The Fool’s Journey

An adventure on the tree of life

Maureen Clark

© M. Clark/ C Somerville

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means
– graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying or information storage and retrieval
systems – without written permission from the copyright holder

ISBN: 9781082005497
 Imprint: Independently published

Preface

“The Fool’s Journey” is the posthumous work of my sister, Maureen Clark,

BA (Hons); an amazing woman who spent her lifetime writing for the love of it.
This work was written (with passion for her subject, dedication and purpose) at
the end of the 20 th century but after being rejected by a handful of carefully
selected publishers, Maureen moved on to other things. She put this away but
thank goodness, didn’t throw it away. She was very humble about her work and
whenever I brought up the possibility of publishing this book in recent years, she
would quietly reply, “maybe”, and then it would be forgotten again.
When Maureen became very ill, in her 54 th year, she knew she was dying.
“Don’t worry, Carole,” she told me, in April, 2018, “I still have a few months.”
She knew, with an intuitive certainty that she would be leaving us in June and on
July 2 nd , she gained her angel wings.
Maureen faced death with courage and it was her strength and inner calm that
helped keep us strong during her last few months but nothing can prepare you
for the loss, the emptiness, the grief.
It was a very personal and private time for our family. Just days before her
death, I remembered this book and asked Maureen for permission to publish it.
Even though she dismissed it as ‘having been written over thirty years ago’ and
would mean nothing now, she agreed, and asked that I edit and ‘lighten’ the
work as she felt it had been too academic when she had tried to publish it.
We found this book stored with her other works and printed in her own many
edited editions. I carefully went through it all to find her final copies. On reading
it, I felt that this work is too powerful to be ‘lightened’; it is a diligent, informed
and well-structured piece of work, and should be preserved ‘as is’, and made
available for others who care about and love to explore the rich history of the
Tarot and are interested in its correspondences with the Kabbalah Tree of Life.
Maureen was a strong woman. She had amazing strength of character. At the
age of 14 she was left paralysed from the chest down after an accident while
walking with the family. Life had dealt her a cruel blow yet never once did she
complain and always she would strive to be positive and focus on her strengths
and her interests. She earned her Bachelor’s Degree at an early age and spent her
lifetime researching spiritual and philosophical subjects … and writing.
 I feel honoured and grateful that Maureen has allowed me to bring this work
and indeed, my late sister, out of obscurity and hope you enjoy and appreciate
(as I do) the incredible amount of detail that went into the writing of The Fool’s
Journey.

Carole Somerville

Contents
Introduction
Part One: The Path of the Lightning Flash
Chapter One: The Magician and Strength in Kether
The King of Wands
The Aces 30
Chapter Two: The High Priestess in Chokmah
The Queen of Swords and the Queen of Wands
The Two s 49
Chapter Three: The Empress in Binah
The Queen of Cups and the Queen of Discs
The Threes
Chapter Four: The Emperor in Chesed
The Page of Wands and the Page of Cups
The Fours 1
Chapter Five: The Hierophant in Gevurah
The Page of Swords and the Page of Discs
The Fives
Chapter Six: The Lovers and the Hanged Man in Tiferet
The King of Cups.
The Sixes
Chapter Seven: The Chariot in Netzach 7
The Knight of Wands and the Knight of Discs 6
The Sevens
Chapter Eight: Justice in Hod
The Knight of Cups and the Knight of Swords.
The Eights
Chapter Nine: Death and the Hermit in Yesod 5
The King of Swords
The Nines
Chapter Ten: Temperance and the Wheel of Fortune in Malkuth
The King of Discs.
The Tens
Part Two - Chapter Eleven: The Devil
Chapter Twelve: The Lightning Struck Tower
Chapter Thirteen: The Star
Chapter Fourteen: The Moon
Chapter Fifteen: The Sun
Chapter Sixteen: Judgement
Chapter Seventeen: The World
Chapter Eighteen: The Fool
What Inspired Maureen to Write This Book
 ‘The Fool’s Journey’ introduced by Maureen:

‘The Fool’s Journey’ is a book on Tarot, or more specifically, a book of Tarot

aligned with the sefirot of the tree of life of Qabalah. (Why I think they should
be so aligned, I hope the book explains). Many books have, admittedly, already
been published on Tarot. However, apart from a handful (such as ‘Meditations
on the Tarot’), most seem merely to skim the surface, reducing Tarot to
trivialities while ignoring the underlying cohesion and rich spiritual tradition
which runs all through Tarot. None, previously, have related Tarot to the sefirot
of Qabalah.
In this book, I have sought to rectify this omission by giving both what may
be useful in a reading, while attempting also to convey the great power of the
mystical heritage which is Tarot’s very heart. While the book may be of little use
to the casual dabbler who merely wishes to impress their friends over coffee, it
will, I hope, be of interest to any serious student of Tarot, or to anyone
concerned with the mystical paths of life. The Fool’s journey is the life journey
while Tarot provides the guidance to understand the inner realities of this,
ultimately spiritual, pilgrimage.
I have studied and (successfully) read Tarot for close to twenty years. My
knowledge and interpretation of the cards has thus been tested and hammered
out over the crucible of time. I have, over these many years, become intimately
acquainted with the depth and richness of this fascinating subject. It is this depth
and richness I have tried, in this book, to convey.
20 th November 1996
Cover Photo: Portae Lucis by Joseph Gikatilla (1248 -1325) Augsburg, 1516 (public domain)
“If the fool would persist in his folly he would become
wise.”
(William Blake)
 Introduction

From ancient frescoes decorating temple walls for purposes of divination to

games or educational tools in the Renaissance, the origin and antiquity of Tarot
has been much debated. As with playing cards themselves, chess, and even,
though to a much lesser extent, Qabbalah, a little is known, a lot is presumed and
much is speculated.
Chess, we know, was brought to Europe by way of al-Andalus after the first
crusade, and it seems probable that cards too, like chess, were brought from the
near east by returning crusaders in the two centuries after AD1100. It is
speculated too that, again like chess, cards did not originate in the near east but
in India, though a form of chess was thought to be played very early in Eastern
Asia and Babylon with whom India has long links. The chess of India was not,
however, simply the modified Persian-Arabic game as we know it today; rather,
it was a symbolic representation of the cosmic conflict between the forces of
good and evil. The board itself held mystical significance; the signs of the
zodiac, for example, were represented by the twelve inner squares, while the
squares around the outer edge represented the twenty-eight houses of the moon.
Made of thin wood or ivory, the earliest Indian playing cards were likewise
round and small enough to be placed on the squares of a chess board, and it is
possible that cards and chess at this early stage may well have been interrelated.
The Indian connection becomes perhaps more tantalizing for Tarot
with the ancient Hindustani god/dess Ardhanari, the lord who is male and
female. Ardhanari, an image of the unity of Shiva, holds in four hands the four
emblems of Tarot: the baton, the cup, the sword and ring. Whereas, although at
some point undergoing modification, or as if a slightly different translation of an
ancient mystery, the four emblems of Tarot can equally still be recognised in the
four treasures of Celtic myth (which influenced the Holy Grail stories): the
spear, the stone, the cauldron and the sword. Likewise they can be recognised in
the four chief attributes associated with Roman Mercury (and thereby with
Greek Hermes): the sickle (sword), the purse showing coins, the baton which
became the caduceus and the cup of fortune which became known as the cup of
Hermes. Despite the variations in these alternate fours, the similarities are too
much to be coincidence. That the four Tarot emblems of the minor suits are
somehow tied up with not one but many ancient traditions seems clear. That
much of the symbolism of the Tarot majors has a long pedigree reaching into
antiquity is likewise very clear. Scenes of the goddess subduing the lion, as in
Tarot Strength, for example, can be seen in cylinder seals from as early as 2300
BC. What is not clear is the point at which all the symbols were brought together
in the coherent system which we know as Tarot.
As any lengthy study of Tarot symbolism will show, the problem is not the
lack of influence and similarities with other cultures and religions, but the wide
overlap, as if many strands of influence had suddenly been gathered together. Yet
many of the same strands of influence are found in alchemy.
With ancient roots deep in Greek and Egyptian civilisation alchemy had
assimilated, to give but a few of its many benefactors, Hermetic doctrine,
mystical teaching, myth, astrology, Gnosticism, Eleusian mystery religions and
the worship of Isis and Osiris - the very same cauldron of influence that is
present in Tarot. Indeed the overlap and the apex in the mystical marriage or
mysterium coniunctionis is such that Tarot and alchemy are obviously affiliated.
Significantly, like chess, it was during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries that
alchemy, via Sicily and Spain, filtered into Europe. I believe that it is to these
centuries too that we must look for the development of Tarot.
Western Europe during the eleventh, twelfth and thirteenth centuries
played host to a resurgence of learning - almost a medieval renaissance. The way
had indeed been paved from the middle of the eighth century when, spreading
from the Middle East, the Muslims gradually absorbed the cultural fruits of their
military conquests. By the tenth century the cultural heritage of the East, Persia
and Greece was reverberating throughout the Arabic speaking world, eventually
to find its way into, and in turn contribute to, the subsequent revival of learning
within Europe. It was, for example, the Arabic translations of Aristotle and the
Neoplatonist commentaries that caught the attention of European scholars.
Beginning with scholarly translations into Arabic of Greek and Persian texts, by
the ninth century the international world of scholarship - which included Jews
and Christians, were translating in and from Syrian, Hebrew, Greek, Latin and
Arabic. To give a second example, the Panchatantra, a Sanskrit book of fables,
was translated from Sanskrit into Arabic in the eighth century, from Arabic into
Syriac in the tenth century, Greek in the eleventh, and old Spanish, Hebrew, and
Latin in the middle and late thirteenth. Meanwhile Babylonian mystical
traditions and magical practices, such as the use of numerology (gematria) were
brought to the west by travelling magician-mystics such as ‘the father of
mysteries’: Abu Aharon of Baghdad (ninth century). Mathematical and
astronomical ideas were absorbed from India and Persia, philosophy from
Greece, Arab alchemists were hunched over their hermetic vessels, in sort there
was a kaleidoscope of influence, in all of which Muslims, Jews and Christians
came to participate fully. It was a rich and rewarding interchange of cultures.
As long distance travel became easier (from about 1100), a plethora
of ideas and beliefs, new and old, filtered through the newly expanded trade
routes, both by land and sea. Both Southern France and Northern Italy
established stronger trading contacts with Byzantium, with Northern Italy
dominating the routes to the Near and Far East and thereby coming into contact
with, among others, Buddhists and Taoists. Dualist beliefs, such as Bogomilism,
likewise seeped into the west via missionaries, merchants and crusaders
returning from the east.
Bogomilism had actually flowered into an organized heretical
movement in tenth century Bulgaria, amid a diverse influx of apocryphal
literature mainly dating from the early Christian era. Though underground
churches in the Balkans, Asia Minor and Constantinople, Bogomilism would
come to bear a direct ancestral relationship to the spread of Catharism in the
twelfth and thirteenth centuries in Northern Italy and Southern France.
For what was not stable in this period was the political and religious
climate, giving rise to much movement to and fro. Indeed, medieval times, from
the twelfth century, can be characterised as a period of continuous movement
and communication, of upheaval and change. Across the whole of Europe new
movements were arising in answer to the spiritual vacuum created by the
institutionalised religions: such were the Franciscans, the Dominicans, the Order
of Knights Templar, and, more heretical, the humiliati or humble ones, the
Waldensians, the Cathars, the Brethren of Free Spirit, the Beghards and their
sister Beguines and eventually the ‘Spirituals’ within the Franciscan movement
who maintained the prophecies of Joachim of Fiore (d.1202) that a new era of
mystical consciousness would begin in 1260 - a number, as the following
chapters shall show, which was likewise important to Tarot.
Wanderers were in plenitude in medieval times, including many
poets and philosophers, pedlars and holy men with a message to impart. This
was a time of spiritual upheaval. On the one hand, people feared the end of the
world was nigh, on the other windows were being opened on to the riches of
other spiritual traditions, which a comprehensive search for meaning would
bring into the fold. Of importance for Tarot, from the twelfth century, fleeing
persecution at the hands of the Almohad sect, there is a major pattern of Jews
settling in Christian Spain, and of wanderings between Spain and Provence.
It is here, in Provence in the twelfth and early thirteenth centuries
that Qabbalah emerges - or re-emerges. From this time there is a great profusion
of qabbalistic literature and symbolism along with a renaissance of Jewish
learning, directly affected by the ingathered wealth of influence. Indeed, from
the twelfth century onwards there is a great explosion of symbolism in general.
Provence, at this same time, replete with religious tension and home to many of
the heretical sects, is a major witness to the reflourishing of Gnostic tradition and
philosophical pantheism. Scholem has argued in fact that early Qabbalah
emerged at this time and place precisely because of the surrounding mixture of
Gnostic and Neo-platonic thought. Neo-platonist philosophical ideas were being
transmitted by wandering Spanish teachers, such as Abraham Ibn Ezra, who
travelled to Italy, France (including Provence) and even to England in the middle
of the twelfth century.
Southern France and Northern Italy (the two main centres for the
flourishing of spiritual heresies in the West) were, in the twelfth and thirteenth
centuries, culturally very close. Many Italians lived for a time in Provence, while
many ‘heretics’ in turn were to flee Southern France at the height of the
Inquisition for the perceived safety of Lombardy (only to find conditions there
were rapidly becoming as precarious).
Furthermore, wandering from and throughout France in the twelfth
and early thirteenth centuries were the troubadours, bearing a profusion of
variations on the grail legend (with their Celtic treasures) translated in many
languages including French, English Spanish, Welsh and German.
In the magnificent churches and cathedrals being built at this time the stained
glass windows became picture bibles, relating the Christian message in richly
symbolic pictures transcending the need for words. And it is precisely in these
two centuries, it may be remembered, that it is thought that cards, along with
chess and alchemy, were first brought to Europe from the Middle East.
The problem of Tarot, then, the problem not of lack of influence but
of wealth of influence, I think can be solved in the twelfth and thirteenth
centuries, particularly in Southern France. It was here, in this hotbed of spiritual
movements, that the accumulation of many strands came together in Qabbalah
and Gnosticism. Likewise, I believe it was here that the harvest was gathered for
the development, or re-development, of Tarot, which, at least as we know it,
drew initially from the complementary framework of Qabbalah, before
proceeding on a separate road completely as a secret ‘heretical’ tradition.

‘Atout’ the word used for the twenty-two Tarot trumps is a French
word. The terms ‘Tarot’ and ‘Tarocchi’ meanwhile, are the main contenders for
the earliest name of the cards themselves - again all is speculation. Tarocchi (pl)
is the name given to the game known in Italy from the early fifteenth century
and would seem, however, to be an Italianized form of Tarot. Tarot, arguably the
stronger contender, is the term by which the cards are known in France. As for
the origins of the word ‘Tarot,’- yet again they are unknown. I would conjecture
however, that we must look to Hebrew.
A Hebrew word which is very important to Qabbalah is ‘atarah.’
Atarah is singular and means ‘crown.’ The Hebrew feminine plural is formed by
changing the ending to ‘ot,’ as in sefirah - sefirot; thus atarah - crown, becomes
atarot - crowns.
In the soft spoken tongue of Provence the final ‘t’ of atarot or Tarot
would not be pronounced, giving us the inherited pronunciation of ‘taro’.
Moreover, read backwards with the final ‘t’ silent we get ‘tora’. It has been
suggested that the word ‘Torah’ itself derived from ‘yarah’, meaning ‘throw’ in
the sense of throwing lots for divine guidance by oracle. [*] The tradition handed
down in Tarot is to wrap the cards in silk and to keep them in a wooden box -
precisely in line with Jewish customs with regard to the Scroll of the Torah.
Placing the letters in a circle (as if clinging to the Wheel of Fortune) Tarot is
spelt clockwise, tora anti clockwise and rota reading clockwise from the base, in
line with the eternal cycles of Tarot as the book of the wheel of time. Was Tarot
then an alternative Tora, an alternative book of guidance, a secret, heretical bible
of a break-away, inner tradition?
The atarah is identical with the Shekinah both in her role at the head
of the tree as the bride of God and at the foot in the kingdom of Malkuth, in
other words, traversing the entirety of the tree, and the Shekinah - or Sophia - as
the following chapters will show, is crucial to the journey of Tarot. The atarah is
also the crown of Wisdom with which Solomon was crowned, by his mother, at
his wedding – the seal of the mystical marriage.
The esoteric tradition of the atarah forms part of an older tradition
preceding Qabbalah, as do the teachings and practices of the Merkabah
mysteries -(the mysteries of the divine chariot) which would seem to have been
established in France before the ninth century, although they now have fallen
largely into oblivion. Yet both traditions were used by Qabbalists. Qabbalists
believed they were reviving old mystical teachings and certainly they made use
of the literature and esoteric traditions of earlier mystical movements, for Jewish
mysticism goes back long before the twelfth century. (Interestingly, earlier
esoteric speculations were likewise strongly tinged with Gnosticism, while,
through the apocryphal literature, links with India and Egypt are evidenced too
in the earlier explosion of Jewish, Christian and pagan Gnostic and mystic sects.
Early Gnostic schools had likewise drawn on a syncretistic heritage of Jewish,
Greek, Mesopotamian, Iranian, Egyptian and Christian traditions.) In Qabbalah
older Gnostic symbols reassert themselves, while both the mythical and mystical
elements of Qabbalah are extremely strong - in contrast to orthodox tradition.
 Provence in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries was a cradle of
heresies, of people breaking out of the paths of established religion to discover
new paths. One such path, I believe, was Tarot. Gleaning from the mythical and
symbolic heritage, the cultural and religious influx and the surrounding spiritual
movements - including Qabbalah, Tarot broke through all barriers and confined
itself to none. Borderless, it brought all paths together and thus, in this intensely
charged area, would inevitably have provoked the charge of heresy. For Tarot
and its disciples to survive, secrecy would be essential.
For in Provence at this very time arises the Holy war against heretics,
alongside the Inquisition - which was established in 1233 specifically to stamp
out the contagion of spiritual heresies. This was done with violence and
enthusiastic thoroughness; so much so that, after the death of St. Francis, even
the leaders of the ‘spirituals’ of the Franciscans, who earlier had maintained a
foothold on the non-heretical side of the border, were being burned at the stake.
In the latter half of the thirteenth century, from about 1250 (after the fall of
Montségur), the danger to the Cathar perfecti had become acute and Catharism
was itself largely driven underground. That Tarot, which would never have stood
a chance of being regarded as anything but heretical, in order to survive would
likewise need very quickly to go underground, is certain, and there it would have
remained, in the hands of a minority, a secret and an oral tradition.
Indeed if it is a legacy of the late thirteenth century, as seems likely, when
Qabbalah - as well as the Inquisition, was already well under way, it probably
never emerged above ground. Tarot is, after all, made up of a major and minor
arcana - and arcana is the plural of arcanus, meaning hidden or secret.
As most of what we know of the ‘heretical’ sects is from their enemies, not
their followers, a scattering of individuals who did not flaunt their doctrines but
who transmitted their teachings in secret and avoided the attention of potential
persecutors, would pass unnoticed and unmentioned. That there is no written
record of the origins of Tarot makes sense if it was indeed formed at this time in
this atmosphere, by a small, clandestine group of survivors. Following the
example of the stained glass windows, with times becoming increasingly
dangerous, Tarot may have been used as a means of preserving and transmitting
a mystical path, not with incriminating words, but by retaining ancient symbols
in a picture book of spiritual truths, which, if perchance they were discovered,
could hopefully be passed off as a decorative game. Only those who knew or
recognized the meaning of the pictures could argue otherwise, -and to do so
would be to invite the flames.
Following the establishment of the Inquisition in thirteenth century
Provence to root out spiritual heresy, there was a growing tendency in fourteenth
century inquisitorial procedures to associate heresy with witchcraft and Devil
worship. (This, strangely, is an air which has long since clung to Tarot, even
down to the present day). With the victories of the ever spreading tentacles of the
Inquisition, the burning of the last Cathars (about 1320) and the suppression of
the spiritual movements, the time of tolerance and religious interchange was
over. The door on new spiritual insights had closed, and with it the door of
understanding of the esoteric meaning of Tarot was closed for centuries.
The earliest surviving undisputed Tarot trumps, (the Visconti cards
from Northern Italy), date from circa 1420-40. While this proves that we must
go back to at least 1420-40 for the origin of Tarot, it by no means proves that
Tarot did not exist before then. It would be folly to assume that some of the first
Tarot cards created have been the very ones to survive. It is far more reasonable
to suppose that the earliest cards would have vanished without trace, perhaps
long before.
Tarot appears abruptly and as if from nowhere in France and Italy in
the early fifteenth century, leaving for historians many questions, but few
answers. With its sudden emergence above ground Tarot, like chess before it, is
shorn largely -though never completely of its mystical apparel. It becomes
simply a popular game, though with a little of its heresy still retained in some
Christian minds, for, as preached against in one sermon, it is a game ‘which
takes a man to the depths of hell.’ Nevertheless, with the spiritual movements
fading into uneasy memory, the esoteric lore inscribed in the illustrations
remained largely ignored until the eighteenth century when Antoine Court de
Gébelin recognized that this was no simple party game.
Once recognized, the silent stream of esoteric teachings has continued to flow
up to the present day. In the early nineteenth century Eliphas Lévi redeveloped
the connection with Qabbalah, giving rise to new insights and a deeper
understanding of Tarot. To this day Tarot symbolism is constantly being
elaborated and new decks now are continually being introduced.
Some are in keeping with the heart of Tarot, some are not. Yet throughout all,
Tarot has remained a living symbolic tradition - open to new insights. What
appertains to Tarot will remain, what does not will fall away over time as the
followers of Tarot accept that which is helpful to understanding and
interpretation of the life journey, while discarding that which is not. This
includes my own theories and interpretations of Tarot.

In previous books on Tarot and Qabbalah, the Tarot majors are

usually aligned in Qabbalah with the twenty-two paths connecting the sefirot
(paths 11-32, the first ten paths being the sefirot themselves). This is not the
journey I have followed in this book. I do not claim, in following the route I
have taken, that the other route is false. On the contrary the two routes are
complementary. Just as there are many methods by which the sefirot can be
grouped on the tree in Qabbalah, each equally valid and correct, each serving to
elucidate different aspects and layers of meaning of the tree, likewise the Tarot
atouts can be classified on more than one level without detracting from the
insights of the alternative routes. A symbolic system like Tarot is such that, as
you turn it about in your hands, different aspects are illuminated from different
angles, and because of this new connections and new treasures are constantly
being discovered and rediscovered on this continuous, living journey.
Knowledge of the Tarot assigned to the sefirot and the associations this brings
out can help in working the paths, for the latter paths are the subjective roads we
must undertake in our own spiritual journey between the objective landmarks of
the Tarot in the sefirot themselves.
Finally I must point out that this is a book on Tarot not on Qabbalah.
The Qabbalistic tree of life is a symbol, a mandala of one esoteric system which
overlaps with and can help in the interpretation and illumination of the paths of
other esoteric teachings (and in turn be illumined by them). My concern is with
the wisdom and mysteries of the Tarot, but I have used the Qabbalah and any
other system where appropriate, to help to elucidate the hidden mysteries within
the Tarot. As all paths lead to the same goal eventually, it makes sense to
compare and where paths converge, to share the light shed by one system onto
another. This is, I believe, precisely what was happening in the twelfth and
thirteenth centuries in Italy and Provence, where many traditions were brought
together to illuminate each other, and where Tarot as we know it - though
probably based on images far older, came to be. If, at the end of the day, my
efforts help readers to gain more insight and understanding of the Tarot, than my
intentions have been fulfilled.
The earliest origins of Tarot are unknown, and what pictures
constituted the earliest atouts we perhaps shall never know. Yet whether from
ancient religion or more recently (relatively speaking) in the Middle Ages, in
Tarot east meets west, the cross and the dance are united. From Indian sources to
Celtic treasures, Babylonian and Greek myth to Christian, Sufi and Jewish
mysticism, alchemy to Hermeticism, transcending all barriers and borders Tarot
speaks a universal language; it is indeed the speech of the gods, telling of the
living journey of the Fool.
 Part One: The Path of the Lightning
Flash

Chapter One: The Magician and Strength in Kether

‘Energy is eternal delight.’
(Blake, the Marriage of Heaven & Hell)
‘Imagination is eternity.’
(Blake, the Ghost of Abel.)

