months ago—I meet a different version of myself. One still clinging to worn-out roles. One still performing patterns I’ve since let dissolve. One still asking the questions that led to different doors.

But the questions are why I keep coming back.

The Fool doesn’t offer answers. He offers movement.
He trips you into clarity. He hides meaning in plain sight and chuckles when you stumble upon it.

And maybe, in my own way, that’s what I’ve been doing all along.
Playing the jester in my own inner court.
Writing riddles to myself.
Creating safe spaces for the wild questions to roam.

As I write this to you, the journal lies beside me—closed now. Its spine bowed from use. Its pages thick with ink, doubt, dream, and discovery. I feel a strange tenderness for it. A reverence. Because even though it’s just a notebook, it held something sacred: space for becoming.

And now, with that final gesture—the card, the sketch, the line:

I know in my bones: I wasn’t just documenting a journey. I was living one.

And the Fool has no end. Only a cliff’s edge… and the invitation to leap.

So soon, maybe tomorrow, I’ll crack open a new journal.
Fresh pages. Empty lines. The silence of possibility.

Not because I have to.

But because it’s what the myth asks of me.

Because the Jester dares me.

To keep becoming.
To keep dancing.
To keep writing my way into who I’m meant to be.

A Soulcrafting Prompt for You:​
​What archetype walks beside you as you end one chapter and begin another? What might they be whispering as you take that next step?

Sit with the question. Sketch it. Scribble it. Walk with it. Let the answer arrive sideways, like a Fool in jester’s shoes.

Until next time, fellow seeker—

—Clay
​Soulcrafter, Storythinker, & Mythic Mentor​
​Helping fellow seekers shape their inner life into art.

"Every journal is a forge. Every page, a spell."