The tree of life manifests itself in ten sefirot or emanations, arranged

on three vertical pillars of manifestation. The central balancing pillar is known
as the pillar of equilibrium. Taking the attributes of both masculine and
feminine, or yin and yang, it represents both form and force in balance. It is at
the head of this central balancing pillar that Kether, the first of the sefirot, is
situated. Here, in the first sefirah, ‘within this primordial divine idea that
precedes everything and embraces everything within itself,’ [1] there lies hidden
the two supreme roots, brought together by the divine will. Likewise, where
Qabbalah and Tarot overlap, it is here, within Kether, that we find the equivalent
concept of equilibrating force within Tarot: the two supreme roots: the cards of
the Magician and of Strength.
Kether is unity. Yet it is not an ultimate, absolute unity: the Nirvana
of the Buddhists. Such unity is found only through the veils of Negative
Existence, in the Unmanifest itself, the womb from which the unity of Kether is
derived.
This absolute unity beyond Kether is, as descriptive terms such as:
‘veils of negativity’ or ‘nothingness’ impart, unknowable – beyond anything that
is comprehensible to us. It is no-thing that can be detailed, defined or numbered.
Unity comes within the grasp of the known, or the knowable, only
when we have posited the number one. Once we have posited a number, we have
identified some-thing. - There is a label, a definition, and there is awareness;
hence the placement of the Magician, the master of mystical consciousness, who,
like Kether, is the light giving the power of comprehension. Yet we cannot grasp
the idea of ‘one’ without simultaneously understanding the idea of more than
one, that which is not present so that the one is only one and not more. Simply
positing the number one, then, intimates the idea of others, or at least of one
other: that which is more than one. There is, so to speak, over the figure One the
shadow of, at least duality, if not of multiplicity. This is the unity of Kether.
For Kether, like the Chinese concept of the Tao, contains within itself
the possibility of all things. The Tao Teh Ching tells us:

As the origin of heaven-and-earth, it is nameless:

As “the Mother” of all things, it is nameable.

So, as ever hidden, we should look at its inner essence:

As always manifest, we should look at its outer aspects.

These two flow from the same source, though differently named;
And both are called mysteries.
The Mystery of mysteries is the Door of all essence. [2]

This is of course describing the Tao. It could equally well be

describing Kether. Yet, without in any way dividing its unity, according to the
central concepts of Taoism, Tao is divided into a fundamental pair of opposites:
yang, the masculine, positive force or celestial portion of the human soul, and
yin, the feminine, negative or earthly portion of the human soul. The two aspects
are represented flowing together in eternal harmony in the well-known Chinese
symbol of Tai-Chi.
Similarly, placing Strength and the Magician in the unified force concept of
Kether is not intended to imply that form and diversity belong here. On the
contrary, by using the Qabbalah to illumine the Tarot, my intention is to show
the unity of the concepts of force represented by these two cards, and the unity
of dialogue between them, uniting them in the one conversation: the dialogue of
life.
Like Kether, both the Magician and Strength represent potency and
power. Both figures can be seen with the horizontal figure 8, the lemniscate,
above their heads or are shown, conversely, wearing hats in the design of the
lemniscate. The lemniscate is the ancient symbol of the infinite, thus indicating
both their eternal nature and their origins, like Kether, in the Unmanifest from
which eternity has its being. As the anonymous author of ‘Meditations on the
Tarot’ tells us:
She [Strength] wears a hat similar to that of the Magician – in the form
of a lemniscate. One could say that the two stand equally under the sign of
rhythm – the respiration of eternity – the sign ∞ ; and that the two manifest
two aspects of a single principle. [3]
The single, unified principle inferred by the lemniscate however, also
contains the mystery of the creative tensions of duality. For, like the Tai Chi, the
lemniscate also connotes the rhythmic interaction of opposites flowing in
continuous harmony, one into the other.
As the first of the sefirot Kether is, then, allocated the number one. It
is pure being, the Self-existent One, equated with the more transcendent form of
God, Ehyeh, translated variously as ‘I am that I am, or, more simply, ‘I am,’ or ‘I
Become.’ In Tarot the Magician too, as the great initiator, is allocated the number
one and the letter aleph, the initial letter of the Hebrew alphabet, synonymous
with the first birth: that of self-awareness. For the Magician is first encountered
on the journey of self-awareness. He is the opening of the door.
The first indicator to the meaning of the Magician’s card is, then,
psychological. He unveils for us the blueprint of the journey. From the emergent
steps of the ego consciousness in the child learning to use the word ‘I’ through to
the ultimate goal of individuation, that is, self-realization of a more profound,
self-existent ‘I’ which envelopes that of the conscious ego, the Magician is
always in the background, consciously charting the branches of our freewill to
become.

There is a wide literature linking the Magician with those

mythological gods who were simultaneously gods of revelation and guides of
souls: Hermes (Latin: Mercurius), Odin and the Egyptian Thoth/Tehuti. These
are apt analogues, for all these mythic gods were considered to be the god of
magicians, or, as in the case of Thoth (three-times very-very-great, translated in
the Graeco-Latin version as Hermes Trismegistus), the first and greatest of all
magicians. In keeping with the Magician’s placement in Kether,
Hermes/Mercurius and Thoth have all also been, at some point, considered to be
the world-creating Nous itself.
Thoth was the self-created and self-existent of Egyptian myth.
Reminiscent of one of Kether’s titles: Ancient of Ancients, he was sometimes
called ‘The Elder.’ Like our Tarot Magician who is about to initiate proceedings
by separating and ordering the elements, it was Thoth who ordained the laws for
the heavenly bodies and computed time and seasons; he also invented all arts
and sciences. More importantly, Thoth was himself the Logos, the word which,
when pronounced, resulted in the creation of the world.
Words when released have a subtle force of their own to awaken
minds and inspire motion. Words when pronounced inspire forms. It is here that
we are in the heart of the Magician’s realm. For the Magician is the power of
thought. He conceives of and initiates, beginning with the performance: the
journey through the play of life. He is the Grand Magus, the great master of
illusions, images, thoughts, and imaginings. And he is the power of becoming:
that which through the application of our own minds can come into being. The
Magician posits the borders of our understanding. For all that lies within any
possible worlds we are able to conceive or imagine, lies first within the
imagination of our inner Magicians. What lies beyond the Magician’s
imagination, the potential of the human Kether is, by the same token, beyond our
individual realms of conception.
Without the imagination of the Magician, nothing could be
conceived, initially in the mind, eventually to be manifest into form, and without
the force of the imagination - the card of Strength, nothing conceived could be
made manifest.

In Qabbalistic terms creation is the result of the gradual pouring forth, or

emanation, of the pure, undivided force of Kether through the ten sefirot to
manifest eventually into form in Malkuth. Comparatively, in Indian mythology
the One becomes the many through the fragmentation of the god-head in a
creative pouring forth (srstih), described as ‘an act of voluntary, dynamic will-to-
be-more.’ [4] In the Chaldean Oracles, although only One Mind embraces both,
the Dyad’s seat is nevertheless with the Monad and it is from these two that
creation bubbles forth.
Tarot follows a similar, yet hybrid, tradition. In Tarot, in line with the
human factor of the ‘as above, so below,’ maxim of Hermes Trismegistus, the
focus is on the below: on the creative aspects of humanity, or, in other words, on
the ‘pouring forth’ of the Magician within us all.
Through his ideas or thoughts the Magician gives form and shape to the
formless, but he is only able to do so through the channelled energy of the
Strength card. Without Strength, the Magician’s thoughts would remain as force
concepts. It is only when their joint potencies are interfused that the force of
Strength, channelled and controlled, is locked into patterns of form as conceived
of by the initiating intelligence: the Magician.
The Magician stands before a four-square table, poised, ready to
perform. He is the showman, the great entertainer. Holding aloft in one hand his
magic wand he initiates proceedings. The spell is cast, the performance is about
to begin, an idea to be given expression.
On the table are displayed the four symbols of the minor arcana: a
cup, a sword, a disc and a wand. These are the Magician’s tools, the four powers
with which he measures out and separates the one into the many in the creation
of Maya: delusion. Maya, so Campbell informs us, is from the verbal root ma, [†]
meaning ‘“to measure out, to form, to build,” denoting in the first place, the
power of a god or demon to produce illusory effects, to change form, and to
appear under deceiving masks; in the second place, “magic,” the production of
illusions...the illusions superimposed upon reality as an effect of ignorance.’ [5]
Waving his golden wand the Magician casts his spells, hypnotising,
weaving Maya – the magic that fools us into fooling ourselves. The Magician is,
in his Hermes aspect, the archetypal trickster god, baffling and bemusing, and
never quite what he seems.
Originally this colourful character may have been portrayed as an
itinerant pedlar-performer, a tinker figure trading on the borders of the
established mores of society and cunningly pitching, along with his strange and
wonderful wares, a vein of unorthodox teachings. Dealing in truths and in
trickery, this face of the Magician reveals the quick-witted character who, like
the Mercurian shape-shifter, astutely adapts to his circumstances. Sharply
confident, he is also the supreme confidence trickster. It should not be forgotten
that Hermes/Mercurius was also the patron of thieves and of charlatans!
This controversial trickster, this creator of Maya, this guide and god
of revelation is, more simply, the dream-maker. This is the card connecting us to
our dreams and to the knowledge within our dreams. Rolling onto our inner
screens in a manner typical of the playful trickster, our dreams come to us in
forms obscure and veiled. Yet their obscurity conceals much self-knowledge,
dormant potential, and, in their revelatory aspect, probabilities and future
possibilities.

If we are ever to unravel their secrets and release this hidden knowledge,
however, it is necessary to concentrate and employ patiently and deeply the
powers of thought and meditation, to use, in fact, the Magician’s own tools.
Here we touch upon a crucial factor, of the Magician, as of all the
cards. For, however much he may mystify and puzzle, he is also prepared to
provide us with answers to the puzzles, if only we are prepared to listen, and to
decipher.
The Magician is, at one and the same time, the teacher who, often in
unexpected guise, deals out the lesson, and he is the lesson we most need to
learn, usually without realising we are learning.
Entangling us in the world of things, he veils us in illusions and taunts us to
penetrate through them, pushing us on to knowledge and self-knowledge through
the crucible of experience in the world. The Magician makes us wonder in order
to arouse our curiosity. He prods us on from wonder-ment to wonder-how – how
was the trick performed, how does it work, what lies beyond this apparent reality
imposed before us? Transforming matter back into energy, and again into matter,
(form into force into form), he makes things ‘disappear,’ thereby bidding us
recognise the mere semblance of solidity to this seemingly solid world, the
impermanence of the seemingly permanent, and so to the eventual question of
the nature of the apparent ‘reality’ of the so-called ‘real.’
We cannot comprehend the how and why, on whatever level, without
employing the powers of our inner Magician, both to find and to recognize when
we have found, a key to the locked conundrums. The Magician entangles us in a
maze of intricate complexities that we may eventually become aware of an ‘I’
that is beyond such entanglement. Yet it is also he who provides us with the
golden clew of yarn to lead us both to the centre and back again, that we may
discover that the Magician who deludes us dwells within and that our delusions
are therefore self-delusions, delusions which, furthermore, being self-created,
only the self can destroy.
Just as it was Thoth who restored the sun and moon to the world
after battling to rescue them from the darkness of Set, (Set, or power
misunderstood, representing, as we shall see in card fifteen, the Magician’s
shadow side), so the Magician represents a new dawning: the dawning of greater
awareness after battling to overcome the darkness’ of ignorance and confusion,
constraint and inertia within ourselves.

The Magician’s wand is, like Kether, the burning Will. It is a symbol
of willpower and purposefulness, designating the use of wisdom and energy for,
externally, the transformation of the world, and internally, for the transformation
of consciousness. He is, as in the French title of the card, Le Bateleur, the
Juggler. With a juggler’s playful adeptship, he maintains a constant equilibrium
between all facets of his being, between conscious and unconscious, the outer
and the inner realities. In the external world he promotes equilibrium through a
thoughtful, planned use of resources: an important feature in an age slowly
awakening to environmental responsibility.

The Magician is inventive, imaginative and creative. He is always ready to try

out new ideas and stretch the limits of the possible to see what can be done. For
this ‘Will’ is also the ‘Will-to-be,’ or, as in the Indian conception of creation
already referred to - ‘the Will-to-be-more.’ With the Magician in a spread we
should never impose limitations on ourselves. We must be prepared to break
down our fear-made barriers to discover just what, often surprising ourselves, we
can do; and therewith, we are constantly rediscovering and recreating ourselves
and so transforming the self-image we have, hitherto, locked ourselves into.
With his arms pointing one up and one down, the Magician is a
visual display of the hermetic maxim ‘As above, so below.’ He is a conscious
link between the world of spirit and of man, the worlds above and below.
As man is composed of a body and spirit, mind and emotions, all
occupying the same space at the same time, so, according to Qabbalistic belief,
the tree of life exists simultaneously in each of four worlds: Atziluth, Beriyah,
Yetzirah and Asiyah. These are the Archetypal world, the Creative world, the
Formative world and the Material world respectively.
Equally, in Tarot too the Magician operates simultaneously on many
levels. Although Tarot is based primarily in the formative world of Yetzirah, it
opens with equal comfort the mystical paths of consciousness to the greater
abstractions of the higher levels for any who wish to follow. From the Atziluth of
Qabbalah, the level of pure spirit, to the material world of Asiyah, the Magician
symbolises the one life force constantly forming itself. He is divider and divided,
changing yet remaining unaltered. Just as the number one is the only number we
can use as a multiplier without altering the value of the number multiplied, so
the Magician is unity and diversity in one, self-multiplying yet forever the same.
In harmony with the creative and formative levels of Beriyah and
Yetzirah, the Magician contains force within the patterns of form and contains
the forms within his own being. Yet it is part of the enigmatic nature of this
figure that, as trickster and transformer, the Magician is himself both contained
within (at the qabbalistic level of Asiyah) and yet beyond containment within,
any set patterns or constraints.

For Hermes is Mercury, and what we are dealing with in the Tarot Magician
is the alchemical Mercurius: the world-creating spirit and the spirit concealed or
imprisoned in matter. Mercurius is, in alchemical lore, ‘the spirit which becomes
earth,’ and ‘the spirit which penetrates into the depths of the material world and
transforms it.’ He is the ‘soul of bodies,’ the anima vitalis, and yet he is man
himself. For, in alchemical teaching as in gnostic teaching, it is man himself who
is both captive and creator, transforming spirit, and spirit to be transformed.
Mercurius is, finally, the magician who ‘opens with his
understanding the locked problems of the work.’ [6] With this we are back full-
circle to the figure of the wise magus who builds up our illusions in order that
we, in turn, will strive to penetrate through them.
In the journey to see through our illusions we will discover the knowledge to
reach and redeem our inner magician, thereby reaching the undifferentiated
centre of our selves: the Kether of our being. In Jungian terms the Magician’s
aim is, precisely, to lead us to individuation.
In the terms of Jungian psychology we are, in Tarot, wholly in the
realm of archetypes. ‘Throughout the whole cycle of life, the archetype stands
behind the scenes, as it were, as a kind of author-director or actor-manager,
producing the tangible performance that proceeds on the public (and the private)
stage.’ [7]
It is at the level of the archetypal world, the highest of the four qabbalistic
worlds, that the Magician and Strength claim their status as divinities, or more
precisely, as divine archetypes. What Jung has described as the foundation stones
of the psychic structure are equally the foundation stones of the Tarot structure.
For together Strength and the Magician are equivalent to the anima and animus:
the projection making factor within each of us.
Jung described the anima and animus as a divine pair wielding
immense influence over human fate from the deepest depths of the psyche:

One of whom, in accordance with his Logos nature, is characterized by

pneuma and nous, rather like Hermes with his ever-shifting hues, while the other,
in accordance with her Eros nature, wears the features of Aphrodite .... Both of
them are unconscious powers, ‘gods’ in fact, as the ancient world quite rightly
conceived them to be. To call them by this name is to give them that central
position in the scale of psychological values which has always been theirs
whether consciously acknowledged or not . [8]

The Magician and Strength are, then, two poles of creation, yang and
yin, part of the primal One. Both are cards of powerful, underlying forces
operating from deep within us and it is as the balanced forces of becoming that
they merit their place qabbalistically alongside Kether, at the summit of the pillar
of equilibrium. In Sufi terms they correlate to the invisible head: the Qutub,
meaning pivot, or polestar and designated by the thrice repeated unity: 111, the
three-fold affirmation of truth.

Strength, the card of force controlled and channelled, is a mirror of

the energies abiding in Kether which emanate, through the sefirot, down the
Tree. The card, depicting a common mediaeval image of a young woman gently,
but firmly, grasping the open jaws of a powerful lion, is rich with symbolic
imagery. In keeping with the ambivalence of the card, the title of Strength, or
Fortitude as it is often known, has a dual reference. For the lion, a theriomorphic
symbol of the self, has long been a symbol of courage, strength, spiritual
watchfulness and fortitude; while all these attributes apply equally to the female
figure holding the open jaws. The strength on the part of the woman is not
physical - she is not physically stronger than the lion. Hers is a spiritual strength.
She has overcome the resistance of the lion through the inner qualities of love,
patience and gentleness, and thus the strength of the lion has become an ally
rather than a foe.
The main underlying theme here is the power of love. Love is
signified as an underlying force in all aspects of relationships.
Denoted here is the daring of direct personal involvement with the power of
the ‘gods’ within and without. The card relates to the magic of companionship,
and the communion and strong bonds forged through the fulfillment of mutually
reciprocal involvement.
Yet almost immediately one senses the polarised tensions of the card
rear in opposition. For there is, at face value, a reading directly hostile to this.
On this reading, complementing the elemental natural forces on the Magician’s
table, the lion represents the forces of instinct, the natural forces of the body.
Hence, at this level the card conveys a very basic lesson: to control rather than
allowing ourselves to be controlled by our primitive instinctive drives.
The two readings, however, need not necessarily be in conflict.
Channelled properly they can be, as love and desire can be, or as need and want
can be, simply different expressions of the one united force: the gift of
Aphrodite. Hostilities arise only where the flow of interactive energies has not
become, or has ceased to be, mutually reciprocal. Balanced and fused, the
voluntary union of instinctive and spiritual forces represents immense power.
Love and desire are of course both attributes used by Aphrodite in
subduing mankind, gods and beasts. Prior to her demotion, when for many she
was still one of the representations of the original Goddess, Aphrodite, goddess
of love, was also goddess of wild animals. She was the natural force uniting one
and all, enfusing the world of nature, animal nature and human nature with the
experience of the divine. She was, in qabbalistic terms, Kether experienced as
Malkuth: the marriage of the opposites.
In Strength, neither the woman nor the figure of the lion is in a
position of inferiority. The lion has been neither cowered nor subdued by the
forces of violence but, on the contrary, won over to the woman’s side by the
gentler forces of love, friendship, and mutual respect. This is important, for both
figures are of equal relevance – both represent Strength, and it is the cooperation
between them that allows for the progression of force or energy down the Tree,
into manifestation.
In the language of symbolism the lion has long been associated with
wisdom. In Buddhism the lion represents spiritual zeal, the wisdom of the
Buddha. The lion’s roar is the Buddha’s fearless teaching of the Dharma, while
the Buddha himself is ‘the lion of the Shakya Clan.’ In Christianity the lion is
used as an allegory of both Christ, ‘the lion of Judah’ [9] , and of the devil, ‘a
roaring lion ... seeking whom he may devour.’ [10] It is both good and evil, or
perhaps it is more appropriate to say, as with Kether, that it is beyond all
opposites of good and evil as we are able to comprehend them.
With its golden mane, the lion is, further, a symbolic reference to the
fiery energy of the sun, as in the zodiacal sign of Leo, the sign of August heat.
The sun too is seen as a creative, beneficent and destructive force, thus both sun
and lion are symbols of the same underlying mystery. In ancient times the
strength and majestic appearance of this ‘king of beasts’ caused it to be
associated with divinity (and thus with royalty).

As the sun it is solar energy, the creative fiery principle we shall meet again in
the suit of Wands. It is also, in its divine aspect, time and destiny devouring with
its open jaws all things. In this it connects to the darker aspects of the goddess
consorts this card also symbolises.
For the card portrays a scene universal in mythology: that of the
Great Mother accompanied by a lion or lioness. Be she given the name of Tara,
Inanna, Ishtar, Cybele, Atargatis, Devi, Durga, and so forth, there is the ever-
repeated theme linking the Great Mother of the various mythic systems with the
‘king of beasts.’
‘The mystery of the “mother”’, Jung tells us, ‘is divine creative
[11]
power.’ The accompanying lion or the lion throne of the goddesses on the
other hand, represents the subjugation of cosmic forces. Symbolically
represented, therefore, through the initiating cards of Strength and the Magician,
we have in the Tarot system the pictorial images of cosmic creation, equivalent
to, qabbalistically the crystallising force of Kether, or to the initiating cosmic
creative powers -the gods and goddesses - of other systems, such as the union in
the Hindu pantheon of Shiva and Shakti.
Kether is known as ‘Existence of Existences,’ and ‘The Primordial
Point.’ Similarly, Shiva is the ‘One Existent,’ the perfect timeless point. Yet only
when Shiva embraces Shakti, his feminine side, can creation begin.
From Shakti, the equivalent of Tarot Strength, comes the playful
energy of all creation: Maya, already met with in connection with the Magician.
With Maya a world is created that is real, yet illusion; that is, and yet remains
eternally consumed in Shiva, or, in Tarot terms, in the play of the Magician. In
her Shakti aspect, Strength too then is an intensely creative card, signifying with
the Magician a pouring forth, the pouring forth of libido, or of the creative
intelligence of Kether from the unity within. In the dynamic energy of Strength
we find that vital Shakti power known in India as Kundalini. Kundalini is quite
simply ‘the Power,’ the ‘World Mother’ or the ‘Mystic Fire.’
Shiva and Shakti, however, are not the only mythological pairing to
throw light on the connecting bond between the Magician and Strength cards.
We could, equally profitably, turn our eyes to Egyptian myth for a similar
pairing: that of Ptah and Sekhmet. Mirroring the relationship of Strength to the
Magician, Sekhmet is the one who gives power to the word that Ptah speaks
from his heart. To hand over to Joseph Campbell:

The reference of both symbolic systems [that of Egyptian Ptah and

Indian Shiva] is to the mystery of the god who is transcendent (the Self
before it said “I”) yet simultaneously immanent (the Self, split in two,
begetting the universe). And the analogy goes beyond all mere chance
when it is known that the animal vehicle of the goddess consort of Shiva is
the lion, whereas the goddess consort of Ptah is the great and terrible lion-
goddess Sekhmet, whose name means the ‘Powerful one.’ Her Indian
counterpart is called the ‘power’ (sákti) of Shiva. [12]

The ‘powerful one’ accompanying Ptah, the power of Shiva or the Strength of
the Magician, all follow the same line of tradition. Completing the circle, and
thereby bringing us back to the lion, Sekhmet, the ‘Powerful’, lion-goddess wife
of Ptah, (and eye of Ra), was the personification of the burning heat of the sun,
and as such was usually depicted with the head of a lion surmounted by the sun’s
disk.
Another wife of Ptah, Bast, though later a cat goddess (the lion tamed?), was
originally a lioness-goddess who, contrary to Sekhmet, personified the fertilising
and gently fructifying heat of the sun. Both aspects are conjoined in the Tarot
card of Strength with both figures representing both aspects: the caring female
holding the playfully gentle lion is simultaneously the awesome combination of
tremulous power restrained by the softest touch.
As Strength is associated with the sun while Thoth as lunar divinity
connects the Magician with the moon, the Magician and Strength together form
the much sought for alchemical meeting of the sun and moon, which is to say
they are the partners of the mystical marriage of Self-union within. In alchemy
the philosopher’s stone was deemed to be attained only through the conjunction
of sol and luna in the sign of Leo.

The magical image of Kether is an ancient bearded king, shown only

in profile. We cannot see the magical image full face for that which is over-
shadowed by the Unmanifest is concealed from us. Together the profile and
concealed visage represent that which can reside in consciousness and that
which dwells in the fathomless depths of the unconscious: terrifying and arcane.
Similarly Strength too, standing one step behind the Magician, points to the
hidden mysteries of the unconscious. The lion is one of the most archaic images
of the terrible creative and destructive forces of the goddess, and it is the battle,
or eternal tension, between the forces of conscious and unconscious we can see
represented here with the goddess of nature and the king of the wilderness at her
side: the original inspiration of beauty and the beast.

Mirroring the paradoxical nature of the Magician, the lion is both the
guardian of the treasure of the tree of life, and yet simultaneously is himself the
treasure hard to attain: the creative energy, the divinity within waiting to be
transformed through the human touch of the soul. Yet heroical courage is needed
if we are to wrest this ‘treasure hard to attain’ from the fearsome depths of the
unmanifest. For, following the precepts of Jungian psychology, in keeping with
the awesome nature of the unconscious dynamism, the divine treasure appears
first in hostile form. In such form it must be encountered and won over.
This ongoing battle between manifest and unmanifest, conscious and
unconscious, is itself the source of all creativity; for it calls forth all man’s
creative powers - the full potential of the Magician - to wrestle against the
stultifying power of the unconscious and survive. Whoso ‘is near me is near the
fire,’ yet whoso ‘is far from me, is far from the kingdom.’ [13] The card of
Strength shows the transformative result of the victorious defence of our
humanity against the animal nature of the divine power - it does not show the
confrontation itself.
 For this continued confrontation between conscious and unconsciousness,
which in itself is the source of creativity and of life, is in fact the journey down
the tree and back again. The confrontation is, quite simply, the journey to
become.
Locating the origins of Strength in Kether at the crown of the
undertaking highlights both the divine nature - and the dangers - of the journey.
Allocated the number one, the Magician takes the foreground. Strength,
however, (in Arabic numerals - 11- the number 1 extended by its own reflection)
is the supportive, protective power standing behind, or underlying, the illusions
and machinations of the Magician. Situated one step beyond the Magician,
Strength is nearer to the dark, incomprehensible side of Kether, and thereby to
the veils of Negative Existence, the Unmanifest from whence the power or force
of her card is ultimately derived.
As Kether is the crystallisation of supreme energy through the third
veil of limitless light, so Strength too represents supreme energy. She is, to use
the Chaldean terms for the divine mother; ‘the Energizer and Forth-giver of Life-
bringing Fire.’ [14] In her we find the immense sweeping power of the ‘blind’
forces of nature, and the inter-relatedness of all creation. Here too are the life-
giving forces of the sun, symbolised by the lion and controlled by the mediating
will of the Strength figure to be tamed and transformed into the Magician’s
imaginative play.

In human terms, Strength is the inner guide who will lead us through
the dark primordial reaches of the unconscious and teach us how to tame, and
make allies of the instinctive, ultimately transforming forces we encounter there.
The lion is, as libido, the creative power of our own soul, which,
uncontrolled, can lead blindly to self-destruction. His is the ambivalent power of
the sun, life-giving and destroying, for he is, in fact, the central sun of our inner
landscapes: the inner instinctive realms of the psyche. Here he is king. The
female, on the other hand, the soul figure, is the mediating influence, she who
can teach us the spiritual strengths necessary to overcome our fear of, and come
to terms with, the darkness within. Strength emphasizes the need to harness and
control, and thereby to transform and be transformed by the vital energy of our
innermost depths, so that it is able to manifest constructively and not
destructively against ourselves. ‘Blessed is the lion which becomes man when
consumed by man; and cursed is the man whom the lion consumes, and the lion
becomes man,’ warns the Gospel of Thomas. [15]
Whether we self-destruct or whether we realise our highest potential
and attain eventually to the mystic marriage - harnessing and uniting the forces
of Strength and the Magician, depends on how we undertake the journey.
Understanding the relationship of Strength to the Magician by seeing their united
origins in Kether underlines the exhilaration of the possibilities that become
open to us through our contact with our own potential. Hence the quotation from
Blake at the heading of this chapter: energy is eternal delight.

The Magician speaks himself into being – his is a card of free will and of self-
becoming, where what we say and do determines what we are. ‘Abra Kadabra’,
the magical phrase associated with the magus, can be interpreted literally as ‘I
will create as I speak.’ [16] The first of the Tarot majors is concerned with what we
make of ourselves and with taking responsibility for our own decisions, actions,
and ultimately our destination. Yet the will of the Magician needs the power of
Strength: together they form the self-will which is the determinant of our Self-
becoming.
The Strength card, then, is a card of spiritual force and of moral
courage. It emphasizes the need to have faith in one’s inner resources to carry
one through the difficulties of life. It portends victory though disciplined,
sustained effort, and through perseverance in long-term issues, heralding a time
for activity, a time when there is an abundance of energy to be used positively
and determinedly.
The energy, or life-force, also makes of this a card of tremendous
healing power, with the natural forces of the psyche released to flow into the
troubled areas, be they physical or mental. Intimated here, too, is the need to
maintain a balance between mind and body, highlighting the importance of
sustaining the well-being of the body as well as the person within.
Yet the healing can also be of a different order. For the card can
indicate the need to patch up one’s quarrels and differences, so that those
perceived as personal enemies can be re-embraced as friends.
Acceptance of others, not as you want them to be, but for what they are and
can be within themselves, is also an acceptance of oneself for what one is and
can be independent of others. The process of self-discovery is also a process of
mutual discovery, through the journeying powers of acceptance, and of love.
The female figure making an ally of the king of the beasts shows the
fusion of conscious and unconscious, nature and humanity, the world and the
self. With courage, conviction and absolute self-control, the combined wisdom
and love of both female and lion harness the blind instinctive forces of nature to
prevent an imbalance on either side resulting in the one harming the other
through the ignorance of fear and mistrust. It is thus that they, or we, can attain
that ‘wholeness which is both God and animal, not merely the empirical man,
but the totality of his being, which is rooted in his animal nature and reaches
beyond the merely human towards the divine.’ [17]
As with Kether balanced at the summit of the pillar of equilibrium,
such ‘wholeness implies a tremendous tension of opposites paradoxically at one
with themselves.’ [18] Such is the tension inherent in the control of the figure of
Strength over the force of Strength - the strength of the lion balanced by the
strength of the female. Both, in turn, together equalize the control embodied by
the Magician with his mastery over the four elemental powers of nature, the
fours suits of the Tarot. In terms of the symbols of Kether, the Magician’s control
of the elements is represented by the swastika, the emblem of the equal-armed
cross of the elements in motion. (Reversed, the swastika heralds chaos.)
Upholding a tremulous balance, the Magician and Strength, the two
initiating cards of the Tarot, are united in that remarkable figure that, mythically,
posed the riddle of man: the sphinx.
As Malkuth, the tenth and final sefirah, situated at the opposite pole of the
tree, is the culmination of Kether in manifestation, so it is that in the Wheel of
Fortune, the tenth card of the Tarot situated appropriately in Malkuth, we find
the manifestation of the united forces of Strength and the Magician.
Appropriately, in later Tarot, the sphinx is found often in card ten, perched
tantalisingly as the crown of the wheel of life.
In Egyptian myth the human-headed, lion-bodied sphinx symbolised
Ptah’s son by Sekhmet. Because the sphinx is a representation of the four
elements, the four powers of the magus corresponding to the four elements are
also sometimes called the four powers of the sphinx. These four powers are: to
know – noscere (element: air); to dare - audere (element: water); to will – velle
(element: fire); and to be silent – tacere (element: earth). By extension the four
powers apply equally to the minor suits of the Tarot, shown in the Magician’s
card by the signifier of each suit on the Magician’s show-table. Equally, the four
powers are posited independently in Kether by the four seeds, or Aces of the
Tarot pack. Yet before we turn to the Aces, we must deal with the one remaining
figure: the King of Wands.

The King of Wands

As with the Magician and Strength, in some Tarot packs the King of
Wands is depicted wearing a broad brimmed hat resembling the horizontal figure
eight. In this way the connection between the three cards becomes immediately
evident. Under the sign of the infinite, the rhythm of eternity, the King of Wands,
too, has his rightful association with Kether, as well as with the world of Atziluth
which has a natural affinity to the Wands suit of the Tarot pack and with the
element of fire.
There is a very strong religious or spiritual influence at work in the
King of Wands. For this king is concerned with sustaining that which is really
important and meaningful in our lives. The King of Wands is a mediator between
the divinity of the archetypes of the unconscious and the humanity of the
conscious ego. He acts as a communicator, translating and modifying the
influences flowing from the depths of Strength and the Magician to the
recognisable seams of the psyche, so that forces otherwise too powerful become
within the grasp of our attaining.
Belonging to the Wands suit, this card partakes, like Strength, of the
dynamic dimension of the element of fire. Yet as communicator, bringing new
ideas to the fore, the King of Wands partakes, too, of the meaning of the
Magician. The wand here corresponds to the Magician’s baton, waved to initiate
proceedings. For the staff in the King’s hand is the image of the baton that the
Magician carries. It is the Rod of Power.
The wand and rod have been used as symbols of authority from the
times of the priest-kings and magician-healers of antiquity. The King of Wands
is both priest-king and magician-healer. He bears his wand both as a sceptre of
kingship, showing that he too indicates the way of the royal road of the self to
the Self, and yet the wand is also, like the caduceus of Hermes, the staff of office
of a herald or emissary. For this king is the emissary of both Strength and the
Magician. He is the messenger carrying to consciousness by means of intuition
the gnosis of our inner being.
The ancient myths of the divine tree at the centre of the garden of
paradise reinforce the position of the King of Wands qabbalistically in Kether, at
the head of the tree of life. Mythically this tree was tended by the primordial
man-king as the deity’s representative and gardener - the precursor of Adam as
first man and gardener. In this context, the gardener or sacral king was anointed
with oil of the sacred tree and, most importantly, was given a rod or sceptre of its
branches.
The symbol of a branch of the sacred tree can be seen engraved on
cylinder seals, or in relief on vases and bowls from very old finds. The symbol
invested in the King of Wands is, then, of extreme antiquity. This is in keeping
with his place at the apex of the tree. For, preserving the branches of collective
archetypal symbolism, the King of Wands fulfils his role at the head of the
psyche by maintaining the gardens of the soul.
The rod of the King of Wands is itself a branch of the sacred tree, for
he is the gardener and caretaker of the tree, hence his placement in the soil of
Kether. He is the gardener who can communicate to us the life of the garden in a
language we can comprehend. Nurturing the inner truths, he makes the potential
of the seeds flower in our imagination, inspiring vision and engendering hope of
the great things to be. This king makes available to us the knowledge of that
‘philosophical garden, wherein our Sun rises and sets’, which is, so Philalethes
informs us, yet another synonym for Mercurius. [19]
The magical wand of the Magician in Kether is a baton of the divine
mysteries of creativity, and the King of Wands, via his own ameliorating wand,
conveys to us the word of the Magician in a language to suit our level of
understanding, guiding us like children through the gardens of the soul.
The continuity of the theme of the staff from ancient myth to Jewish
lore is established with the magical rod of Aaron, or Moses, which appears like a
branch of the sacred tree, and is said by rabbinic legend to have been ‘in the
hand of every king of Israel until the Temple was destroyed, when it was hidden
away...destined to be in the hand of the King Messiah.’ [20]
Interestingly, as Aaron’s rod, referred to as the ‘rod of God’, is
described as a branch of almond (Num. 17:8), it has been argued [21] that the
original mythological tree was probably conceived of as an almond. The
definitive biblical name of the almond tree was Shaqed, literally the Watchful or
Hastener. The role of gardener or caretaker has also been rendered as King of the
Watchtower, with the four Tarot kings each being appointed to one of the four
watch towers, the four secret temples of adeptship.
Caretaker of the royal road, king of the watch tower, gardener of the
soul, the King of Wands is all these things. Inheriting the baton of the Magician
as priest, teacher and higher authority, he communicates from the temple of
adeptship the vista of possibilities that become our dreams of the future and
inspire us with the fire of intent.
Mundanely the King of Wands signifies an independent and
powerful position or disposition. His is the strength which comes from being
true to oneself, one’s own inner values and dreams. The warmth and enthusiasm
engendered by the energy of inventive and creative imagination is here
manifested in mature, potentially viable undertakings.
The card may represent a skilled craftsman or an accomplished professional
well-respected in the chosen line of work. More simply, it may signify a mature
person, or more frequently the wisdom and influence of maturity – one’s own or
that of others. One cannot expect, with this card, immediate results. For this king
is the gardener who watches over the growth of the tree from seed to maturity,
from acorn to oak, and who, over vast stretches of time, nurtures with his patient
wisdom the well-being of our soul.

The Aces

Situated in Kether, the Tarot Aces of the minor arcana partake, too,
of the essence of both Strength and the Magician. Imbibing and transfusing, they
serve as links to transmit the power of the majors on a more formative level. As
the virtue assigned to the first sefirah is attainment and completion of the great
work, so the Aces are concerned alike with origins and beginnings, and with the
attainment which is the fulfillment of the potential promised in the beginning. In
Qabbalah Kether is intimately connected with Malkuth, the sefirah in which its
aim is fulfilled. Equally in Tarot the Aces relate to the number one of the
Magician in their concern with origins, and yet they too connect to the
fulfillment in Malkuth. - For the Aces find their fulfillment in the Tens at the
opposite pole. More particularly, they point to the end which is followed by the
beginning, the ten plus one which becomes the 11 of the Strength card: the
attainment of the knowledge of Kether in Malkuth.

Kether is pure energy. Likewise, as the root of the element of fire, the
Ace of Wands relates to the meaning of the Strength card as the continuous
dynamic stream of energy, the force of pure heat awakening and transforming
the seeds of becoming. Like Kether, this card indicates the first swirlings, the
setting in perpetual motion of the dynamic creative round of transformative
energy.
As the instigating wand at the head of the central pillar of
equilibrium, the Ace of Wands is fused by the united input of both Strength and
the Magician, radiating their potential in contagious ebullience. With its
powerful reverberations, this card indicates the main point of focus of any
situation. Among the minors, it is that which comes before the rest in terms of
influence, having a head-on effect on any other matter in its vicinity. It needs
therefore to be weighed in consideration in making any decision, for its
hastening influence will make a difference to the outcome.
Qabbalistically the Ace of Wands represents the first manifestation
of the powers of God the Father, the first revelation of power, will or strength.
Synthesising the dominant creative powers of Strength and the Magician, it is
the first comprehensible manifestation of the powers of the life-force. Its
influence is decisive.
The fire of the Ace of Wands, like that of Strength and Kether, is the
fire of the Spirit, life as an everlasting fire. With this card of fiery energy
depicting the chosen branch of the sacred tree, we are in the territory of the
burning bush that was never consumed, the tree of life steadfastly illumined by
the path of the lightning flash. The Ace of Wands is a card of pure
transformative energy, pure being.
It is a card, too, of intent. For the single wand is the emblem of the baton in
the Magician’s hand. Here we see the creative baton of the Magician as the wand
of transformation. It is the emblem of attainment of wishes, the magic wand
(though its effects may be illusory) which will put things right.
As the hastening branch, the Ace of Wands is the power of
transformative heat, activating and accelerating inevitable reaction and outcome.
Setting in motion, this wand brings a spur of activity, setting the ball rolling,
getting ventures underway and then maintaining a steady momentum to keep the
ball in play. Establishing new roots and cultivating and maintaining the
subsequent growth, it is a card which heralds future expansion and growth in the
years to come. It promises the fruit of the seeds being planted. With this card we
know clearly the next stage of the journey. We have definite plans and can see
where we are going. The sparks set alight, a decision has been put into action;
plans are set in motion.
In mundane terms the Ace of Wands can herald a birth of any kind.
The birth can be of an idea, a project, a way of living, or an actual life. In
relation to the Ace of Cups, the Ace of Wands is the masculine positive energy
engendering living dreams in the feminine waters of the womb of life. Yet,
although both Aces indicate new beginnings, there is a contrast to be made. For
together they are as Spring and Summer. The Ace of Cups indicates the birth
itself, the fulfillment of the dream and the congratulatory celebrations.
Meanwhile, imbibing from the Magician the power of becoming and from
Strength the dynamic life energy, the Ace of Wands implies not so much the
fulfillment of plans, but the planning stage, not the actual birth but its
conception.
That which is conceived in the Ace of Wands, however, in keeping
with the imaginative powers of the Magician, is very often mental, deriving from
the creative fires of the intellect and imagination. For, again both qabbalistically
and as synthesising the powers of the two majors here, the Ace of Wands is the
Wand of Power. It is both strength and the will (velle), hence the strength of will,
or willpower, to plan ahead and to begin to lay the foundation stones to bring
one’s intentions into manifestation.
With the tremendous stimulating potential of the creative
imagination in all of us, this card turns us all into visionaries. From great plans
to the seemingly trivial - the relative importance of each lying in the eye of the
beholder, the Ace of Wands denotes the capacity to envision in a practical way a
future unmanifest as yet in the potential of the present. This Ace signifies both
the ideas, and the energy and opportunity needed to put our projects into motion.
A card of applied strength, the Ace of Wands indicates, finally, attainment. With
the successful transmutation of the will of the Magician into the flowing,
controlled energy of Strength, the Ace of Wands indicates realisation of
intentions. The journey of self-discovery is underway.

Linking to the mystery of mysteries that ‘is the door of all essence,’
that only as ‘the mother of all things’ is nameable, and to Kether as Divine
Breath, the Ace of Cups corresponds to the eternal mother principle.
Adjoining with the 11 of the Great Mother in Strength to reach the 111 of the
Empress, the chalice of this cup card is the womb of formation which is to be
filled with the great bitter-sweet sea of Binah, the seat of the Empress. As the
cup of the living waters poured to contain the fish of life, the mystery of the Ace
of Cups relates to the mystery of fulfillment, both literally and emotionally, of
creation. It is a card of giving, from the depths of one-self to one-self in the
union of the harmonious flow of yin and yang, of giving and taking. For the
Cups are the suit of the heart, of feelings and emotions, and of course of the
element of water.
The water of the Ace of Cups signifies pneuma (breath of life). It is
the well of water springing into everlasting life: ‘whosoever drinketh of the
water that I shall give him shall never thirst.’ [22] Brimming with living pneuma,
this is the cup embracing the world, filling us with the intoxication of being, the
sheer joy of life.
It has already been said that the Ace of Cups can herald a birth. The
birth prefigured in this Ace inherits its relationship to Kether from, on the one
hand, Strength, as the life-force, the power of love, and the Anima Mundi (world
soul); and on the other, from the Magician as logos, the first word.
Kether has been likened to an outflowing and inflowing of breath,
and qabbalistically the Ace of Cups is the spiritual union of breath and body.
Hence, the birth here can in fact often be a physical birth, with the Ace denoting
the baby itself, the new life. Connoted here also is the emotional fulfillment of
motherhood, and, in keeping with the alignment in Kether, an outpouring, a
release of love from within.
 With its blessings of inner renewal or rebirth, the water chalice is
associated with the baptismal font. This in turn has its parallel in the hermetic
basin filled with Nous, and in the cup relating to Kyllenian Hermes which
signified the original man as well as the spiritual man who was reborn. Again the
emphasis is on union of spirit and body, Kether and Malkuth.
Denoting completion and fulfillment the cup of this card is the cup of
wholeness. ‘The cup of prayer contains wine and also water...it is filled with the
Holy Spirit, and it belongs to the wholly completed human. When we drink of
this, we shall receive for ourselves the (condition) of the completed human.’ [23]
To seek the completed human is to pursue the grail quest. The Ace of
Cups signifies, primarily, the grail cup of wholeness. As the grail card this Ace
identifies with the inexhaustible vessel of life, the crater of becoming,
continuously pouring and receiving the energy of creation. The grail Ace
signifies the pouring of the Self into the self, the pouring of spirit into matter,
and the outpourings of the heart in a flowing stream of love reaching out to love.
In its aspect of grail card this Ace denotes, too, the beginning or end
of a quest. Yet even where the pursuit, and the gain, lie in the empirical world,
the importance lies always with the inner worth of the quest and with the inner
journey, from birth to rebirth.
The journey may be through the realms of the heart, awakening
aspects of ourselves long dormant. As the suit of emotion, the Ace of Cups can,
mundanely, suggest the spiritual union of two people in the bond of marriage.
In the past, therefore, the card would signify a wedding. In the present day,
however, it can simply refer to the mutual feeling of love uniting two people so
that they live together as two-in-one. In keeping with the number one and the
initiating becomingness of the Magician, this relationship will either not yet be
manifest, or may just be beginning. Nevertheless, the card indicates the strength
of feeling that will develop over time, leading to strong bonds of commitment to
another, and, usually, eventually to children from the relationship.
Ironically, when it initially arrives, the relationship will probably be
greeted with mixed feelings. Though wanted, it may also be regarded as a
partially unwelcome intrusion into the contentment of one’s solitude, and a
constraint on present independence. Into the peaceful haven of satisfied
contentment with one’s lot swims the grail fish, exhausted and needing attention
after a long journey. The Ace of Cups shows both sides. For this vessel is that
which pours and receives. On the one hand, the card can denote the shores of
peace reached after a difficult time. Conversely, it can also represent the
intrusion into one’s contentment of something to awaken one to another life
where things are not so serene - to life beyond one’s own immediate centre.
Waking up to the world beyond, and to its diversity of needs, the next step is to
reach beyond oneself to explore the circles of others.
The giving up of the initial ego-perspective is not easy. Yet any
difficulties and responsibilities brought by the gifts of this card are agreed to in
the choice. Like the Magician, this is a card of freewill. It should be remembered
here, too, that the power of the magus connected with the element of water is ‘to
dare.’
This emphasises another point. For, at the beginning of the journey,
this Ace can portend a difficult task that will be undertaken voluntarily, with
freedom and independence relinquished in order to move from the ego-
centredness of the initial ‘I’ of the young Magician, to the shared union of the
all-embracing ‘II’ of Strength - the unity which allows room for others.
More encompassing, the challenge of the Ace of Cups is simply to
dare the journey through the waters of life: the Fool’s journey with all its
emotional highs and lows. The mystic experience of Kether is union with God
and the mystical symbolism for such experience has long been expressed as
being drunk with the wine of the wine cup:

The whole universe is as His winehouse,

the heart of every atom as His winecup.
Reason is drunken, angels drunken, soul drunken,
air drunken, earth drunken, heaven drunken. [24]

The willingness to drink to the fill the cup of life, savouring the taste of every
drop, both bitter and sweet, immerses one in the journey of being, the challenge
of wholeness.
As Tarot is a spiritual path, however, ultimately, the challenge, like
the journey, leads totally within. It is the challenge of the Fool’s journey through
the realms of the psyche, or through the sphere of Daath, in quest of the ‘mystery
of mysteries,’ the treasure hard to attain, prefigured already in the cards of the
Magician and Strength.

The quest for the Holy Grail, or, in the religious mysteries of its pre-Christian
origins, the quest for the cauldron of inspiration, led the hero on a journey
through the strange, perilous, enchanting realms of the ‘Other World.’
Reminiscent of the three elements of the eastern Aum, from the cauldron of
inspiration came the three drops of wisdom, the mystic Awen (pronounced Ah-
OO-En).
The cauldron of inspiration and plenty is the cauldron of goddess
lore, which, with its three drops of wisdom, reveals again the connection of the
Ace of Cups with the emotional waters of the Empress and with the triune
goddess or trinity of goddesses in unity. In the text of the Sefer Yetzirah the three
mothers of creation, themselves fire, air and water, are described as ‘a great
mystical secret.’ Hermes, guide of souls, was lord of the caduceus and of the
goddesses three. The three were Aphrodite, Athena, and Hera - love, wisdom
and the understanding mother. This parallels and exposes again the hidden
connections between the Magician and Strength, the High Priestess and the
Empress, themselves love, wisdom and the mother of understanding, linked
together as three-in-one in the supernal triangle.
The three supernal mothers of Tarot: Strength, the Empress and the
High Priestess, are together the vessel, the waters, and the air that breathes on
the waters. For the surface of the waters in the cup is the face of the waters in
which the High Priestess will gaze to see herself reflected. Together waters and
cup are the mirror of the self, and to drink of the waters of the cup absorbs one in
the quest to ‘know thyself.’

With the Ace of Swords, the strongest characteristic derived from the
Magician and Strength cards is the contrariness of meaning. For this is a double-
edged sword, containing within itself the opposites: creation and destruction. It
can bring great release from pain, pruning away all the extenuating problems and
freeing one to start again, yet it may also bring great suffering. It is the sword of
justice, the sword we shall meet again in the hands of the Justice figure of card
eight, and connects therefore with the Magician in his aspect of Thoth, the law-
giver.
Mundanely the Ace of Swords may presage legal matters (the issues
becoming more involved with Justice, too, in a spread). Yet it may, more simply,
denote an uninvolved and unbiased advisor and the advice itself, or the
discriminating power of the mind, distinct from all emotional considerations, to
arrive at a just solution to a difficult problem.
This sword indicates the power of the mind. It is of the suit of the
element of air, the power of noscere, to know, and indicates the strength of
knowledge in a specialised area gained through concentrated focus on the chosen
path. The Ace of Swords denotes clear knowledge of what one must do to forge
ahead, and it points to the responsibility of acting in accordance with one’s
knowledge, in the face of what may seem to be insurmountable obstacles.
Yet the obstacles can and will be overcome if the challenge of this
Ace is accepted. For this is a sword of power. It offers a position of power and
responsibility (often promotion), but in keeping with its justice aspect, the
position will demand continually hard, yet ultimately rewarded effort. The gains
can be tremendous, but will have been well-earned.
It is our inner Magician who offers to us the challenge of this sword,
which we accept only if we feel strong enough to carry it. This is the sword of
heroic qualities, of courage and fortitude in the face of the bridge of trials. On a
par with the Ace of Cups as the grail of the hero’s quest, the Ace of Swords is
affiliated to those magic swords of myth awaiting their rightful claimant: the
sword in the stone drawn by Arthur, or the sword under the stone awaiting the
Greek hero Theseus, or alternatively the sword which only the German hero
Sigmund could withdraw from the tree at the centre of the vast hall, after the
great magician god Odin had thrust it there.
The central supporting tree of the German myth is obviously a
microcosmic correlation of the world tree Yggdrasil, while Odin, god of magic,
reconnects us to our Tarot Magician, offering the sword of power to penetrate
the veils of maya: illusion.
Applying the double-edge, this sword of power is also a challenge of
power - the challenge not to misuse the position of power. For, although the
struggle will often take place in an external arena, the real challenge of the Ace
of Swords is in the battle with the self. It is the sword of the spiritual warrior, the
sword of gnosis.
‘I came not to send peace, but a sword,’ warned Jesus. [25] The sword
is not of war - unless the war be with the self. It is a sword of division, and of
separation. It separates the real from the false, what matters from the trivial. It is
also the separation imposed by the burdens of responsibility and knowledge, by
which you may feel, reluctantly, distanced from others. With this Ace such
distancing is inevitable. Relationships cannot continue as before; people will
perceive and behave toward you differently. The Ace separates from others of
the past, which is part of the cutting away process making way for new
relationships. It also separates you from what you were. There is no turning back
once the challenge of this Ace’s journey has begun.
On the spiritual level the separation is equivalent to the alchemical
separation of the elements to extract the anima or spiritus from the prima
materia, during which operation Mercurius appeared with his divine sword. This
is the sword then, with which the Magician separates the elements, dividing, and
thereby destroying the unity of what was, to create anew from the same force,
just as the alchemical sword was thought to bring about the separation of the
elements in order to restore the original condition of chaos so that a new and
more perfect body could be produced. In keeping with Mercurius as giver of life
and destroyer of the old form, the sword is, like the lion of the Strength card, that
which ‘kills and vivifies.’ It is the two-edged creative/destructive sword that is,
quite simply, evolution on all levels. For ‘ the sword is very much more than an
instrument which divides; it is itself the force which “turns” from something
infinitesimally small into the infinitely great: what it means is the transformation
of the vital spirit in man into the Divine .’ [26]
The Ace of Swords, like Strength, is, in relation to Kether, the
nearest of the minor cards to the concepts of nothingness and the Unmanifest.
Under the touch of its blade, forms again disintegrate and life is dispersed in a
total release of energy. The sword acts as the destroyer and disintegrator. It is the
weapon with which the Magician brings down the curtain on the play, just as in
the Germanic myth Odin reappears at the end of Sigmund’s life, and the sword
which had given him so much victory simply breaks in two, under the piercing
glance of this ancient magician-god, whose arrival this time, heralds an ending.
Separating the stages of the journey of individuation, the Ace of
Swords follows the path of the lightning flash, or order of evolution. Bringing to
mind the narrow sword bridge of Celtic myth, the qabbalistic path of the
lightning flash is, in Tarot, the path of the flaming sword. This is the path of the
wayfarer, journeying up and down the tree. Genesis tells us ‘he placed at the east
of the garden of Eden...a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the
way of the tree of life.’ [27] One further step completes the circle - and reaffirms
the sword as intricately bound up with the Magician. For, according to
Philalethes, Mercurius, for us synonymous with the Magician, actually is ‘that
two-edged sword in the hand of the cherub who guards the way to the tree of
life.’ [28] The Magician, the great imagination, is himself then, the sword which
turns every which way, while the Ace of Swords is the manifestation in the
minor suits of the path that we can follow if we wish to be in tune with our inner
Magicians, unfolding the knowledge of the path of life.

The Ace of Discs is the image of Malkuth in Kether. Linking to the

world of Asiyah, it is the root of the powers of earth, the kingdom of the
physical: in macrocosm the universe, in microcosm, the body.
Its deepest kinship is with the female and the lion of the Strength
card as designating the universal great mother. For this is the card of mother
earth, the powers of nature, and of the manifestation of the spiritual in the
physical. It is the card of the function of sensation, of knowledge through the
senses, and of concern for the body as the physical temple housing the soul.
The Ace of Discs is concerned with roots: the new beginnings
attested to in establishing new roots, building a home, a family, a business,
moving to new areas, perhaps even emigrating to set new roots in a new land. It
is also the card of the seeking of roots, of family trees, inheritance, of what has
been passed down and built on over the ages. It is a card, too, of history in a far
wider aspect: the history of a country. In this it connects with Thoth, the
Magician, as keeper of the archives and patron of history.
As the card of earth and of the kingdom, the Ace of Discs
emphasizes that we are a living part of our world, and are responsible to it.
Living in a particular country, our lives are involved with that country in a very
immediate way, for we are a part of its ongoing history and are affected by
whatever the current stages of that history happen to be. The Ace of Discs is the
external realties we find ourselves caught up in. It signifies the impingement of
external forces, be they social, political, economic, and so forth, on our lives.
These are factors which may affect a whole nation, but which affect us also as
individuals within that nation and which must be borne in mind in any
forthcoming personal projects.
As part of the real world we find ourselves in, the Ace of Discs
emphasizes our responsibilities and commitments, but most of all it emphasizes
our involvement. As the Malkuth of Kether, it is the first manifest sign of the
involvement of the Active intelligence in the workings of the divine plan. It is
the completion of the first stage of the realisation of cosmic forces, the
outpouring of energy extending from the unity of Kether into the duality of
Chokmah, a movement from detachment into participation. For us, the Ace of
Discs is the card of active participation in our own history: when this card
appears in a spread we cannot be content to be merely onlookers; we must
become directly involved, taking an active role in whatever issues are our
current concern. Here we must be prepared to take chances, and not be afraid of
getting our hands dirty in the bounty of mother earth.
The outer rim of the disc is the wheel of the self, with ourselves at
the centre. It is, thus, our own roots, our own evolving history. The kingdom
then becomes our own aims, dreams, ambitions, what we ourselves already have,
and can yet achieve, through active involvement in striving for our goals.
Building on past achievements, this Ace is a card of infinite vistas, of diverse
opportunities which will present themselves to us, but which we must grasp and,
perhaps strenuously, hold on to, if we want to make them firmly our own. It is a
card of completions, of awards, recognition, material success, and of projects
reaching maturity. It may represent retirement or a pension. But it is also a card
of new beginnings. There is still much waiting to be done.
The earth of the discs is the body of the goddess, the manifest form
of the wisdom of the holy-spirit throughout creation. As such, the Ace of the suit
connects us forward, through the wisdom of the High Priestess, to the Empress
in Binah, herself the superior mother, and then to Malkuth, the inferior mother.
As the acorn contains the oak, so the Ace of Discs comprehends the completion
of the manifest goal of the journey. Such completion which is Malkuth is yet a
long way off, yet it is predicted in the image of Malkuth in Kether, and in this
Tarot Ace.
Cognate with the Thoth/Hermes face of the Magician as master of
revelation, the Ace of Discs indicates divining ability. Yet, with its roots in the
penetrating intelligence of the Magician, it is a card, too, of foresight and of
practical ability in the querent to plan ahead.
This Ace proclaims good fortune, material and spiritual prosperity,
and monetary gain. The Ace of Discs, or coins, with its roots in the element of
earth, represents the wealth of the material world, and the riches of the earth:
gold, gems, but also our more basic wealth, such as rocks, minerals, oil or coal.
Metaphorically the rocks can represent growth through firm foundations,
building on the initiative of the Ace of Wands. Yet the rocks can also be very
literal, for this card is knowledge of the depths of earth.
Again the historical aspect arises here, in the history read in the rock strata, in
tree-rings, in fossils, or in the bones of ancestors. In this aspect the Ace of Discs
connects with mining, farming, archaeology, forestry, gardening - in short, any
endeavor maintaining direct contact with the land. It points also to a factor
previously witnessed by the card of the Magician: our responsibility to the earth
and to the preservation of its natural resources.
The Ace of Discs is a card of natural forces, and of natural laws. It
purports the necessity of growth and of accomplishment. Imbued with the
dynamic energy of the Strength card, it is solar power, the dynamic energy
giving zeal to life, the power to do. It is also, mundanely, that other power which
‘makes the world go round’: money. It is the reaping of a good harvest.
Yet finally, like the Ace of Swords, this Ace can, in the appropriate
combination, represent another natural law: the peaceful passing back to the
womb of mother earth at the ending of a long and fulfilled life. The power of this
Ace is tacere, to be silent, and ultimately this silence is the silence of the earth
concerning its deepest mysteries. It is the knowledge that was sought in the
Eleusinian mysteries with the great earth-mother figure of Demeter and her
daughter, queen of death’s kingdom. These mysteries we shall meet again with
the High Priestess in Chokmah, as the pouring forth of the Ace of Discs, as the
last stage of Kether, leads us on to participation in the evolving journey down the
tree of life.
 Chapter Two: The High Priestess in Chokmah

Of darkness visible, so much be lent,

As half to show, half veil, the deep intent.
(Pope, Dunciad, Bk.IV )

‘Say to Wisdom: “You are my sister,” And call Understanding a kinswoman.’

( Proverbs 7:4 )

A basic tenet of qabbalistic philosophy is the principle of polarity –

the teaching that all manifestation is based upon the tension created by duality.
This tension, this constant state of stress, is made manifest throughout the tree of
life glyph, most obviously so in the one-into-three triumvirate of the pillars of
manifestation. Referring to the three ways in which force can manifest: active,
passive and equalibrized, these three vertical pillars are arranged to form the
body of the tree like the two pans and middle balancing axis of the scales of
Justice we shall meet in card eight, or like the two pillars arranged on either side
of the High Priestess, with the High Priestess herself as the middle, balancing
pillar, the pillar of equilibrium, modifying both positive and negative forces
within herself as the middle way.
The High Priestess is the first of seven such sibling cards within the
Tarot related to this issue. For the Tarot too is deeply concerned with the tensions
arising from polarity. It is not simply the individual cards, but the tensions and
relationships between the cards in a given spread that give rise to a balanced
reading.
Underlying both systems, then, is the concept of balance. Right
control is balance. The High Priestess is assigned the numeral two, which
signifies the dual nature of man. Two is the number of the relativeness of
opposites and of their interplay in a finely tuned ritual of antagonism and
harmony, of conflict and stability. It is also the number of the alternative, of
counterpoise, and of reflection.
Chokmah is the ‘Second Glory.’ It is the radiance and reflection of
Kether. It is, too, the ‘Illuminating Intelligence.’ For Chokmah means wisdom.
The Greek analogue of Chokmah is Sophia. [‡] The journey of Sophia,
or Wisdom, is as relevant to early Qabbalah as it is to Gnosticism and to Tarot.
In Qabbalah, the unfolding of the tree of life is the unfoldment of the journey
through the thirty-two paths of Sophia. In Tarot, Sophia’s journey to find herself,
the soul’s journey to wisdom, is the journey of the Fool.
As in Gnosticism, Qabbalah distinguishes between two Sophia, or
more precisely, one Sophia divided into two. While the upper Sophia remains on
high (in Chokmah), the lower Sophia begins the divine drama of exile. For
Wisdom is ‘the beginning of the paths of God.’ [29]
The role of Sophia is the role of the High Priestess in Tarot. She too is the
illuminating intelligence. With her numeral: two reflecting the Roman 11 of
Strength, she shows us that she is, like Strength, an image of the Anima Mundi
or World Soul, but she is the World Soul who has descended from the unity of
Kether into duality. The place of the High Priestess in Qabbalah, therefore,
belongs most comfortably with the second sefirah of Chokmah: Wisdom. For the
High Priestess unravels the mysteries of the soul. Hers is the face of the goddess
who remains on high while simultaneously descending to the depths. She is
herself Wisdom, or the goddess of wisdom: Isis, Inanna, or Sophia.
It is Sophia’s praises we hear sung in the bible by Solomon, the
archetypal wiseman, who tells us: ‘She is more precious than rubies: and all the
things thou canst desire are not to be compared unto her.’ [30] The two pillars the
High Priestess sits enthroned between, usually coloured either black and white or
red and blue, are the twin pillars of the temple of Solomon, known as Jachin and
Boaz.
Jachin, so the rabbis taught, meant ‘he shall establish,’ while the
meaning of Boaz was ‘in it Strength.’ Together they represented the moon and
the sun. In Tarot we can see the connection immediately with the respective
meanings of the Magician and Strength cards. Thus it is the Magician and
Strength, the creative poles of the yin and yang energy of Kether, that we see
positioned on either side of the High Priestess, who acts as the counterpoise
between them.
The High Priestess then, like Chokmah, can be described as the
radiance of unity. For she is not sided with either yin or yang; she is not tied to
either pole but is herself the middle way between the opposites, the Taoist ‘way
of heaven.’ She both unites the opposites, and yet is apart from them. For, as the
goddess who descends and reascends, she has mastered their mysteries. It is
these that she will unfold.
In qabbalistic tradition, there are said to be two Chokmah: one male
and one female. Alternatively Chokmah is said to be female in respect of Kether
and male in respect of Binah. For Wisdom contains within her both the left and
the right. The Chokmah that separates from the King/Godhead and goes into
exile is, however, female. She is both the daughter and little sister who,
becoming greater and greater will eventually become the spouse of the King, and
she is the second of the three supernal mothers: the supernal feminine triad
which comes before the triune father. This is the tradition encapsulated in Tarot
with the supernal feminine triad of Strength, the High Priestess and the Empress,
and with the High Priestess as the daughter or little sister who leads us into exile
only to unfold the path that leads back to the source.
The head-dress of the High Priestess is in the form of a triple tiara,
revealing rulership of the three worlds. The High Priestess is thereby shown as
preserving the mysteries of the threefold goddess who both was and ruled sky,
earth and underworld. Such was Inanna or Isis. It would appear to be a more
recent, yet equally appropriate tradition, for the head-dress of the High Priestess
to be formed from the disc of the sun set between the horns of the moon.
This is the head-dress of radiance and sorrow. It is the head-dress of Isis, or
more specifically of Mert-sekert, ‘the lover of silence.’ Mert-sekert is the name
of Isis in her aspect of queen of the underworld. It is a name which was mirrored
in the nomenclature of the Gnostics who prayed to Sophia as the ‘mystical
eternal Silence.’
The mythologies of the descent are, primarily, lunar based, with light
descending into and reappearing, reborn, from its own darkness. Yet the descent
is also in pursuit of the creative light force that guarantees regeneration - the sun
which has sunk into darkness. The lunar goddess charters the descent to find in
the darkness of the soul the midnight sun, as in the story of the Golden Ass. Here
Lucius (whose name means light), an initiate of the moon-goddess Isis, finds,
after long trials, the hidden inner light of his own true nature finally revealed and
transformed when ‘the sun shone at midnight.’ Hence the sun’s disc between the
moon horns of the head-dress represents the transformative power of the creative
life energy within, the lunar power wombing and giving birth to the solar god.
Mythically this is the missing son/lover died and reborn. Psychologically it is the
creative light of consciousness awakening in the darkness of the unconscious
depths.
The myths most appropriate to the card of the High Priestess are,
then, those appertaining to knowledge of the mastery of the way through the
underworld. The High Priestess personifies the mythic goddesses, such as
Sophia, Psyche, Persephone, or Inanna, whose descent into the underworld
brings them experiential knowledge of all levels of creation. ‘Alone I made a
circuit of the sky and traversed the depth of the abyss’ proclaims Sophia. [31]
The descent into the ‘underworld’ is both a descent into the psychic
realms of the unconscious, and a descent into the world of experience. In either
case, in the rich terms of mythic symbolism, we must navigate our way down the
streams of Lethe: forgetfulness.

The descent begins with the journey beautifully described in the

Gnostic poem: ‘The Song of the Pearl.’ [§] This symbolizes the deliberate journey
down the tree, beginning in the duality of Chokmah, to seek the pearl of wisdom.
It is the journey of Sophia, the soul’s journey from the God-centre or the unity of
Kether into creation, where it ‘falls asleep’ (or having slipped into the waters of
Lethe it falls into forgetfulness) and becomes unconscious of its divine origins.
In the words of Dr. Stephen Hoeller:
The unitary primal nature of the psyche differentiates and descends into
ever-deeper conditions of alienation from its original source of light and
power. At the psychological level, this alienating differentiation is at the
heart of the dark mystery of the fall of Sophia. [32]
Sophia descends to the very depths of creation before reawaking and
reascending in her newly initiated state. Yet Sophia’s origins are in Chokmah,
the sefirah at the head of the pillar of mercy.
Thus it is that, in the very act of ascending, her empathy remains with the
plight of humanity sunk in ignorance. Her voluntary response, therefore, is to
wish to bring illumination to all that sleep, much as, in Akkadian myth, Ishtar
goes in search of Tammuz to awaken him from his sleep in the underworld.
In the early mystery traditions the descent of the World Soul is a
familiar theme, one aspect being the quest to unite consciousness of the soul
with the body. The awakening of the god or divine soul from the deathly slumber
in the realms of unconsciousness was likewise part of the ritual of the descent
myths. The tragedy of the ‘fall’ in the mythic stream becomes, therefore, not the
descent into the knowledge of experience of the more empirical realms. For this
is necessary, just as the descent of the Shekinah (Sophia) is necessary for the
fulfillment of Kether in the body of Malkuth. The tragedy is the fall into the
sleep of forgetfulness or unconsciousness and the consequent loss of awareness
of the inner light after the descent has been made. Liberation becomes
correspondingly the awakening to Kether-consciousness while yet in the
empirical temple of Malkuth. In this way are the two opposite poles of the tree,
the first and the last, themselves conjoined in unity. Such is the basis of the
mystery of the High Priestess, and that of her analogue down the tree in
Malkuth: Temperance.
There is a powerful inter-relationship between the cards of the High
Priestess and Temperance, as there is between Chokmah and Malkuth. In Tarot
these two cards are the first and the last in the series of balance cards: those
cards which are able to control and unite the opposites. As Malkuth, the second
Chokmah, is the lower Sophia, so Temperance is the High Priestess at a lower
level.
From the primordial light of the higher Sophia emanates the lower
Sophia, bringing the light of the above to the below. The lower Sophia descends
to Malkuth: the Kingdom, to fulfil her destiny. For her destiny is to reign in the
lower world. Hers is the kingdom. Through ‘her deeds the world becomes
luminous.’ [33]
In Tarot the descended Sophia, illuminating the world with her
deeds, is the role of Temperance, reigning over the Wheel of Fortune. For
Temperance, the lower face of the High Priestess, is the daughter of balance.
However, as daughter, bride and little mother, Temperance is, too, the pendulum
swinging between the High Priestess and the Empress.
Just as it is almost impossible to isolate wisdom from understanding,
so the bond between the High Priestess and the Empress is as intimate as that
between Chokmah and Binah: wisdom and understanding. Indeed, in some early
qabbalistic works the same attributes, for example ‘treasure house of Sophia’ or
‘primordial light’ are applied to both Chokmah and Binah, making it difficult at
times to be sure which is actually meant. The overlapping bond between the
High Priestess and the Empress is likewise as strong, making it equally difficult
to isolate and deal separately with each. For, like Demeter and Persephone,
mother and daughter of the mysteries, the Empress and the High Priestess are
parallel aspects of the one mystical journey of the goddess within.
The High Priestess is the gateway to the arcane mysteries leading to
spiritual awareness and inner illumination. She is the inner goddess who unfolds
the paths to the hidden dimensions of the psyche, leading us down into the
darkened womb of our own birthing. Inaugurating a new state of being which
reconciles both the light and dark of the moon’s phases, she is the Lady of the
Mysteries, Inanna, Sophia - or Egyptian Isis, initiated into the rite of the Black
(Perfection).
In Arabic the word for Egypt (fehm) is also the word for black
(fehm). Egyptian Isis is therefore Black Isis. Furthermore, the same word is, in
Arabic, homonymous with the word for wisdom or understanding (fehm). Thus
the black Art is the Egyptian Art: the Art of Understanding, while the black
virgins are equivalent to the wise virgins due to the similarity of the Arabic
words for black and wise. In Islamic hermeneutics the colours of black and
white, the colours usually of the pillars of the High Priestess, together represent
the illumination of the soul. The black light symbolizes divinity before creation.
It is the hidden treasure which will be revealed. The white light of understanding
is, by contrast, the light of the revealed treasure.
 The hajarel aswad (black stone) set in an outer corner of the Kaaba,
can also be rendered as hajarel fehm, ‘stone of wisdom,’ the philosopher’s stone.
The word for stone in Arabic is associated with the word for hidden/forbidden.
In Sufi law, (as in Gnosticism and as carried over into alchemy), it was through
the finding of this philosopher’s stone within that man could be reunited with his
essence, the Sufi goal being the regeneration of an essential part of humanity.
Interestingly, in Islamic tradition the black stone was originally a white pearl,
while in the Gnostic ‘Robe of Glory’ the soul descends to obtain the white pearl.
Naturally formed and hidden in the oyster shell on the ocean bed, the
pearl is an ancient symbol of the treasures of the soul. We are all acquainted with
the expression ‘pearls of wisdom.’ The pearl is the self-luminous; it is
transcendent wisdom: Sophia herself. Yet it is also the ‘pearl of great price.’
Diving for pearls represents metaphorically the unfolding and development of
man’s quest for enlightenment. For in order to attain these pearls of transcendent
wisdom, one must risk the dive into the unknown, the darkness of the oceans
deeps. Hence one of the fundamental meanings of Sophia, as of the High
Priestess, is to reveal the ‘treasures of darkness, and hidden riches of secret
places.’ [34]
The self-luminous pearl points to the mystery of inner light. In the
Wisdom of Solomon, Sophia is herself described as: ‘the brightness of the
everlasting light, the unspotted mirror of the power of God.’ [35] Qabbalistically
Sophia is the Shekinah, the feminine aspect of God, the Indwelling Glory and
refulgent light. The Shekinah implies the divine presence as contrasted with the
divine transcendence. As the High Priestess harmonizes the two pillars, so the
Shekinah illuminates the Temple of Solomon when the two pillars are in perfect
equilibrium. She is the link of the chain which locks together the divine and
human dimensions, and her titles in her period of exile are, fittingly, ‘the
precious stone,’ ‘the corner-stone’ and ‘the pearl.’

The work of Qabbalah is to recreate the ladder of ascent by which the

Shekinah, the pearl, may return to union with the creator. This implies the divine
presence and divine transcendence seeking union with each other; or light
seeking, in its own darkness, the light of its own reflection; the reflection being
of course one of Chokmah’s attributes, as indeed is the ‘inner robe of glory.’
In the conclusion to the Gnostic ‘Song of the Pearl’ a messenger is
sent from the heights to awaken the sleeping soul. Yet the soul must be willing
and able to read the message before it can be led back to its origins where it
receives again the robe of glory it had shed on descending:
 ‘ Suddenly, I saw the garment made like unto me as it had been in a
mirror.
And I saw it wholly in myself, and knew and saw myself through it,
that we were divided asunder, being of one; and again were one in shap
e.’ [36]

Sophia, or the soul, then, seeks herself. She is both the black stone
and the white pearl. This is the heart of the meaning of the High Priestess, for
her concern is with one’s own relationship to oneself. It is this, most
fundamental of all relationships that will determine the nature of our
relationships with others. Yet there is here another mystery.
The word ‘Shekinah’, the divine presence, derives from shakhan,
meaning ‘to dwell’; it is the true dwelling place of the soul. Yet, just as it was the
Shekinah who guided the Israelites ‘on a miraculous journey ... leading them
through...deep waters’, [37] so it is the Shekinah, the true home of the soul, who is
also the soul’s companion in exile.
Thus unrecognised, the soul’s true home is also its eternal
companion, waiting to be re-embraced. She is the mystery of the High Priestess
awaiting to initiate us into Self-awareness. For the High Priestess is the goddess
within, the presence of the Shekinah in our inner temple. She is Sophia who has
accompanied us into our exile, the soul’s companion through the life journey,
just as Wisdom accompanied Adam into captivity:
‘She ... went down into the dungeon with him, nor did she leave him
when he was in chains.’ [38]
The High Priestess is the messenger and companion without whom
we could begin neither the descent – nor the subsequent ascent. For, in order to
complete the circle, the soul must travel the inner journey homewards. It must
navigate again the waters of Lethe, but this time in a contrary direction. [**]
The High Priestess is mistress of duality, or mistress of the mysteries
of parallel unity. Yet her hazardous ways are veiled in obscurity through our lack
of knowledge. Trusting in her paradoxical, inscrutable wisdom, the soul must
dare the passage into the underworld, navigating the mysteries of the
unconscious to re-embrace within the light of gnosis. For, mystically the journey
into the depths has always been, simultaneously, the journey to the heights.

The myth of the awakening of the unconscious soul by the Spirit of

Wisdom passed down into Gnostic hands by way of the esoteric traditions of
Egypt, Greece and Sumeria. Indeed, this arduous journey through the veil of the
High Priestess is best symbolized in the ancient Sumerian myth of Inanna’s
descent through the seven gates of the underworld, to meet face to face with her
dark sister-self Ereshkigal:
From the Great Above she opened her ear to the Great Below...
Inanna abandoned heaven and earth to descend to the underworld.
She abandoned her office of holy priestess to descend to the underworld. [39]
Bejewelled, with the ‘seven divine decrees’ fastened at her side, and
the ‘crown of the plain’ on her head, Inanna, Lady of resplendent light, is ready
to enter the underworld. Yet in the course of her descent she must pass through
seven gates at each of which she must shed a personal belonging, beginning with
the crown and ending at the seventh gate with all the remaining garments of her
body. Thus having shed the ‘seven veils’ which covered her, Inanna stands naked
before her opposite, her dark sister Ereshkigal. For Inanna and Ereshkigal, the
light and the dark sisters, are together the dual form of the one goddess, ‘and
their confrontation,’ so Campbell informs us, ‘epitomizes the whole sense of the
difficult road of trials’:
The hero, man or woman, discovers and assimilates his opposite (his
own unsuspected self). One by one the resistances are broken. He must put
aside his pride, his virtue, beauty and life, and bow or submit to the
absolutely intolerable. Then he finds that he and his opposite are not of
differing species, but one flesh. [40]
Joining together the Great Above with the Great Below, the doors to
which she holds both keys, Inanna descends to be re-united with her underworld
aspect. It is the ancient Sumerian Inanna who provides the link between the
neolithic Great Mother and the Biblical Eve, Sophia and Mary. ‘Her imagery is
the foundation of Sophia (the Hebrew Hokmah, or Wisdom), the Gnostic Great
Mother and even the medieval Shekinah of the Jewish Kabbalah.’ [41]
Inanna too wears the moon’s horns, and her girdle is the zodiac - the zodiac
being the mundane chakra of Chokmah. Like Isis, she is radiant light and
sorrowing mother, while with the dark face of Ereshkigal she is the restorer of
life through inner death.
In Greek myth Ereshkigal becomes Persephone, ‘she who shines in
the dark.’ The myth evokes the mysteries of Eleusis with mother and daughter,
Demeter and Kore, brought together in the role of Persephone. In this way the
domain of feminine consciousness is extended to encompass both the above and
the below, embracing a more complete personality which, like the High
Priestess, partakes of the nature of duality to comprehend her roots in infinity.
Persephone, like Black Isis and Ereshkigal, is Queen of the
Underworld, protectress of the dead, daughter of the mysteries. As the sorrowing
wife of Hades: ‘the Unseen One,’ she holds the keys to the inner kingdoms and
unlocks the way within. It is these keys, one of silver and one of gold that we
sometimes see in the hands of the High Priestess: the keys to reason and
imagination, the sun and moon, the higher and the lower. They are the keys to
the levels of consciousness which Persephone, as both mother and daughter,
roams between.
Persephone was obliged to remain a part of the year in the
Underworld because she had eaten some pomegranate seeds. Accordingly, in one
of the best of the modern packs, the Rider-Waite depiction of the High Priestess
shows pomegranates on the veil draped between the two pillars which must be
passed through for initiation into the mysteries. As Caitlin Mathews points out,
[42]
in both Hebrew (Chokmah) and Latin (sapere, sapientia) the word for wisdom
means ‘to taste.’ This is still evident in our own use of the word ‘sapient’ to
indicate both the qualities of taste and wisdom. Be it the pomegranate seeds of
Persephone, the apple from the tree of knowledge or the three drops from the
magic cauldron, this ‘tasting’ is necessary to the gaining of wisdom. To know
and participate in the mystery that is life we must partake of the nourishment of
experience. The High Priestess in Chokmah is the wisdom of maturity, the
transformative wisdom gained through the taste of experience for it is only the
wayfarer who ‘Can burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine/His soul shall taste
the sadness of her might.’ [43] Appropriately, corresponding to the High Priestess
in Chokmah is the letter Beth, which in hieroglyphic writing symbolises the
human mouth.
As Prajña-Paramita (prajña = wisdom), the Buddhist version of
Sophia appears with the manuscript of that very same transcendent wisdom
which she herself personifies, so, from early times, the High Priestess has been
shown holding a book, or in some decks a scroll, representing the book of sacred
wisdom. Again this is in keeping with Chokmah; for it is in the second sefirah
that the twenty-two letters for the transmission of wisdom were ‘engraved and
hewed.’
The veil itself is a symbol of the mysteries. In some packs the veil is
shown covering the face of the High Priestess; in others it is draped between the
two pillars, with the High Priestess sitting before it. Here she guards against
anyone passing through to those challenges they are not yet strong enough to
encounter, or from facing in themselves what they are not yet sufficiently
prepared to meet.
The image of the Veiled Goddess, the Dark Woman of Knowledge,
lies at the foundation level of many ancient traditions of spiritual knowledge, the
veil representing the means of concealment of the face of the mysteries, the
silence of that which cannot be spoken. We still talk today of ‘taking the veil’ for
the nuns in Christian tradition who choose to devote their lives to the spiritual
path.
Ultimately, however, the veil is ‘the famous veil or Robe of Isis that
no “mortal”... has raised, for that veil was the spiritual nature of man himself,
and to raise it he had to transcend the limits of individuality, break the bonds of
death and become consciously immortal.’ [44]

The way of Sophia, the path of the High Priestess is, then, never
easy, whether the experiential journey on which she is our guide and companion
is inner or external. The card may signify hardship, or difficult lessons in store.
Yet the lessons are those we ourselves, guided from within, have chosen as a
means to break down the barriers to the Self, and to become more aware of who
and what we are. They are the lessons the wisdom of the soul knows we are
ready to be challenged by in order to evolve spiritually and to further our self-
development. For, we are told in Ecclesiasticus, Wisdom leads her disciple ‘by
tortuous ways ... her discipline will be a torment to him, and her decrees a hard
test, until he trusts her with all his heart.’ [45] But when her ways are met, ‘Then
shall her fetters be a strong defence for thee, and her chains a robe of glory.’ [46]
The High Priestess is both reconciler and restorer. She is Sophia, at
once transcendent as the radiant light, and manifest as the world soul lost and
wandering in sorrow. She is Isis searching the world to reassemble the pieces of
the dead Osiris, or both Demeter searching in sorrow for her missing daughter,
and the daughter who has descended into the world of experience necessary for
the continuation of growth. And she is Psyche, meaning soul, who, though
warned not to for she is not yet ready, looks by stealth on the brightness of her
beloved Eros and thereby loses him. The journey Psyche undertakes to seek Eros
is a journey which imposes seemingly impossible tasks and will eventually lead
her into the realm of the underworld to face Persephone. Yet the journey is itself
the initiation process to raise her to the level of being consciously able to
embrace the effulgent light of the pure love she has lost.
As goddess of the mysteries, the High Priestess offers a glimpse of a
return to wholeness through inner paths, deepening our understanding by leading
us into ourselves to face and experience the hidden, unknown dimensions. The
High Priestess, like Inanna, Isis, Sophia, softly illumines the need to allow
ourselves to be vulnerable, to put pride aside and set ourselves forward to gain
through exposure to experience. Certainly this will mean mistakes and probable
sadness, and may even mean failure; yet always there will be gain which can be
used to further our chances of success in the future when, through our
experience, we have learnt to know ourselves better. For, best summed up in the
words of Baring and Cashford, the Spirit of Wisdom is ‘the guiding archetype of
human evolution ... an image that embraces all human experience, inspiring trust
in the capacity of the soul to find its way back to the source.’ [47]
Ratziel, the archangel of Chokmah, is the Bright Angel of the Soul of
Man who brings illumination and guidance. Likewise, the High Priestess is she
who leads us first in the descent down the tree that we may attain to individual
awareness in the Kingdom (Malkuth), and then she is the guide who leads us
back again to wisdom, to awareness of individuation, to clothe ourselves again in
the robe of glory of our self-hood, just as Inanna was given back her robes on
reascending.
The High Priestess is classed as feminine for the soul has always
been classed as such, yet her qualities are equally masculine for she is the
counterpoise and reconciler of the opposites. Guiding the soul in its concentrated
struggle to restore the equilibrium between feminine and masculine, Magician
and Strength, she represents equally the male as well as the female aspirant.
Situated in Chokmah she is both dynamic and passive, a reflection and a pouring
forth, her concern centred in the cosmic significance of polarity.
Finally, in this Tarot card we find the simple message to take heed of
the opposite within which forms a counterpoise to the deficiencies of the
standpoint of the conscious ego, making up for what we outwardly neglect. The
High Priestess is the voice of intuition, the voice of the inner being sharing our
experience and able to discern, far better than the conscious ego, the underlying
patterns which shape our destiny.

The Queen of Swords and the Queen of Wands

The Queens of Swords and Wands are the hand-maidens of the High
Priestess, belonging, like the balancing pillars, one on either side, where they
embody different attributes of the Sophia myth.
‘Pearls are for tears’ we say in common tradition, and it is pearls
such as these we must accept with the card of the Queen of Swords. As weeping
corresponds to the sefirah of Chokmah, so this queen is Sophia, or the High
Priestess in her sorrowing mantle. Hers is the face of Isis, Inanna or Sophia we
can empathize with, for it is the face of the goddess become human and
undergoing pain and sadness. She may once have lived in satisfied contentment,
perhaps as wife and mother, but has since discovered that:

...in the very temple of Delight

 Veil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine [48]

and now suffers under the loneliness of trial and loss, weeping for that which is
absent in her life.
The Queen of Swords represents the single person, male or female,
struggling to make ends meet, and having to survive with sole reliance on their
own resources. Like the goddesses who have lost their loved one, she may be
widowed or divorced, or simply forced to cope alone in straitened
circumstances. Past relationships and the hopes therein may have broken apart
and there may now be no-one with whom she feels ready to share her life.
Emotionally she may be lonely, yet her solitariness is also her source of strength.

The role of Sophia as ‘the strong woman who survives in the face of adversity
and rescues her treasures to display them at a more suitable time’ [49] is the role
most relevant to the Queen of Swords. Lunar based, she is concerned with the
ebb and flow of tides, with accepting with resignation that periods of hardship,
just like periods of joy, have their place in the waxing and waning of the
continuous, and concurrent, cycles of growth.
She may regret her childless state, or like Isis she may have been left
alone with a child on her hands. Where there are children, they will either be too
young to share the burdens of responsibility, or they will be old enough to have
already left, or to be leaving the parental home. In the first case the Queen of
Swords represents usually the single parent, perhaps trying to balance work
commitments with the raising of a young child or children. In the latter case she
represents the aging parent, left alone to reassemble the strands of the past and
present into a pattern meaningful to the remaining years of her life.
The sadness of watching her children leave the parental home, no
longer children now but adults, is mingled with the pleasure felt in having raised
them to that stage of independence. Here also is the anticipation that, as adults
making their own way, an equally strong bond based on the insights of maturity
can be given scope to develop. Slowly growing through the stages she has long
passed, they will be able to recognise the difficulties she has come through and
will gradually, with developed insight, be able to appreciate and understand her
on a deeper level, for who she is in herself, as she has tried to understand them.
These two aspects, the infancy and maturity or youth and age,
correspond to the crescent moons on the Isis head-dress of the High Priestess.
Although the Queen of Swords is the lunar face of the High Priestess, she is
never the full moon. Her light is the partial light of the crescent, beginning to
wax, beginning to wane, but never revealing the full picture.
 With the Queen of Swords there are always aspects which remain
hidden. Faces and events of the past which have left their mark glide in and out
of memory, seeming through the vicissitudes of time like phantasms belonging
to an era which increasingly seems unreal. Forgotten truths float tantalizingly to
the surface, but like the light of the moon on water, resist the grasp of the closed
intellect and the empirical embrace.
With this Queen it is time to loosen the bonds which have bound us to a
purely physical approach to life, learning only through external stimuli, and to
concentrate on allowing space within for the contact of the inner reality. The
Queen of Swords represents a time when happiness through external events has
lost its power and come to seem shallow, and the seeker knows she needs to find
a deeper state of joy through traversing the dark journey of her sorrow to the
light within.
To suffer originally meant to ‘undergo’, and the sufferings denoted
by the Queen of Swords stem from the undergoing of trials posed by that face of
Wisdom which ‘may seem harsh to the uninstructed’ but which will lead to the
finding of the inner light which cannot be extinguished by any external factor.
With her one learns to weave a robe of strength and inspiration from within
oneself, which, being spun in the crucible of inner suffering, is not reliant on and
cannot be destroyed by whatever may take place externally. The Queen of
Swords is the necessary shattering of the pieces to reassemble and restore them
in a new and higher state, her trials leading to the joys of inner peace and the
gentle equilibrium of self-knowledge.
The Queen of Swords is often the face of the caring wise-woman
people turn to for a shoulder to cry on and for sympathy in their present travail.
She may denote advice and counselling, but she is too wise to imagine her
counselling can do more than slightly ameliorate the burden of the trials
necessary for the soul’s growth, and her greatest strength is simply to provide a
listening ear, the strong supportive sword of silence that is so much a part of her.
Cast out from what was familiar, the Queen of Swords loosens the
ties to earthly matters. Issues that had seemed so important suddenly lose their
hold on us so that we see them as trivial and irrelevant, and, in time, even wryly
amusing. For the sorrowing face of the Queen of Swords will lead us eventually,
if we let her, to a point where we can smile at ourselves, at those terrible
moments that once seemed so serious, recognising they were but ripples on the
water that carries us home to ourselves.

The Queen of Wands relates to the High Priestess as light-bearer. As

Demeter wandered with a lighted torch in her hand seeking Persephone, or as
Persephone was ‘she who shines in the dark’, so the Queen of Wands is the
bearer of the torch, the guiding principle shedding the light of knowledge onto
happenings, whether inner or external. She is the face of the High Priestess
which leads us through the darkness, inspiring trust in difficult times, the surety
and confidence that things will work out for the best if only we have patience.
Like Isis in her Hathor aspect, she is the nourisher and provider of our needs. ‘I
am the mother of fair love, and fear and knowledge, and holy hope’ Wisdom
says of herself in Ecclesiasticus. [50] This is the face of Wisdom we meet in the
Queen of Wands.
Among the minor cards the Queen of Wands has a very enduring
influence. Her ancestry harks back to Kether where she is blood relative to
Strength as the eternal fire, and of course to the King of Wands.
In Tarot, wands designate the fire of the spirit and the Queen of Wands
provides us with a moderating influence, forming a solar tributary between the
three mothers: the source - Strength, the twin rivers of the High Priestess and the
sea of the Empress in Binah.
As a card of the element of fire the Queen of Wands carries the flame
which cannot be extinguished, while she herself is the steadfast guardian of the
flame. Her relationship to the High Priestess is reinforced in later Tarot packs by
the symbolism (on the card of the High Priestess) of the sun disc of the Isis head-
dress, and sometimes by a solar cross or an Egyptian ansated cross or Ankh,
representing equally the life force or the key to life.
Keeping the home fires burning, not Sophia who descends but that
aspect which remains behind waiting for the soul to return, is the face of the
Queen of Wands. Yet the return is long in coming for the soul’s journey is
arduous and slow. The Queen of Wands, therefore, is a card heavy with waiting.
Keeping the flame of hope alive long past the point where all seems hopeless,
this is a card which survives the despairing doubts and manages to endure and
remain loyal to the flame within. Pregnant with expectations long promised but
seemingly never arriving, the Queen of Wands indicates goals which will only be
reached in maturity, after being sought through many difficult years. Underlining
the need for perseverance and constancy in the pursuit of aims, any who are
unable to hold out through the enforced trials of patience of this card will find
their hopes slowly relinquished.
As a guardian of the living flame, the Queen of Wands indicates
untapped potential. Her Wand is the wand of inspiration which ignites and
fertilises, this being an aspect relating her to the fertilising symbols of Chokmah:
the lingam or phallus and the uplifted rod of power. For the Queen of Wands is
the protector of the life-force. Like the High Priestess she is representative of the
interaction of both life principles: yin and yang. The positive and negative,
masculine and feminine, operating at all levels of creation. Carrying the wand of
the Magician fused with the dynamic living energy of Strength, the Queen of
Wands indicates the ability to use resources innovatively and wisely. ‘Necessity
is the mother of invention’ we quip, so, both resourceful and creative, the Queen
of Wands represents both the urge and the means to create, seemingly out of
nothing, bringing hope where none existed.
The Queen of Wands embodies that aspect of the High Priestess
which personifies the feminine urge to bring light and order to darkness and
chaos. In this role she serves as secretary between the High Priestess and Justice,
who, though situated at opposite ends of opposite pillars, are very much
connected in the halls of the truthful balance. As guardian of the living flame she
also connects the High Priestess with the Empress. Just as the torch-bearer
Hecate was the mediator between the two worlds of Demeter and Persephone, so
the Queen of Wands is intermediary between the High Priestess and the
Empress. Hers is the stimulus necessary to creativity, the warmth of enthusiasm
kindling the sparks within. She is the foretaste of the mingling of fire and water,
as ascribed to the dual goddess as guardian of childbirth and spirit of fertility.
The Queen of Wands is, then, a very encouraging card. Like
Chokmah she is a channel for the passage of force from the unmanifest, the
glimmer of ideas setting one in pursuit of far-off goals. Mingling the High
Priestess with the Empress, she balances inner hopes with outer realities,
keeping private dreams alive while contending ably with the realities of the
external world.
Watching with tender mercy over that which is still developing, she
is the opener of doors at the beginnings of situations when opportunities are still
rich and optimistic hope is burning strong, and she retains the fire of optimism
long after the flames have burnt low. Like Brigid, the Sophia of the Celtic
Church, for whom the tending of a perpetual flame was part of her worship, the
Queen of wands holds aloft the torch to bring illumination to the doubts of
darkness.
In the arena of mental stimulation the Queen of Wands relates to
Sophia as goddess of philosophers. Dispelling the negativity of ignorance, she
denotes a love of knowledge and the joyous pursuit of truth. Igniting the fires in
the brain as well as in the soul, a line of study is pursued for the sheer pleasure
of extending knowledge, finding immense satisfaction in trying to grapple with
the conundrums of life. In this aspect the Queen of Wands may actually denote a
teacher or mentor, for hers is the source of knowledge. In the pursuit of wisdom
one is deep in the embrace of Sophia.
 Combining feminine intuition with the masculine qualities of
strength and initiative, the Queen of Wands shows maturity and independence,
with a stout dosage of common sense. She is frequently the bread-winner of the
family. Full of practical ideas, she is certainly someone who can be of assistance,
offering friendship and warmth, and where needed, generosity.
Be it through family or friends, the Queen of Wands can denote
strong female bonds. Hers is an independent but loving nature, capable of great
affection and long years of devotion to that she holds most dear. Strong enough
to be herself, she has no qualms in accepting others as they are and, like Sophia,
is loyal to her chosen friends through both the good and the bad times. Reversed,
however, she can occasionally denote a lack of trust or betrayal of confidence on
someone else’s part, which leaves the querent with a sigh of regret that a
relationship has been let down in this way.
Usually though, the Queen of Wands is loyal to her heart’s chosen
goals even when things look bleak. For they are the sparks of light and intuition
which she has followed thus far, and which are intimately tied up with who she
is and who she wants to be. With an enduring and far-reaching influence, this
Queen is the sustainer of the inner vision, the fire which keeps hope alive, and
the distant glimmer of achievement in the pursuit of one’s chosen dreams.

The Twos
In each of the Tarot Twos we encounter the result of the conjunction
of opposites, the twin forces in operation. These cards of the minor Tarot can be
regarded as the fundamentals of an issue, the very forces that keep it moving.
Minor, though important, the Twos provide, so to speak, the necessary lubricant
to the machine’s smooth running. Where the harmony of the Twos is threatened,
there may be warning of a stalemate, or even, with three or four Twos reversed
together in a spread, of a complete breakdown in a situation.

The Two of Wands relates to the High Priestess as the one who
descends into experience. It is the song of innocence to experience, the journey
from childhood to maturity. The two upright wands designate the two pillars of
past and future which the living self is perpetually taut between. They are the
pillars of the strength within and that which has yet to be established in future
potential. Too early for the flower, this Two is concerned with the seeds and with
the stem, and with the nourishing of the soil in which the seed is planted, aspects
which are all important if the flower is ever to blossom into its fullness.
The initial focus of the Two of Wands is on the early stages of some
venture. At this point things may seem to move slowly as one is weighed down
by the sense of all that needs to be accomplished. Yet the weight does become
much easier to carry as time goes on and one discerns the best ways of adapting
to and controlling the situation. With the easing of pressure comes also an
attitude of enthusiasm and optimism, of the sense that even if there is much to
do, there is also plenty of time in which to do it. At this stage the Two of Wands
has very much the feel of a lucky card, with everything falling into place.
Nevertheless, there is here a silent influence at work whose effects are frequently
not perceived.
At this initial stage of the Two of Wands we are presented with a
blank sheet and the freedom to fill it any which way. Yet from the very
beginning choices must be made. As soon as one begins to fill that sheet a
position is taken which in itself is binding. The initial decision is complemented
by others, none of which can be erased. The lines must be followed through to
their conclusion and responsibility accepted for whatever form the subsequent
picture takes. What is taking form here is the network of the past. Thus from
open possibility one becomes doubly bound: by the past which has already been
set down and by the future which is the automatic fulfillment of the lines already
begun. Gradually and unwittingly we are caught by the sparks of potential set
aflame by the interaction of the two wands of the fire suit.

Both as a card of the element of fire, and as a two, the Two of Wands
associates with the relationship between the High Priestess and Strength. The
two wands themselves form the Roman numeral of Strength, the dynamic
tension of both wands together sending the creative energy of the Strength card
down the Tree into the worlds of form. Thus with the Two of Wands in a more
advanced position in a spread we are dealing in the minor cards with the mythic
descent into experience which cannot be avoided because it is necessary to
growth. The Two of Wands is a door between the major and the minor cards,
blending together the measure of their respective influence.
One follows, with the Two of Wands, the path of one’s choosing, the
path of one’s own self-expression. Yet by choosing an individuated way one may
feel set apart from others and placed on a path which is often lonely. The Two of
Wands can indicate the search for meaningful interaction, of that something
more which always seems to be missing. It can indicate too the yearning for that
special relationship which will bring the sense of at-one-ness which seems to
have been lost along the way. Yet in the journey through experience one begins,
with the Two of Wands, by looking in all the wrong places. Only through the
long difficult process of not finding what we want do we gradually learn to
discard what is not important.
Sometimes, before we can move forward, it is necessary to look back
to try to understand how we got here. This is the message implicit at this half-
way stage. Here the Two of Wands is concerned with unassimilated parts of the
self, the unresolved problems. It may indicate that it is time to look inside
oneself to re-assimilate aspects which in the past have been shelved, but which
have continued to influence us unconsciously and which we must now come to
terms with if we want to alter a particular recurrent pattern of behaviour. Here
we have on a minor level the inward journey of Inanna to face aspects of herself.
The acknowledgement of mistakes, and the acceptance too of their necessity on
the road to wisdom; the recognition that at times one must concede defeat, and
the admission of weaknesses and faults and the realisation of the role they have
played in leading to the present situation, all are stepping stones on the journey
of this Two.
The Two of Wands insists that there is nothing wrong in defeat, or in
retreat. It is simply that we have not yet progressed far enough to achieve
success. Acknowledging that we cannot always win, and giving in graciously, is
in itself here a sign of our maturing strength. With this card defeat and the
recognition of our weaknesses can be a positive stimulus to us to develop our
character that we may at some more appropriate point in the future turn again to
deal with the problem, knowing we are now able to face it.
With the Two of Wands, then, there will be a need to make careful
judgements as to what needs to be assimilated and what we are not yet ready to
assimilate, judging just how much we can take while retaining balance. Yet the
Wands are of the fire of the spirit, of faith in oneself to keep persevering: one can
only progress a little at a time.

In the concluding stages of a spread the Two of Wands indicates achievement.

Finding at last what was wanted where we least expected to find it, the
achievement comes about where we overcome our own prejudices to allow time
for something we often initially shy away from. Ironically, it is usually through
first being rejected ourselves that, finding ourselves with time on our hands and
no conflicting options, we thus conclude: ‘okay, why not give it a go.’ It is part
of the dual nature of all the Twos that what seemed good may not be so;
acceptance which seems to be what we want could have problematic
consequences, while rejection can be a blessing in disguise.
Where relationships are denoted, whether business, friendship, or
love, the Two of Wands with its links to the past indicates karmic ties. Chance
meetings with long reaching effects can also be a factor here. Partnerships will
usually be harmonious, thriving on mutual cooperation. Where love relationships
are concerned, this card refers to couples who meet quite late on in life. Being
thus more mature, and having mellowed and learnt through past mistakes not to
repeat the same errors, the relationship here will be one of contented equilibrium
and mutual respect. The wisdom of the Two of Wands is achieved through
learning from the mistakes of the past, both our own and those of others, and by
taking responsibility for our own attitudes vis-à-vis all those who come into our
lives.

The actual card of relationships is the Two of Cups. Qabbalistically

the Two of Cups is the ‘lord of love,’ reflecting the loving relationship between
Kether and Chokmah, love and wisdom. The Two of Cups is concerned with the
cosmic significance of polarity manifesting through pairs of opposites at all
levels of creation, the attraction of opposites and the strong bonds of affinity
giving joy to the relationships both with others and to life itself.
The basic celebration of the joy of life’s continuity is expressed in
the aspect of the descent and restoration myth as fertility rite, ensuring the
continuing fecundity of the earth, with the cycles of the earth goddess embracing
her lover to ensure the survival, (through restoration) of all that lives, and to
partake and provide of earth’s abundance. ‘For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is
over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is
come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land’ proclaims the Song of
Solomon, [51] much as one can imagine the corn goddess Demeter herself would
have sung, as life was restored to the land with the re-emergence of Persephone
in Spring. It is to this tributary (at the level of Asiyah [††] ) that the phallus and
lingam symbols of Chokmah are related, with sexuality as a means of expression
of the life-force.
Yet sexual imagery and the poetry of love has long been used to
describe the higher relationship of the spirit to God, the bonds of affinity at the
levels of Beriyah and, ultimately, Atziluth. ‘Let him kiss me with the kisses of
his mouth: for thy love is better than wine’ says the Song of Solomon. [52]
One could, with equal profit, compare the love poetry of the Sufis, Sufism
itself being the way of love, for ‘it is only in love that mankind can find
fulfillment’ so Rumi, (the founder of the Whirling Dervishes,) tells us.
The Two of Cups, the ‘lord of love’, is concerned with love in all its
manifestations. The relationship indicated may be a friendship or romantic
attachment, the closeness of family ties, or it may indeed be the relationship to
one’s inner, or higher self. The nun taking the veil would be equally at home in
this card as would a marriage or love partnership. The card is concerned with
reciprocity, wholeness derived from the union of polarities, male and female,
spiritual and physical. The friendship may be a union of minds resulting in an
outflow of creativity and the discovery of aspects of oneself through the sharing
and joy of another’s companionship.
It is a card, like the High Priestess, of reconciliation and restoration,
of wholeness through the binding to another or through finding fulfillment
within. It celebrates Sophia as the joy of love, light and fulfillment; yet,
contrariwise, it can also be the card of Sophia as separation and sadness.
Reversed the Two of Cups indicates divided unity: a sense of drifting
apart while yet within a relationship. This may eventually find expression in
actual (albeit temporary) separation, as space and time are needed to readjust the
relationship. With the overturned vessels, it may be that each partner is treating
the other as simply a source of supply to fill the emptiness, rather than as a
person in their own right with whom to share life’s fullness. In such cases the
readjustment must be mutual, cooperation being the key here if the duality is not
to divide yet further into two separate paths. With this card restoration is always
possible.
The Two of Cups reversed can, however, signify loss of balance in
relation to the inner self. Indicating the need to redress the harm done to oneself
by oneself, the reversed Two calls for a restoration of self-harmony - by
attending to the wisdom of the High Priestess within.

The Two of Swords signifies the situation of being caught between

the two horns of a dilemma. Etymologically the number two is in many
languages the number of the alternative. In Swedish, for example, ‘the second’ is
literally ‘den andra’ - the other, or in German where zwei (two) leads to Zweifel
-doubt, and further still to Verzweiflung - despair or being at a loss as to what to
do. For, our options being doubled, doubt sets in, placing us ‘in two minds’ about
which course of action we should take, sometimes so much so that we end up
taking neither.
The card is a mirror of the divided self. Torn between two divergent
but equally compelling ways, one impulse opposing another, we are thrown into
a state of inner tension, pulled in two directions by our own competing desires.
Yet at this initial stage a decision must be made although it be made for the
most part blindly, not knowing properly what either option really involves. In
contrast to the Two of Discs where the best course is learning not to interfere
with the process of our own self-growth, the important factor here is not so much
what is chosen, but that a choice is made. The alternative to making a choice is
to sink back into a state of arrested development, and, in trying to retain a
childlike state through abnegation of responsibility, never allowing ourselves to
develop into who we truly are.
There is a Chinese saying: ‘Fear not going forward slowly, fear only
standing still.’ The Two of Swords connects with the High Priestess as the path
of becoming ourselves through becoming aware of ourselves on the journey
through experience. It is through the taking of responsibility for ourselves by
making our own choices of what we want to do, that we are thrust forward into
consciousness and awareness, both of who we are, and of our place in the world
around us.
Yet this thrust forward is also the thrust away from the comforting
unity of unconsciousness, away from the protectiveness of the parent who would
do everything for the child but thereby stunts its inner growth. It is the
equivalent of Eve’s decision to bite the apple of the tree of Knowledge and so
take the journey into experience to know herself, expelled from the paradise of
Eden where she can never learn what she is capable of doing or becoming, for
there is nothing for her to do! It is the separation of Chokmah from Kether with
the decision to thrust forward: casting its energy down the tree through Binah to
Malkuth, in order that Kether, through dividing into the culminating multiplicity
of the kingdom (Malkuth), can gain knowledge of itself through experiencing
itself. In this way do we become that which we already are and, more
importantly, we become aware of it.
The Two of Swords does not stop here, however. In later positions in
a spread it also denotes the struggle to reach beyond the horns of the dilemma to
create from the impasse a third opportunity which encompasses a little of all
options: the search for the middle way of the High Priestess.
At the mundane level, aiming like the High Priestess to tread the
middle way between the opposites, one may find oneself precisely that: caught
in the middle between two parties at variance with each other. Used as a
listening board for the grievances of both factions, the best option is to struggle
to preserve one’s autonomy and wait for the truce that cannot be far away.
Qabbalistically the Two of Swords is the card of peace restored. It is
a card of truce, yet a truce based on tension for it can only last as long as both
parties are equal, making both wary of actions that may destroy the status quo.
Presaged here is an agreement where two parties in a relationship have
recognised the advantages in, and indeed necessity of, cooperation, for both need
each other and there can be no benefit to either for the one to be harmed. Yet the
alignment can only last with continuous effort on both sides to maintain the hard
won equilibrium, taut with the tension of potential destructiveness.
 United, however, the opposing parties, or the union of opposing
tendencies in oneself, can achieve great success, each making up for the
deficiencies in the other. The Two of Swords can represent a latent, powerful
force which can only be harnessed through union with an opposite, either within
oneself, as Inanna descends to face Ereshkigal, or through a partnership with
someone who is one’s antithesis. In both cases one must learn to befriend the
opposition, to make the journey of conciliation of divergent selves.

The Two of Discs is the card of harmonious change. In the two discs
we see both the sun and the moon, the union signified in the Isis head-dress of
the High Priestess. Like the moon, the Two of Discs is representative of that
which is ever changing yet ever the same. It is the harmonious interchanging of
dark and light, day and night.
The Two of Discs relates to the myth of Persephone with that part of
the year spent in the darkness of earth alternating perpetually with the awakening
of spring and the flow into the richness of summer. The symbolism here is
directed not just to the cycles of the earth under the influence of the seasons,
though indeed the disc is of the element of earth, but it relates also to our own
cycles, a balanced flow of times necessary for gestation, growth, fruition, and for
retreat; the cycle of endings flowing again into the cycle of beginnings in a
gradual evolution through the ages of man. The Two of Discs is the card of
balanced rhythm, the alternation of the light and dark of life’s phases in
reassuring continuity. What is presaged here are the natural fluctuations of
fortune, an unthreatening gradual accumulation of moderate changes leading to
new opportunities, new doors opening as old doors close, one behind the other.
Mundanely the Two of Discs can indicate the need to maintain a
balance between the different facets of one’s life, between the spiritual and the
earthly, between one’s home life and one’s career, one’s own needs and those of
others. It can signify, too, the need to balance skilfully the inflow of money with
its outflow! Upright the Two of Discs will indicate the attainment of this skilful
equilibrium leading to a sense of well-being. Where there are doubts, or financial
setbacks, they are only temporary and will be eased in a simple way, a way
perhaps surprising to the querent. For the Two of Discs focuses on the present.
At any given point in the cycle, only that point and not the totality can be seen.
Yet life and the inner wisdom, if not prevented, interact to provide their own
solutions to the maintenance of the rhythm so necessary to our well-being.
Doing without doing, with this Two we must learn to attune ourselves to the
natural harmony of the ebb and flow within and, keeping out of our own way, all
will be done as it should.
 Chapter Three: The Empress in Binah
Eternity is in love with the productions of time.
(Blake. The Marriage of Heaven and Hell)

The Tarot Empress carries the archetype of the great mother. She is
the eternal feminine, the ancient mother goddess as the great round: birth and
creation, life, destruction and death. Hers is the all-containing womb which
nurtures the life-bearing and chthonic powers of our being.
Binah too is the great mother, as her titles indicate: Aima, the bright
fertile mother; Ama, the dark sterile mother; Marah, the Great Sea or the Bitter
Sea; and Kursiya: the Throne. For it is through the womb of the mother that
force is given birth as form. Binah is the first manifestation of the idea of form.
The roots of Binah are in Kether, just as the roots of the Empress are
in the becomingness of the Magician and the life-energy of Strength. Conjoined,
the latter represent the will to become more which finds its first differentiated
expression in the card of the Empress, as the potential of the united 1 and 11
finds its fulfillment in the wholeness of the number 3 (111).
Qabbalistically 3 is the number of the completion and closing of the
supernal triangle, the limitation and enclosing of force into the idea of form. As
such it is both an end and a beginning. It is the closing of the first stage, the
fulfillment of the first aim initiated in Kether - and with it the ending of the free
flow of force. Yet it is a beginning, for through the womb of form, itself the
divine mother be she Binah or Empress, the worlds of form are created: ‘three
gives rise to all numbers.’ From Binah streams forth across the abyss the first of
the inferior sefirot. The lower sefirot are termed ‘inferior’, not in the sense of
being lesser, but in the same sense that adults are regarded as ‘superiors’ to their
children: not better but of greater understanding.
The inferior sefirot are in a sense the children of the great mother
Binah, who gives birth to the expressions of Kether in increasingly denser forms.
The first of the inferior sefirot, situated on the other side of the abyss, is Chesed,
which corresponds with the Tarot Emperor. In Tarot the Emperor is the child of
the Empress.
The throne the Empress sits upon represents the stability of the
foundations. In mythic imagery the great mother was frequently represented
sitting on a throne and either suckling a child or with a child on her lap. Such,
for example, are many of the images of Isis, seated with Horus on her lap, as
also of the later great mother - Mary with Jesus. Isis was the great mother
goddess of the universe, yet she herself descended from the Complete One, as
Binah descends from Kether. She was the ‘goddess of the throne on whose
sovereign lap the king sat as her infant child in the image of all humanity.’ [53]
Indeed, the name Isis is the Greek rendition of the name Åst, which actually
means ‘the seat’ or ‘the throne’, while the head-dress of the goddess took the
shape of a seat, the value of the hieroglyph of her name. ‘The great mother is the
throne pure and simple’ concludes Neumann. [54] Accordingly there is Binah’s
title of Kursiya: the throne, while the magical image of Binah is that of a mature
woman. Correspondingly the depictions of the Tarot Empress show a mature,
motherly woman, enthroned:
The enthroned Mother Goddess lives in the sacral symbol of the throne.
The king comes to power by “mounting the throne” and so takes his place
on the lap of the Great Goddess ... he becomes her son. [55]
As Binah gives birth to Chesed, so the Empress is the mother of the
Emperor. The culminating three of the Empress gives way to the fourth: her son
the Emperor, or more precisely she gives reality to the Magician in the form of
the Emperor. For pouring forth to extend beyond the completion of the three, the
one is given birth as the fourth. Three is the number of the spirit giving birth to
the four which is the spiritual body: the first recognisable achievement of form.
(Although of course in terms of Qabbalah, the idea of form in Binah and Chesed
is far less dense than that of the world of Malkuth.)
The Empress then is the completion of the first stage of the project -
the idea of form, which has still to find its acknowledgement in the next stage:
the birth of the Magician in his new status as Emperor, so that that which creates
within us becomes that which we have created.
The Empress is able to give birth to the transformed Magician for
she contains within herself (within the completion of her triune cycles) all that
has gone before. Part, too, of the great mother’s role has always been
transformative. Within herself she contains the unfolding, maintaining and
concluding - to use the Hindu terms of the divine triad.
At the highest level, the level of Atziluth, the unfolding is of Kether,
the maintaining is the stabilising equilibrium of the duality of Chokmah, while
the concluding is the understanding of Binah - the completion of the divine
triangle.
Yet at the creative level of Beriyah the unfolding, maintaining and
concluding are all within Binah, or the Empress, as the representation of the
Great, all-containing Mother. The assigning of the number three to the Empress
was no coincidence: the great mother is always triune: heaven, earth and
underworld; birth, life and death; past, present and future; maiden, mother and
old woman; beginning, middle and end. She is the triune of the one goddess as
three fates: measuring (unfolding), spinning (maintaining) and, when the tale is
spun, cutting the threads of life.
The Empress is, therefore, a card of fate. The Feminine has long
been considered the weaver of destiny and goddess of time, hence the relating of
Cronus to Binah qabbalistically. Mundanely, in extension from this, all pursuits
such as spinning, sewing and binding, and by analogy, all entanglements we find
ourselves caught up in and can do nothing about, come under the Empress’s
domain.
The entwining threads of entanglement are here the threads of the self-woven
net of our own fate. The ancient great mother of the Sumerian pantheon, Tiamat,
was the possessor of the tablets of fate, while the archangel of Binah has been
called the ‘keeper of the records of evolution’, the cosmic akashic records
recording all that has and will occur. In this connection the Empress puts us in
touch with the larger picture of the whole, taking a long-sighted view to
encompass the chain of effects set in motion by a sequence of events.
Governing time, the Mother-Empress governs also growth, and
decay, both of which occur inevitably in the hands of time. For the Empress is
the transformative flow of time that brings both joys and sufferings, the
compassionate flow of time that eases pain and suffering, and she is the Indian
terrible mother: Kali, ‘dark all-devouring time’ taking all back into herself. As
Time, she designates that there is a fitting season for all things: the planting,
maintaining and threshing, the cycles of the harvest, the abundant and the barren.
For like Demeter, the goddess is not always fruitful; she can also bring drought
and the ravages wrought by storm. She is, as the gods and goddesses of the
Hindu triads, in herself the creator, preserver and destroyer. In the same way
Binah is the death of force by its limitation into form, the birth of form from the
death of free-flowing, unharnessed force, and yet (in time) the destroyer too of
forms as they outgrow their usefulness and are shattered to be recreated anew.
Thus without death there can be no birth, and what is born must inevitably die to
be re-born in the cycles of the streams of time. In Binah death and birth, the
limitation of force into the created form, are one and the same act seen from
opposing sides; as are birth and death, the shattering of form to release the
imprisoned force. Hence the appropriate symbol of Binah is the equilateral cross
of matter or form on which force or spirit is crucified; and hence qabbalistically
the spiritual experience of Binah, the creatress-destroyer, is the ‘vision of
sorrow.’
 Though it can be encountered in various ways, at the feminine level
of the mysteries the spiritual experience of the vision of sorrow is, initially, the
revelation of the great mother herself as the cross of sorrow, the cross of form
bearing perpetually the heavy burden of the world: her child, throughout its
transformations of becomingness through manifest time. This is analogous to the
Self bearing the self.
Mundanely, though knowing their causes usually to be small and of
no great matter, every mother still suffers with the suffering of her children,
helpless to do much except watch on with love and support while the child
stumbles through inevitable conflict on the road to maturity. The sorrow relates
to the Empress or Binah as Ama, mother of sorrows at the head of the pillar of
severity. It relates to all providing sorrowing Isis, or corn-goddess Demeter
grieving over the fate of her daughter yet fully cognisant of the inevitability of
such fate if the daughter is to mature into her full self. For the vision of sorrow
involves the realisation of the road to be travelled and of all that must happen
thereon. Estranged from the source of the true self, the sorrow is the
understanding of the necessary loneliness of that road which charts the journey
of Sophia from sorrow to sorrow in the cosmic circular dance of evolution, the
dance of Christ in Gnosticism, the circle of self to Self.
In Buddhism the vision of sorrow is given cognitive symbolism in
the form of the wisdom eye, pierced with participant sorrow, borne on the palm
of each hand of the world regarding Bodhisattvas. For, like the redeemed Sophia,
the Bodhisattva is one who has attained to illuminated consciousness, but who,
with benevolent compassion, declines to enter the state of Supreme
enlightenment (Nirvana) while there are still sentient beings suffering in the
world. Instead they choose to remain to absorb the sorrows of the world in their
own person. Such is White Tara, the Tibetan face of the liberating power of
compassion.
Visualised as mother or maiden Tara inspires faith in the path to
enlightenment through her illuminated compassion and sympathy for the sentient
world. Equally, Binah is called the ‘parent of faith, whence faith emanates.’ For
the quality of the Feminine, carried prominently in the Tarot Empress, is to
inspire trust in the validity of one’s experiences for the necessary growth of the
self. The Empress puts us in touch with the inevitability of the cycles of fate, and
allows us to realise the inner beauty of such transformational possibilities in all
their phases, both light and dark. Hers is the power of faith in that which is
beyond the borders of rational ego-consciousness, faith in the possibilities of
inner guidance to the goal of liberating wholeness, however strange the path may
seem. Without the quality of faith to give leverage to the light side of our being,
we flounder in the darkness, in danger of perpetually losing our way.
It is this same quality of faith in the goal that is attested to in the
passage of Revelations describing:

a woman clothed with the sun, and the moon under her feet, and upon
her head a crown of twelve star s [56]

who gives birth to a child that is promptly whisked away to safety from the
threat of the jaws of the dragon waiting to devour it from the moment of birth.
It has often been pointed out that in many Tarot packs this
description tallies with the depiction of the Empress. This in itself heralds little
mystery, for no doubt the similarity has been consciously achieved. It is fitting
however, for the Tarot Empress bears the inherited tradition of the All-Feminine
through the ages, while the biblical description has itself descended from
descriptions of the far more ancient Inanna who ‘as moon goddess, wore as her
crown the twelve constellations through which the sun - her son - moved.’ [57]
Thus the tradition of the ancient great mother is maintained.
Along with Inanna, however, in Sumerian tradition the great mother
goddess was also Tiamat, personified as a dragon. The dragon imagery of Tiamat
has indeed also been carried over into biblical tradition:
And his tail drew the third part of the stars of heaven and did cast them
to the earth: and the dragon stood before the woman which was ready to be
delivered, for to devour her child as soon as it was born. [58]

Yet, although the masculine aspects of the feminine certainly play a role, with
the trinity in biblical Christianity being appropriated exclusively as patriarchal
territory, what has not been conceded is that the dragon which lies in wait to
devour the child is itself the great mother in her death and unconscious aspect,
the dark third - hence the light of the third part of the stars extinguished from
heaven. The ‘three mothers’ - the ancient Trinitarian goddess of birth, being and
death has been demoted to simply ‘a woman ...travailing in childbirth’ [59] , while
the dark phase, the Kali nature, is fearfully disowned as if it were not an intricate
part of the unity of the whole.
Nevertheless, at its deeper levels, this is indeed part of the vision of
sorrow of the Mother, the Empress, Binah. For ‘that which embraceth the Father,
the Mother, and the Son is called BINH, Binah.’ [60] Associated with Binah is the
mythical figure of Cronus who swallowed his children while their despairing
mother had to think of a subterfuge to save them. In keeping with the dark third
of the mother as the devouring face of creation, this is a very appropriate
designation. As Time, Cronus relates clearly to Binah and to the Empress; but
beyond that, on the spiritual level, the whole myth is apposite as the face of the
Empress who is in herself god, goddess and divine child, protecting with one
part of herself the divine child, that is, her own light, from another part of
herself. This, the understanding of the inner light constantly torn between the
divided self, is the acceptance of the vision of sorrow at the deeper level of the
mysteries, where the journey into the truth of one’s own nature cannot be
avoided.
The great red dragon is an ancient symbol of the great mother, just as
much as the tree of life is a symbol of the great mother, or Empress. Both tree of
life and great red dragon are life forces. Both equate to the great mother or
Empress as the creative and destructive nature of the self perennially at war: -
the tree of life and the tree of knowledge or death which are one and the same
tree on the united path of becoming.
In the formative period of our striving to come to be, when
consciousness is still weak, we are led by the mature wisdom of the higher self,
the Empress within. The bond between the developing child and the inner
Empress, the source of its true nature, is at this early stage maintained by the
Empress herself as protectress. Yet, as we grow older and the rational power of
ego-consciousness (the Emperor within) gains in strength, the close bond to the
Empress, that is to the creative centre of our inner life, is slowly, indiscernibly
loosened. At such a point there is a danger that we may become forgetful of the
knowledge of the intuitive guidance of the self and lose faith in our inner affinity
to our own meaning. Yet this sense of loss may be necessary; for at some point,
like Persephone, we have to let go and enter the darkness alone in order to return
to the state of the Empress transformed.
The faith of the Empress card, then, is in the ability of a Higher Self -
or of a being greater than the conscious self, however designated, to nurture the
emerging light in the very presence of pervasive darkness. Yet, when ready, the
divine child - the light- must be released from the haven of the mother, to enter
the ‘belly of the dragon.’

Here its mission is to conquer in order to redeem itself - to release the third
part of light, the tail of stars cast to earth. As, in Sumerian myth, creation was
formed from the divided body of Tiamat, the dragon goddess, so the Empress of
Tarot relates back through her ancient symbolism to the myth of the divided
dragon, cut into three to reveal the threefold light - the part that is lost (the tail
cast to earth), the part that is seeking and the part that remains above. For the
story of the Empress is the story of the light which journeys from the shores of
light above to reach the shores of light below in order that all three may again be
united in creation, as they once were before the act of creation set them apart.
Hence the return of the Empress to herself, transformed.
Through the jaws of death, the soul or child entering the body of the
[‡‡]
dragon approaches the realms of mortality. In qabbalistic terms, it falls
through the abyss which separates the supernal triangle from the lower sefirot
and must then make the journey through the lower levels, the seven sefirot of
form, however substantial or insubstantial. For the great red dragon has seven
heads, and each head has seven crowns. [§§] So, below the abyss there are seven
sefirot of manifold life, and each sefirah is crowned with seven Tarot - atarot:
crowns. In other words, in Tarot, we are back with the journey of Sophia through
the realm of life’s mysteries, with the Empress herself as the mystery and the
High Priestess as the guide.
I have already said when discussing the High Priestess how strong is
the overlap between the High Priestess and the Empress, Chokmah and Binah,
wisdom and understanding. Just how close they are becomes clear when we see
that the Empress under the archetype of the great mother is both the beneficent
life-giving mother and the terrible destructive mother: Inanna and Ereshkigal,
Demeter who brings the corn and leaves the world barren, Isis as queen of
heaven and the underworld, or appropriately under the titles of Binah: Aima, the
bright fertile mother, and Ama, the dark sterile mother.
For the Empress and the High Priestess at the apex of the two outer
pillars of the tree of life complement one another. Where the High Priestess
plays the role of Persephone/Isis as queen of the underworld, goddess of the
dead, then the Empress plays the role of Demeter or Hathor, the alternating
fructifying, nourishing mother, the corn goddess, the provider. When, however,
the High Priestess takes on the role of the benevolent Sophia, Isis as queen of
heaven, guiding the souls through darkness, then the Empress herself becomes
the darkness. It is her womb we journey through for our own rebirth, while our
fears and terrors are the ‘fantastic and chimerical images that do not originate in
the outside world’ [61] and which we project onto the face of the terrible mother as
a symbol of the unconscious.

As symbolic of the nourishing Hathor-like life force, the Empress is

the gateway to the journey through the seven sefirot of life, each with their seven
crowns. In this, her first born son is the Emperor in Chesed, the man of light –
and spark of consciousness. Contrariwise, with the Empress as the dark waters of
the unconscious, the firstborn child refers not to the light on the far side of the
abyss, but to the hidden child: the concealed light born of darkness, astride the
abyss itself. At home equally, and simultaneously, on both sides of the abyss,
Daath, the hidden knowledge, unites the superior and inferior sefirot within its
own mystery. Tied to non, it is the concealed heart. Uniting heaven and hell
Daath is the invisible child of the abyss, while the great mother, as vulture, has
indeed been worshipped as a ‘form of the primeval abyss which brought forth
the light.’
The bird and the lion are the most widespread theriomorpic symbols
of the Mother Goddess. The lion we have already met with in the card of
Strength. The bird we meet in the Empress, in the form of an eagle emblazoned
on her shield with outstretched wings. It is as the eagle that the Empress, mother
in all things, is the protectress, provider and nourisher of all our needs, whatever
they may be at a given time. Yet symbolically the eagle is also the bird of great
spiritual power, mystically soaring to great heights and alone able to look
directly at the sun.
‘And to the woman were given two wings of a great eagle,’ continues
the passage in Revelations. [62] Equally the goddesses of Egyptian myth, such as
Isis, Nekhbet and Mut (Mut actually meaning mother), were shown with wings
outstretched to shelter and protect their feeding young, to whom they acted as
both nourisher and provider.
Nekhbet and Mut were both regarded as the goddess of childbirth, in
which role they protected both mothers and children. Sheltering their feeding
young, both were worshipped in the form of a vulture goddess with outstretched
wings, while Nekhbet held in her claws the hieroglyphic symbol of the ‘shem’
which means ‘to encircle’ and ‘infinity’. The vulture is of course of the same
family as the eagle. [***] The vulture being regarded, in Egyptian myth, as solely
feminine, one could postulate that, as with Inanna and Ereshkigal, the eagle and
vulture show in animal form the two faces of the goddess or of the feminine
mysteries, with the vulture as the bird of carrion serving the mother as an agent
of regeneration by picking clean the bones of the dead carcass that the form may
be again broken down to return to its source to be renewed.
The cycle of tearing down and rebuilding, that occurs continually in
the outer world, occurs equally in the self as our bonds to the centre are ripped
apart and rebuilt, with faith in our own ability and in the purpose of the life
within. For ‘the psychic depths are nature, and nature is creative life. It is true
that nature tears down what she herself has built up - yet she builds it once
again.’ [63]
The tearing down is necessary in order that we may consciously take part in
the rebuilding – the rebirth of ourselves. For we must learn to make our own
way, learn both to become our own guides on our journey of self-discovery, and
yet learn also how to re-unite with the guidance of the self within.
Playing the role of the mysterious ‘missing link’, the invisible sacred
child of the descent myths initiated in the journey of the High Priestess, Daath
acts as a bridge connecting the stages of the transformative journey. For it is the
inner concealed child which unites the High Priestess and the Empress as mother
and daughter, just as the fourteenth path of Daath on the Tree of life connects the
sefirot of Binah and Chokmah. In terms of the Sumerian myth, it is at the point
where Inanna has been brought face to face with Ereshkigal, the divided
goddesses facing one another like mirror images, that the High Priestess is
transformed into the Empress. For it is while they are reunited for three days and
nights together in the underworld that Inanna hangs on a hook for the necessary
three days and nights of initiation leading to rebirth, and at the same time in the
darkness beside her it is Ereshkigal, the dark queen who gives birth. In other
words, it is while the Queen of Life undergoes her labours of death, that the
Queen of Death simultaneously undergoes the trials of birth. Here again we have
the knowledge of Binah that at the moment force is captured into form, and at
the moment form releases force, life and death are simultaneous.
The Eleusinian mysteries likewise celebrated the reunion of the
upper and lower faces of the feminine and the arrival of the Divine child. Here
too the number three is equally prominent.
The celebration of the Thesmophoria (the festival from which the mysteries
originated) lasted three days; there were three maidens playing together when
Persephone (being one of them) was abducted; and of course there is the triad
formed of the two goddesses and the young god/king Triptolemus, who was
entrusted with Demeter’s gift of grain to distribute through the world before
descending again to Persephone. ‘Like corn a mortal ripens and like corn is he
born again’ says the Katha Upanishad. The cycles of birth and rebirth, like the
cycles of the harvest, are the preserve of the Empress as great mother.
Where the High Priestess is concerned with the inner descent, the
descent of Persephone, the Empress is connected with the ascent of light from
the unconscious into consciousness; mythically that is to say: with the ascent of
the child from the underworld and the joy of reunion (heuresis) with the mother
– at which point in the Eleusinian mysteries an ear of grain was shown,
following the cry: ‘the noble goddess has born a sacred child.’

The Empress corresponds, therefore, with all levels of creation. The

child she bears is both a living reality, and at the level of the mysteries, her own
luminous aspect come to birth through the process of self-transformation.
She witnesses the human level of giving birth to an actual child; the level of
nature giving birth to nature - and thereby nourishing and providing for her own;
and she is also the spiritual level of the labours to bring to birth the higher
reaches of consciousness, the self-giving birth to the self. As Kether energy
emanates down the tree through Binah, so the Empress is the means of
illuminating the lower levels with the light of the higher self, brought down and
given birth by her as the gateway of transformation.
As the inter-relatedness of the great-round, her child is revealed
throughout all nature, humanity and the skies, hence the throne on which the
Empress sits at the centre of her kingdom is sometimes placed outside,
surrounded by nature where all is one in the containment of the maternal
embrace:
The golden ear [of grain] is a symbol of the luminous son who on the
lower plane is born as grain in the earth and in the crib, and on the higher
plane appears in the heavens as the immortal luminous son of night. [64]
Embracing in her unity the many, the Empress can signify the rising
sense of participation mystique, the depth of the feeling of oneness with the great
round. For, above all else, the Empress is concerned with feelings, the uniting
and transformative power of emotion. The primordial sea which is both her
womb and the womb through which she renews herself is, quite simply, the sea
of emotion.
The emotions of sorrow are washed over us by Marah, the Great or
Bitter Sea. The word ‘marah’ is the root of the Christian mother ‘Mary’, and of
the word for mother itself. Mer: the sea, mère: mother; for all the great mothers
of the mythic world are related to the primordial waters from which created
forms emerge, whether it be Isis, born from the all-wetness with the ark as her
sacred vessel, Nammu as cosmic waters, Hathor ‘the watery abyss of heavens,’
or Aphrodite born of the foam of the sea, aphros being the Greek word for foam.
The primary emotion conferred by Aphrodite was of course love.
She was the goddess of love in all its manifestations, from the love of one person
to the spiritual yearning for reunion of the whole, or all-encompassing, simply
love of life itself.
It is in her relationship to Strength, itself the card of Love that the
Empress in her own Aphrodite aspect unites through emotion, bringing love,
laughter, gaiety and joy. All the passions of the soul come under this card for she
is the mother of emotion. Hers is the joy of love and the hurt of love, the
mother’s pride in her children, hurting with them when they return to her crying
and happy when they are happy. She is the desolation of loss and grief, the pangs
of loneliness, and of missing absent friends. She is the exhilaration of success,
the worry of paying the bills; she is sublime joy and great sorrow, ecstasy and
despair. Hers too is the living joy when people experience through the
transformative emotion of love, the oneness of the all.
It was the jealous Aphrodite who sent Psyche heart-rending tasks to
perform on her lonely travail in pursuit of her lost love Eros, Aphrodite’s own
child. Yet, significantly, on one such task it was an eagle who helped Psyche fill
an urn with water taken from the very source of the River Styx (the river
surrounding the underworld).
Harmony, fear and terror were the children Aphrodite bore to Mars,
god of war. As the ocean of the unconscious, it is not so strange that all the
ravages of war, the agony and despondency, the danger, terror and helplessness,
the fear and distress, as well as the heightened sense of comradeship and
togetherness in fighting for a shared aim, are also the prerogative of the Empress
card.
The early goddesses such as Inanna/Ishtar and Cybele were themselves
goddesses of war as well as of love. For the domain of the vision of sorrow
encompasses the chaotic and destructive powers of mortality, the face of Kali
ensuring that the emotionally purging cycles of transformation are constantly
revolving and evolving through the aeons of time.
The colour of emotion in a reading will be discerned from the
surrounding cards, but the power of the emotion is the Empress’s terrain. Hers is
the idea of form, yet she is not concerned with the forms of an issue for their
own sake, but for the emotion they can give rise to and contain. The forms of
what happens are here not important, what matters is the emotions undergone
through the various events we live through. It is when an issue is invested with
feeling that it becomes real for us, that it becomes important. With the Empress
we become personally involved with what happens around us; for good or bad it
invokes reaction in us, entangling us in the web of our emotional responses so
that we can’t just switch off and turn away. Suddenly the issue has emotional
import for us: it concerns us. The Empress is the unfolding of the cycles of life
through how we feel about what happens. She is the purging, transformative
power of feelings we are swept up in as we ride the waves of experience.
The Empress card is concerned not with the particular individual as
such, but with the greater unity of the whole and of the individual’s part therein.
She emphasizes the cycle of emotions, joy, love, grief, despair and so forth, that
all humanity has always gone through, no matter what the century or what
external forms the life of the century is expressed through.
It is the realisation of the same old round of emotions that enables us to
recognise our unity with all those who have gone before. It is the shared cycles
of emotions, of terror and awe, fear and love, grief and friendship that tells us
that however much the external forms may change over time, people remain the
same.
The Empress, then, dominates the realm of feelings, and the
unconscious. Yet, concerned as she is with the wider, long-term perspective,
although she can indicate the personal unconscious, she is more likely to infer
the collective unconscious. She is concerned with dream motifs that are
universal, myth that is universal, experience that is universal.
As nature she is the biological unfolding of the life-cycle in which
the individuation process (growth to self-hood) occurs. As creatress she is
concerned with birth and succouring. Yet hers is not just the birth of an
individual, but can signify the birth of groups, organisations, anything which
brings people together working for the same aim. This is especially pertinent
where the organisations are inspired by collective feeling – such as the Red
Cross, Amnesty International, or the thoughts that inspired the Geneva
Convention or Declaration of Human Rights.
The initial stage of any shared goal inspired and worked toward by a bond of
feeling which unites all in the common aim is the preserve of the greater domain
of the Empress. Her concerns range through all levels of being; she is the drop in
the ocean and the ocean itself. And the great sea of emotion on which floats the
ark, the body of life which is the vessel of her mysteries, is the ocean we need to
cross if we are ever to reach and know ourselves as the Empress, the mother of
our own experience.
‘Tariti iti Tara’, she who leads happily across the ocean of samsara to
the further shore of Nirvana, is Tara, whom we have already met as the goddess
of compassion but who rises again as probably the most appropriate fulfillment
of the Empress as great mother. Revered, like the Empress as a protectress and
redemptress, Tara is she who ‘came into being when the sea of knowledge of
which she is the quintessence was churned.’ [65] Fun-loving, mischievous,
laughing gaily, tomboyish, merciful and deeply loved, Tara is sublime
womanhood, transforming through the forms she herself creates. In her and her
transformations are all the faces of the Feminine. Interestingly, just as there are
the 21 numbered steps of the major Tarot, including the Devil, so there is a set of
21 Taras, one of which ‘may appear in the fierce demonic form suited to
encounters with the turgid powers of evil.’ [66] Hers is the all-embracing liberating
power of compassion - the quality encompassed by the Empress in Binah.
For the Empress in Binah is centred in the cycles of time in which
the maiden becomes the mother giving birth to form; and as such, renews
herself. The card signifies that ‘generating and nourishing, protective and
transformative, feminine power of the unconscious,’ in which ‘ a wisdom is at
work that is infinitely superior to the wisdom of man’s waking
consciousness...which intervenes...to save man and give direction to his life.’ [67]
Yet the Empress signifies also the laughing face of Tara, the enchanting
Aphrodite. Luring into the playfulness of form, she binds with compassionate
humour in the intricate threads of her weaving, in order to bestow her gift: the
beautiful opening of the blossom into selfhood which can only occur by
maturation in the seasons of time. The kernel of the Empress card is caught in
the description given by Zimmer of ‘The Indian World Mother’:
The enchantress ... who delights in imprisoning all creatures in the
terrors of samsara, cannot be pronounced guilty in her role of temptress
who lures souls into multiform all-embracing existence, into the ocean of
life (from the horrors of which she unceasingly saves individuals in her
aspect as ‘boat woman’), for the whole sea of life is the glittering surging
play of her shakti. From this flood of life caught in its own toils,
individuals ripe for redemption rise up at all times, in Buddha’s metaphor
like lotus blossoms that rise from the water’s surface and open their petals
to the unbroken light of heaven. [68]
With the Empress card then we tread the path of the Great Round.
The Empress represents both our unity with the wholeness of life, and our
independence as a part of it. She is the life we carry within us, and the life we
carry ourselves through.
In the Empress we bring forth our own creativity, our own potential. We seek
to become the creative mother of our own experience. With the beginnings of
understanding of our own journey to wholeness, we seek to become the authors
of our own biographies: following the path of the mysteries to bring forth that
which is within, the spiritual luminosity of the higher Self.
In the transformative power of her unfolding, the Empress gives birth
to unity as the magical dimension of multiplicity: her daughter is the card of
Strength, the creative spirit of light, shakti energy given birth in the first
impressions of form. Her son, the male who ‘compliments her by his otherness’,
is the Magician who becomes here an actor in his own play, donning the role of
Emperor.
The Queen of Cups and the Queen of Discs

As earth and water respectively, the Queen of Discs and the Queen of
Cups represent the generative principle of the Empress. They relate to the
Empress as the great round which ‘above all...is water and earth, the life-bearing
chthonic powers of the world.’ [69]
 Ruling the element of water, the Queen of Cups is the rhythm of the
waters of life, the ebb and flow of the tides, the inflow and outflow of breath.
Immensely gentle, yet immensely powerful, she holds within her hand the cup or
vessel which is the ship of the soul, the ‘crater of souls’ of the Platonic, Orphic
and Hermetic mysteries. For the Queen of Cups is the soul herself, the feminine
aspect of the male, and the mother-self of the female. She is the embodiment of
understanding in the features of love.
The great mother Cybele had dedicated to her a cup inscribed with a
fish. The fish as the spirit of the waters is one of the oldest images of regenerated
life. The cup is the vessel containing both the waters of life, and the sea of
emotion, the oceans through which the Queen of Cups, as the soul, both leads
and is lead.
We are told in the Pistis Sophia how, prior to reincarnation, the soul
is given ‘a Draught of Oblivion...and the moment that that soul drinketh of that
Draught, it forgetteth all the spaces through which it hath travelled, and all the
chastisements through which it hath passed...and the Draught of Oblivion
becometh a body external to the soul’. It is the Queen of Cups as the
regenerative face of the Empress who administers this draught of desire and
forgetfulness - the latter being a blessing in disguise until we are strong enough
to bear the burden of the past always with us, while the desire gives us the
impetus to involve ourselves in and face the life we are born in to.
The desire and forgetfulness in mundane terms may indicate a return
to a scene we have already gone through before. Forgetting, through the
numbing anaesthetic of time, the worse points of the situation, we remember
only the good and combine this with a desire to put right that which previously
we did wrong. Thus we become involved again in a cycle of experience already
encountered. Whether or not it works out any better than before, we should, at
least, be wiser this time for the experience.

In becoming wiser through the recurring cycles of experience, and on the

larger scale, in becoming stronger within through evolution through many
incarnations, we gradually learn to retain more of the inner memories until we
shall reach the stage of the purified soul. To the purified soul is given, so the
Pistis Sophia goes on to tell us: ‘a Cup full of intuition and wisdom, and also
prudence, and ...the soul [is cast] into a body which will not be able to fall asleep
or forget, because of the Cup of Prudence which hath been given unto it, but will
be ever pure in heart and seeking after the Mysteries of Light, until it hath found
them.’ [70]
 As with the tempting and saving face of Tara, the Queen of Cups as
advocate of the Empress power of the creatress-self, administers both draughts.
On the outer rim of the circle of the great round, the revolving wheel itself, she is
the dizzy turmoil of the round of emotional roulette constantly spinning.
Containing within her golden cup the full range of emotion from love to hate,
anger to resignation, the comic and the tragic, to her belong all the wilful
incidents such emotions blindly entangle us in. Yet, equally, at her most sublime,
this queen is the soul reposing in harmonious stillness at the centre of the circle,
offering the cup of deep, contemplative peace. Here, enthroned in the fathomless
realms of transformative emotion, the Queen of Cups sits, pregnant with beauty,
gently guiding through the inner worlds which constitute her kingdom.
Instituting greater receptivity to the powers of the unconscious, this queen is the
spiritual aspect of the feminine transformative power, offering the riches of
spiritual gold, by the rivers of understanding.
In the motherly face of the Queen of Cups we find a concern for
children, and for the child within. Caring for the development into maturity and
for the spiritual well-being, the Queen of Cups encourages the use of
imagination to create our own inner worlds.
This is not only to become aware of the depths of the inner reaches of the soul
and the creative capacities therein, but is also a means to become attuned to and
to make the most of, the creative beauty of the outer world or ‘outer robe of
glory’ that sustains and enriches us.
In the Aramaic versions of the Zohar, the metaphor of light reflected
on moving water is used to illustrate the impossibility of ever grasping a
continuously altering, dynamic process. In terms of the Queen of Cups, the light
on the water is the reflection of the soul in the waters of emotion. She fills, and
she empties, the vessel of life with the flowing life-force of the Empress, so that
we can experience, appreciate, admire and wonder. Yet, just as one cannot
permanently retain water by cupping together one’s hands, so the gifts of the
Queen of Cups cannot be held onto. For this queen is an aspect of the beauty of
the temporary, of the dynamic of the living, of the transient freshness of the
fountain of youth. In part, it is this very transience which heightens the
appreciation of the poignant beauty she bestows. Hers are the gifts of summer
which mature into the teeming ripeness of the age of the earth queen.

While the cup of intuition, wisdom and prudence is provided by the Queen of
Cups, the body which will carry the soul is the province of the Queen of Discs.
United as body and soul, therefore, the two queens, or the two faces of the
Empress, become the path for the journey through life. In the Queen of Cups we
find the contemplative stillness of the soul attuned to the inherent laws which,
lying beyond the grasp of intellect, govern the always moving, uncontainable,
topsy-turvy elusiveness of the realm of the earth queen.
The Queen of Discs is the regenerative expression of the goddess as
eagle and vulture; Nekhbet holding the encircling sign of the shem, nourishing,
providing, regenerating and rebuilding - and tearing down to do so where
necessary.
Like the Queen of Cups, the Queen of Discs shows equally a concern
for the welfare of children. In her we see the practical face of such concern, this
queen providing the secure and reassuring environment in which the child is able
to enjoy to the full the magic of childhood, bringing forth in play the developing
potential of these formative years.
As the goddess of the land, the Queen of Discs represents material
security. Hers is the protective, practical face of the Empress, providing shelter
and sustenance, not always as we may want it, yet always enough to succour our
true needs. She is the value of work and the value of pleasure equally. She is
benevolent where benevolence is deserved, but she maintains a very responsible
attitude to her domain and does not condone the reckless squandering of her
slowly accumulated riches. The Queen of Discs indicates the need to take the
moral responsibility for one’s own actions, or lack of action. She is a card of
involvement, and of the price of involvement. Yet for one who has acted
patiently and wisely, she can indicate the timely dispensation of money and
material welfare at a very generous level.
Concerned with the fulfillment of ideas in form, the Queen of Discs
provides the means to attain the desired end. The disc she holds is itself a
mandala, the outline of the circle of destiny. The roots of the individual tree of
life, of the paths taken to grow into selfhood, have their formal beginnings in the
soil of the earth queen. Here we find the beginning of the break away from the
collective path in the search to experience on a personal level. Here also we find
the murmurings of the voice of reason which is slowly learning how to avoid
being swept along by the tide of the majority, and to use instead the fund of
common sense within to arrive at, and remain faithful to, one’s own
perspectives.
Yet as the fourth face of the goddess, the Queen of Discs denotes
also the dark shadow of limitation in form, on the one hand the prominence of
material concerns which need to be dealt with before they infringe detrimentally
onto the emotional realms, and on the other the watchfulness against the
constructive use of power becoming a negative misuse of power.
Hers, too, is the maintenance of dignity in the physical, with the caution that
dignity does not become excessive pride, or self-value deteriorate into self-
vanity. With the ‘world turned upside down’ feature of this card, there is a real
danger of losing one’s head and becoming totally entangled in the play of forms,
unable to step back and see things rationally. There is a very strong strain of
humour - sometimes black humour, and of the enjoyment of the absurd with this
queen. For in the Queen of Discs as the queen of the kingdoms of form, we meet
again the incomprehensible playful aspect of the Empress as the temptress who
‘delights in imprisoning all creatures in the terrors of samsara,’ and who seeks
out instinctively, precisely those factors which can bring both our strengths and
our weaknesses into play.

The Threes

Complementing the close bonds between the Empress and the High
Priestess, as the completion of initial stages the Tarot Threes are closely related
to the Twos, being the consolidation of actions initiated in the latter.

As with the Two, the Three of Wands builds on the past. It relates to
that face of the Empress concerned with stabilising and consolidating the
foundations, the great mother as the throne, the stable basis on which to build for
the future. Qabbalistically the Three of Wands represents established strength,
for, as the first manifestation of the idea of form, this Three shows the first
concrete indications of achievement. Here we find the growing recognition that a
foothold is gradually being gained on the ladder of one’s aims.
Among Pythagoreans three was considered the first ‘real’ number
and the Three of Wands epitomises this aspect with the closing of the triangle.
Together the three wands form an equilateral triangle, the containment and
consolidated completion of the initial stages with the three dimensions united in
equilibrium.
Mundanely this card can, in fact, relate to any mathematical or
precisely structured technical pursuits (including, in this modern age, computer-
based work). The underlying theme of the Three of Wands is progress. It is a
card which constantly looks forward. The three wands are teaching wands, the
three dominical rods of Moses dispensing wisdom. Engraved with all the
knowledge of arts and science, they are the branches of the tree of knowledge
passed down the tree of generations, from teacher to pupil, being taught in order
to teach, establishing a long tradition of continuity.
Designating the three pillars of Qabbalah in microcosm, the Three of
Wands denotes the state of stability arrived at by interacting forces, the tension
of duality resolved in the production of a mediative third. The marriage of two
separate businesses into an extended partnership could be indicated here, or
possibilities for expansion through organisation and careful forward planning.

Alternatively, there may be news of an opportunity one has been waiting for,
perhaps for a long time. With the Three of Wands one has arrived at a relatively
secure plateau from which one can begin to look positively to the future and
concern oneself in long term prospects.
The Three of Wands denotes the gradual development or unfolding
of events within a definite time structure, allowing clear grounds for optimism. It
is here we begin to see the unfolding of that flower whose stem was so carefully
nurtured in the Two. This is a very productive card. As a wand it denotes a spirit
of enterprise, an intelligent use of resources to maximize effect. It can indicate
the successful launching of a venture, or a time when one is able to recognize
that a venture launched in the past is slowly making headway. Partaking of the
element of fire, this Three indicates the dynamic of life as a positive force, the
fire symbol as transformative heat, which, if kept at a manageable level and used
sensibly, will open the door to a rich vein of opportunity.
In Qabbalah the three candles of the triple candelabra represent
strength, wisdom and beauty. These are, of course, also the attributes of the
threefold feminine of Tarot within the supernal triangle, as seen in the cards of
Strength, the High Priestess and the Empress. Together the three wands form the
triple candelabra, or united triangle of the feminine representing the threefold
nature of the great mother. The transformative fire is also symbolic on the
spiritual dimension of the third eye, which appertains to this card in association
with the ‘magic triangle’ of prophecy, inspiration and of insight.
In this the Three of Wands relates to the Nine of the same suit (3x3),
and with the Nine in Yesod it relates too to Poseidon, god of the watery deeps.
For in the Three of Wands can be seen the three prongs of the trident of Poseidon
(or of Shiva), which themselves appertain to the threefold nature of the universe,
of body, soul and spirit; man, woman and child; past, present and future. The
triad of wands are, therefore, symbolic of the transmitting of the perpetual flame
of the tree of continuity. It is a card of that which endures and continues long
beyond the time span of a single life.

The third card in the suit of the element of water has its nucleus in
the sea of emotion from which the goddess of love arose. It is, therefore, the
emotional face of the Empress that we see clearly expressed in the Three of
Cups. These are the trinity of cups containing the waters of life, from which
growth and fertility are assured. Qabbalistically this is the card of completion
and fruition. The cup or chalice, being itself a symbol of Binah, represents
female force, fertility and abundance.
The Three of Cups, then, is a card of the depths of feelings, the
strength of attachments and the fulfillment of emotional needs. It does not,
however, appertain to the full round of emotions belonging to the Empress, but
only those which can be considered positive. Upright or reversed, this is a card
of contentment, joy and happiness. It is an indication that there will be good
cause for celebration.
Mundanely there may well be a gathering of family and friends
enjoying a shared time of happiness. Here we have the placement for the trinity
of the three graces: Joyous, Brilliance and Flowering, or the three muses:
memory, meditation and song.

Here too we would find Inanna as goddess of wine and grain, again with joy
and love often finding expression through music, dance and song; for the
goddess was worshipped in the dance of the great round accompanied by an
ebullience of shared spirits and almost heady state of intoxication - the first,
overflowing flush of success.
The possible causes of celebration are endless, the Three denoting
any cause which appertains to the wishes of the querent. The gathering could
well be a wedding: the relationship established in the Two of Cups celebrating
marriage here in the Three. It may be that the maiden becomes the mother, three
being the number of the human family, while the vessel is symbolic of the womb
and the cradle.
Yet the cup as vessel rocking on the element of water also relates to
the cradle symbolism of ships. The ship, like the ark of Isis, is the vessel for
sailing through life, travelling the inner as well as the outer seas, and the success,
experienced equally profoundly if not more so, may well be on the spiritual
level, the first signs that the right path has been chosen. What is certain in this
card of great generosity is that blessings and gifts will be bestowed, whether
spiritual or physical, and a sense of inner satisfaction and fulfillment
experienced.
In the Three of Cups we have the nourishment of the all-providing
Empress slaking all our thirsts, at whatever level of being the focus is directed.
The number three here denotes the three of harmony and balance. There is
alignment too with the three virtues of faith, hope and charity, faith being an
important aspect of the spiritual dimension of this card. It is in this Tarot Three
that we find the face of the feminine as goddess of compassion, tenderly tilting
the cup of understanding to the lips of the abashed suppliant. Here belongs the
lighting of the lamps of the triple candelabra, to be nourished in the glow of the
three candles of, qabbalistically, beauty, strength and wisdom. Here too belong a
sense of forgiveness, and of being listened to sympathetically - the mood of the
card allowing no space for harsh sentiment.
The final word, however, must be a note of caution, for the sense of
joy and fulfillment here experienced can only be temporarily sustained.
Certainly one must make the most of one’s happiness and appreciate it for what
it is, but however sweet the achievement one cannot bask in its glow for ever.
This is not the happy-ever-after ending of the fairy tales. It is indeed no ending at
all, but a successful peak of achievement that can inspire one to face the hard
work needed to reach even greater heights. This is indeed a golden summer and
it may seem for a while like nothing can go wrong. Yet the summer must pass
eventually, and anyone who has not made provisions for its passing may find
themselves regretting opportunities lost in the headiness of success, when they
could have been building on this time as a stepping stone to the greater ventures
still ahead.

The Three of Swords is the most profound of the minor Threes. It is

an important station in the soul’s journey. In many Tarot packs the card is shown
as a heart pierced vertically with three swords, this being also an alternative
magical image of Binah to that of the mature woman, as well as the catholic
symbolism of the Virgin Mary, of whom Luke says: ‘(A sword shall pierce
through thy own soul also,) that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.’ [71]
The heart pierced by the sword is the heart of the spiritual mysteries:
‘my saviour, you are my soul, you are the winner and the vanquished, you are
the wounded heart, and I am in front of the door of secrets.’ [72] Yet the key to the
door of secrets lies in the descent down the tree on the journey through sorrow.
This is the journey through the knowledge of the three internalised sword-
crosses of our personal road through Golgotha, the road through faith and fear.
The three swords are those of desire, fear and sorrow, the three
sword bridges which must be crossed to unlock the door of secrets and reach the
tree of felicity. In Tarot the Magician and Strength as 1 and 11 unite to give
expression to the Mother Empress as the visible form of the pillars of the tree of
life: 111. Through her triune divisibility, the life energy of the major pair is in
turn channelled into the three pillars along the sword-path of the lightning flash.
This is the route of the Three of Swords.
 Sacrificing yet further her own threefold wholeness to form 12, the
Empress as the creative expression of the tree of life conceives and carries
within the womb of her form the child of the merging forces of Strength and the
Magician: the Hanged Man. The Hanged Man hangs at the centre of the tree-
body of the Empress, awaiting birth into the kingdom. Thus, at the spiritually
creative heights of Beriyah, the Three of Swords relates with the Empress in
Binah to the vision of sorrow, and the pain of the soul to bring forth the Christ-
child within, the Self giving birth to the Self.
Rumi declared that pain, desire and passion are at the origin of every
birth: ‘The body is similar to Mary, and each of us possesses a Jesus within
it. As long as Mary has not felt the pains of birth, she has not crossed over
to the tree of felicity. If we experience this pain in us, our own Jesus will
come.’ [73]
To experience the pain inevitable to bring forth the inner Christ-child
necessitates the journey down the tree, just as Psyche descended to fulfil the
three seemingly impossible tasks set for her by the goddess of love, in order that
she could be united with Eros, the love of her heart.
Leaving our spiritual home in the supernal triangle through the gate
of Binah or the Empress, we say good-bye to that which has been our haven and
delight, and begin the soul’s journey through the world of form. Implicit in the
descent is the sorrow of parting, the child letting go of the mother, and the
mother releasing the child. The essence of the Three of Swords is the sorrow of
separation. It is a card of good-byes, and of cutting ties. Following the decision
made in the Two of Swords to leave home, or to leave what, up till now, has
been a haven of security, the Three is the actual parting.
Mundanely this card will often indicate the moving away of a family
member, and the sadness of being able rarely to meet on account of the distance
in-between. Qabbalistically this Three has been given the title ‘lord of sorrow.’
The sorrow here is the pain of separation. Losing sight of family members, or the
breaking up of a close-knit group as each go their separate ways, may involve, in
some measure, a form of grieving process. This is the bitter sea of Marah, the
news which is bitter to taste. It may denote the renunciation of ties to that which
has been very dear - whether it be a person, a place, a particular role one has
played or an aspect of the self which is no longer valid. The Three of Swords is
the face of the Empress as Ama, Mother of Sorrow.
The descent through the pain of separation begins in the Three of
Swords spiritually in the separation from Kether, the intense anguish of the
longing for the true abode of the soul in the fountainhead of love, and the
realization of the distance yet to be covered. Mundanely it begins in the
renunciation of ties and the separation through being distanced from that which
is much loved.
The grieving suffering of the mother can, however, take another form
with the Three of Swords: that of the stillbirth or miscarriage. Here we have the
Empress as beginning and end of form, the creation and destruction in one, the
suffering in the physical and the spiritual which is the key to the doors of life and
death, to the heart of the mysteries of being.
Finally, in their aspect of a trinity the three swords represent in
connection with the Empress the three fates, the ‘daughters of Necessity’,
Lachesis, Clotho and Atropos, turning the spindles of inevitability while
chanting in tune with the rhythms of life: ‘Lachesis of things past, Clotho of the
present, and Atropos of things to come.’ [74] Listening closely, theirs can be a
song of compassion. For their can be no reconciliation without prior separation.
After the deep sorrows and lengthy periods of separation which pave the way for
the lonely recognition and admission of one’s weaknesses and needs before the
higher self, they offer in their vistas of fate the eventual prospect of reunion with
the truth of one’s being, the heuresis of Demeter and Persephone. Through the
door of sadness is offered the prospect of reconciliation and peace with the true
Self.

The Three of Discs relates to the Empress in Binah as the first

manifestation of the idea of form. With the earth element of the disc, this Three
associates, like the Queen of Discs, to the Empress as earth goddess, Demeter or
Ishtar as the creative face of nature. Like the Two of Discs, the Three indicates
the orderly cycles of nature. The three discs are also symbolical of the records of
evolution the Empress holds, designating all that has, is, and will be. They are
the three circles of our destiny on the tree of Tarot. [†††] They are the three
intertwining circles of person, light and spirit, of god, goddess and divine child,
the three in one, telling of the truth of being through the words of form. They are
the spinning circles of infinitude, the dazzling display of the cosmos of life in
motion.
Like the Three of Wands this is a card of established security: of
equilibrium in motion. It is the card connecting the great mother, or Empress,
with the little mother, or Temperance. It is the outlet of the Empress as provider
of material and earthly needs, not least financial benefit. Healthy diet and
exercise would also not be out of place in this card, with spiritual nourishment
coming through a sense of physical well-being. For, all being equal in the
workings of nature, the up-keep of the physical is equally important to the living
of a well-balanced life. It could almost be said that this card emphasizes the
importance of the seemingly trivial and mundane, learning to discern the
workings of heaven in the things of the earth.
Qabbalistically the Three of Discs is ‘lord of material works’, the
material works being decked in the ‘outer robe of concealment’ of Binah.
Numerically, too, the three is that associated with the idea of manifestation in
matter, each system working here accummulatively to emphasize achievement
on the plane of form, material and financial benefit coming through work on the
physical plane.
Yet, as with the other Threes, this achievement is the concretion of
the first stages, which must still be built on. Mundanely the card may indicate
commercial and financial ability, and sound business deals, as well as successful
results in the sphere of education. Having attained this initial measure of success,
however, the need is then felt to move on to face new and greater challenges.
There is with this card a sense of expectancy, of restless waiting for the chance
to expand, seeking new outlets and new opportunities to utilise one’s strengths
both in using what one has learnt and also in being challenged to find out what
one is yet capable of. It may indicate the desire to work more independently, or
to take on more responsibility. Yet in whichever form it takes, the Three of Discs
indicates that past success has led to a period of awaiting an opportunity to
further one’s own capabilities through facing greater self-challenge in the worlds
of form.
 Chapter Four: The Emperor in Chesed

There is light within a man of light, and it lights up the whole

world. If he does not shine, he is darkness.
(Gospel of Thomas)

Situated at the centre of the pillar of mercy, Chesed is the sefirah of

mercy. It is also called Love or Greatness (Gedulah). With Chesed we catch a
shimmering glimpse of the heights we all aim for, qualities familiar to us from
the teachings of all religions: love, mercy, forgiveness, and grace. For all the
spiritual powers emanate from the fourth path.
The magical image of Chesed is a mighty crowned and throned king.
Among its symbols are the solid figure, the orb, and the wand or sceptre. The
Tarot Emperor, crowned, throned, embodying the solidity of the number four,
holds in his left hand the orb of the universe - the celestial light, and in his right
the royal wand or sceptre, his alignment to the Magician. The Emperor bears no
weapons, for, like Strength, he rules not by force, but by love and by mercy. His
is the face of benevolent authority, of wise rulership.
In accordance with the widespread ancient concept of sacral
kingship, the crown, sceptre, orb and throne, as depicted on the card of the
Emperor, were the customary regalia of the sovereign who played the role of
intermediary between the eternal and temporal worlds. The Emperor represents
temporal authority. Yet time sits on the throne of eternity and underlying the
Emperor’s rulership is the mirror of eternal truth. With no exact English
equivalent, this is best conveyed by the Sanskrit term ‘Dharma’, signifying the
natural and essential law of the cosmos, the way of right and true conduct, the
law of truth. For man, to follow the course of Dharma is to follow the path true
to one’s destiny.
It is a more recent, but appropriate, tradition to represent the throne
of the Emperor as a cube. [‡‡‡] The cube represents both perfect truth as being the
same seen from all sides, and complete stability - that which cannot be
overturned - or which, if overturned, remains exactly the same.
Both factors are appropriate to this card. For the Emperor represents
unchanging truth. His is the calm stillness of deep self-knowledge and balanced
control. As the High Priestess is the equilibrium between the two pillars in the
sefirah directly above, the Emperor as the first principle of form harmonizes in
himself the four pillars ‘upholding’ the world of form. His is the acceptance of
responsibility for oneself as the acknowledged foundation stone for stable
progress.
The Emperor signifies the stabilising conditions of a reign of peace
in which growth can be attained. On the larger or macrocosmic scale this can be
the age in which a civilization attains its richest cultural expression. At the level
of the individual, it is a period providing ideal opportunities for personal
development and mature progress.
Mundanely the transition from a restless nomadic life style to the
settled regularity of a pastoral and agricultural nation would have found its place
in the setting of the Emperor card, with its challenge to choose one’s ground
wisely and stand firm, plant roots, bring forth and cultivate. The building of
permanent homesteads, leading to the formation of villages, and to towns;
becoming part of a community with its roots in a sense of place, with the
inherent possibilities of growth and expansion; the establishing of something
permanent, planning and working on long-term projects with an active sense of
participation in shaping the future and bequeathing one’s legacy on however
modest a scale, all are facets of this stabilising card of form. The basis here is the
challenge of producing tangibles, creating something real and communicable,
and securing space for growth both personally and collectively.
The number four is attributed both to Chesed and to the Tarot
Emperor. Four denotes the square of order and stability imposed on the fluid
three of Binah or the Empress. It is the number symbolizing solidity and
foundation at the root of the world of form and at the root of the eternal nature of
man. In Qabbalah four is memory. Four, too, is the number attributed by Plato to
the human body. Together the legacy of human form and of collective memory
are in our biological roots: the biological memory of the human race, in our
genes. The Emperor, so to speak, is the ‘gene of individuation’: both the root and
the ideal, the unfolding of the life-plan in the world of form. What was first
encountered in the Magician in formlessness has taken form in the Emperor as
the root of the law of becoming and experiencing ourselves inherent in the gene.
Chesed, similarly, functions through deep striving inner emotion, the
vital driving masculine force within. Nevertheless, as Anthony Stevens has
pointed out, ‘Individuation is not blindly living the life-cycle, it is living it
consciously and responsibly, and is ultimately a matter of ethics.’ [75]
Appropriately, on the tree of Qabbalah, Chesed is both the path of settled
consciousness and the first sefirah of the moral or ethical triangle.
Placed below and forming a mirror image to the supernal triangle,
the ethical triangle is composed of the fourth, fifth and sixth sefirot: Chesed
(mercy), Gevurah (severity) and Tiferet (beauty, or grace). It is in these sefirot
and in their corresponding Tarot counterparts: the Emperor, the Hierophant,
Love and the Hanged Man (Sacrifice), that the aims and teachings for
responsible self-growth and self-cultivation are found.
By the side of his throne lies the Emperor’s shield. This, like that of
the Empress, bears the glyph of the eagle. The shield therefore proclaims the
Emperor’s legitimacy as the successor and representative of the Empress. Hers is
the power which is the throne itself, on whose behalf he acts as protector and
preserver of the status quo.
The eagle of the Emperor, however, corresponds also to Jupiter, the
most beneficent of all the planets. Assigned qabbalistically to Chesed, along
with the archangel Tzadkiel - the Benevolence of God, Jupiter represents culture
and civilization, well-being and security, optimism, and vision. Astrologically it
is the planet governing philosophy and religion, and the moral order. It is also
representative of guardians, and of paternal relatives.
In Roman religion the living emperor was seen as being under the
personal protection of Jupiter, who was honoured as victor, protector and
guardian. Jupiter is the planet of the sky gods. As father to both men and gods,
the sky gods were concerned - ideally - with regulating and protecting the
physical and moral order, averting dangers and upholding the virtues of honour
and justice. Representing truth, they were the principle by which oaths could be
sworn (as was the number four for pythagoreans). Such, for example, was
Mithras, god of upper air or spirit of light, mediating between heaven and earth
and associated with truth and the oath (in Sanskrit Mithras means friend);
Babylonian Marduk the law-giver and imposer of order on chaos, and of course
Zeus, among whose children were Dike (justice), Eunomia (wise legislation),
Themis (the law regulating the physical and moral order), the Morae or Seasons,
and Eirene (peace).
In Chesed, too, is the loving father as preserver and protector, the
law-giving and law abiding king on his throne, or the spiritual father of nations.
Accordingly in the shift from mythic gods to religious men, it is Abraham, the
first patriarch, renowned in legend for his kindness and generosity, whom
Qabbalah places in the sefirah of mercy. Promised by God a son in his old age,
and that he would father a nation, Abraham is traditionally the friend of God, or
the man who loved God. It is because of Abraham that the covenant with God is
executed through the three patriarchs: Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, placed in the
ethical triad respectively under the spheres of merciful love, severe discipline
and the grace of truth.
Yet this triad of mercy, severity and grace is also sometimes termed
the emotional triad of the soul. It is balanced between the body and the spirit, the
terrestrial and the celestial, just as the sky gods of the Emperor card mediate
between the above and below, the sacred and mundane. In this triad, that which
is begun in the Emperor is fulfilled in the cards of love and sacrifice attributed to
Tiferet.
Brian Innes [76] has pointed out that a bas relief of Dionysos from the
Roman city of Herculaneum shows the Greek god posed in a very similar
position to that shown on the traditional Emperor designs: seated with legs
crossed to form a figure 4, and holding in one hand a sceptre. It is not
improbable that the bas-relief of the seated god may have provided the impetus
for the card’s design, or the pose in both may have derived from some common
traditional source. Certainly the Emperor carries many of the better attributes of
Dionysos, the god of civilization and abundance, who is at the same time, the
killed, eaten and resurrected god of bread and wine. Yet it is notable also, that
whereas in the bas-relief Dionysos holds a sceptre in one hand and a cup in the
other, in the Emperor designs the cup has been replaced by a globe, while at his
feet is placed the glyph of the eagle.
It is Zeus, father of Dionysos, who is presented in myth with the
sceptre in one hand and with an eagle at his feet; or Jupiter, the Roman
counterpart of Zeus, who is shown both with the eagle and holding out the globe.
It is not a question here, however, of which the Emperor represents, for in Tarot
the attributes of both father and son have been amalgamated in the one figure.
Indeed, in Crete both Dionysos and Zeus were one and the same: Dionysos was
Diosphos - light of Zeus.
Psychologically light symbols always refer to consciousness or to
contents becoming conscious. The Emperor represents the masculine principle,
the continuity of tradition through the Logos inheritance. He is father and son.
His is the rational principle of consciousness, the solar light of day carried in the
mythic sky gods and passed on through their sons: Zeus and Dionysos, or Osiris,
the Egyptian god of civilization, who is dismembered and then the parts reunited
that his son Horus may arise in his place.
The Emperor relates to the father archetype as the focus for the
spiritual aspiration of the masculine principle, the Logos made flesh, the
fulfillment of the thought in the Magician made reality in the form of the
Emperor, the thought of the father expressed through the son. The cup of love
becomes, in the Emperor’s hand, the globe of light. For the Emperor signifies the
guardianship of the merciful light bringers, the bearers of consciousness.
The sceptre in the Emperor’s hand is itself an attribute of sky gods:
Zeus as supreme authority; Vasu maintaining righteousness and law among men;
Indra upholding the cosmic order. Yet symbolically the sceptre is also the
shepherd’s crook - the staff of the spiritual shepherd, (or faithful son) who will
himself become the sacrificial lamb. The meanings of sceptre and shepherd’s
crook remain the same: authority, guidance, mercy and faith. In both Buddhism
and Hinduism the sceptre is Dharma, justice and authority. As with Roman
Jupiter, the sceptre is also in Hinduism an attribute of the god of learning and
literature, while in Buddhism the sceptre or mace is the symbol of the Buddha’s
teaching, the diamond sceptre being the highest power.
Reinforcing the Emperor as guardian of morality, the sceptre’s most
wide-spread symbolic designations are, however, as the staff upholding law and
order. It is a symbol of authority and masculine power. In line with the latter, it is
also a phallic attribute for transmission of the life-force (both Zeus and Dionysos
were fertility gods). In many packs the sceptre is topped by a solar cross or ankh,
symbolizing generative energy and life power.
Solar power, life energy, lightning, all are attributes of the father
archetype carried in the Emperor card, as the Empress carries that of the mother.
The father archetype personifies in the collective voice of authority, morality and
obligation. It is the dominion of the rational principle, the civilised world of
conscious man established in times of peace. Yet whereas the Empress as the
eternal mother-goddess is, in mythic terms, always the same, the king as father
or son is repeatedly sacrificed for the sake of continuity. As consciousness
increases and adapts with the birth of new knowledge, so the rational mantel is
passed down from father to son, altering yet continuing that which has gone
before.
Greater consciousness brings greater awareness of our own
responsibilities. Dominion or mastership over oneself is one of the most
important concerns expressed through the just father principle of the Emperor
card; the overcoming of one’s own faults and weaknesses necessitating being
both true to oneself and truthful with oneself. This in turn may frequently call
forth other applicable attributes of this card, such as courage and endurance,
strength and loyalty. With the Emperor comes directed purpose, a sense of duty,
and self-command. Rationality dictates the need to impose discipline and order
on the chaos of one’s own thoughts, bringing the understanding which is the
inner quality of the Empress into the light of consciousness - the civilized world
of the Emperor in Chesed, the merciful light of day.
‘Mercy and truth preserve the king: and his throne is upholden by
mercy’ we read in Proverbs. [77] At its most profound, the Tarot Emperor is a
merciful bringer of light. In relation to the sky gods he would relate to Zeus, for
example, as, above all, Dyaus Pitar, or Dies-pitar, the luminous sky god with the
root dyaus (Sanskrit) or dies (Latin) for day in his name, in other words, as
Father Zeus, the father of day and envoy of celestial light. It is this light which is
represented most significantly in the celestial globe which the Emperor holds in
his open hand, as if to offer it to any who would approach. The illuminative
crystal here functions both as a pole star to guide and assist people in negotiating
the way through the realms of darkness, and as a magnate to draw people to the
truth within.
The light of the Emperor’s globe is the spiritual light within us.
Following this light we are on the path of our own true nature, in touch with our
true purpose. Let the light be overcast and we are left in darkness. The three wise
men were lead to the baby Jesus by the light of a star; Hindu mythology relates
how, at the birth of Krishna, light filled all four directions. Jewish legend tells
how the cave of Abraham’s birth was filled with the light of his countenance as
with the glory of the sun. For Abraham, the father of a nation, placed in Chesed,
is, like the figures of Jesus and Krishna, a light-bearer, a bearer of spiritual
tradition to be passed on. This then is the terrain in Tarot of the Emperor, the
protector-shepherd watching over his kingdom, the guardian of remote inner
reaches, who, like the Hindu Vishnu and his incarnation Krishna, is the preserver
of the light.
The eagle on the Emperor’s shield is the lightning bearer of Jupiter -
cognate on the qabbalistic tree to the lightning flash. As a royal symbol of all sky
gods, the eagle represents authority, dignity and spiritual victory. Entrusted with
the task of carrying the liberated soul back to the sky, the eagle as spiritual
principle is revelation, ascension and release; hence, too, the placing of the
Emperor at the centre of the pillar of mercy which is equally the pillar of
revelation.

The lightning bearer or lightning bolt of Jupiter and the diamond or

lightning-bolt of Buddhist and Tantric iconographies are, so Joseph Campbell
informs us, ‘cognate both in meaning and in origin.’ Both represent adamantine
truth:
The lightning-bolt is the irresistible power of truth by which illusions,
lies, are annihilated ... Like a flash of initiatory knowledge, lightning
comes of itself and is followed by the roar and tumult of awakening life
and rain – the rain of grace. And … as the lightning shatters all things, so
does the diamond cut all stones, while the hard, pure brilliance of the
diamond typifies the adamantine quality both of truth and of the true spirit.
[78]

It is the true, transcendent spirit in the adamantine or diamond body

that is glimpsed in Tarot through the card of the Emperor, with light catching the
facets of the diamond or illuminating the colours in the drops of rain like
miniature rainbows of glimmering hope. Baptized by the rain of grace, the
veiling mists are dispersed so that we may again recognize the direction and
purpose of our spiritual paths. For the spiritual foundation of the Tarot Emperor
is the experience of grace, the renewal of the spirit of godhood within us through
a purificatory cleansing, in order that the inner light, the light which is the path
itself, may again be revealed in its true adamantine brilliance.
Having done all we can for ourselves in a given situation, the
Emperor denotes the sudden shattering of obstacles by factors beyond our
control, factors which may even seem to have little to do with the task in hand.
‘Pure chance’ we call it, or a stroke of good-luck. Yet this one chance stroke
clears away that which previously obstructed our vision and prevented us from
moving forward. The way is clear - though by no means easy.
A feature of the Emperor, and of the moral triangle, is to aim for the
best one is capable of at a particular time and, more importantly, to remain true
to oneself in a given difficult situation. The stroke of good fortune comes to
support our failing spirits when we feel we can go no further ourselves, or to
provide the insight which acts as the impetus to renew our efforts. Yet that which
is ours by birth-right, distant yet always near, has still to be earned. It is the
supreme challenge of this card to become that which we already are within us.
Both moral and spiritual courage are needed to remain true to oneself, living out
one’s own truths. It is here we meet the Emperor as the faithful son.

‘One becomes two, two becomes three, and out of the third comes
one as the fourth,’ so says Maria Prophetissa. This is echoed as: ‘The mother
bore me and is herself begotten of me.’ [79] Cognate with alchemy, in the Emperor
we find the thought originating in the card of the Magician, conceived as the
idea of form in the Empress, here given birth into a recognizable reality in the
card of form, the one as four. As Chesed is the sphere of the masters, so in Tarot
the divine child born into form matures into the highest form can attain: the
figure of the master, represented in the teachers of love and wisdom, or
mythically in the divine son, king and eventual sacrifice, the dying and
resurrected god.
In Sumerian myth this role was played by the consort of Inanna
whose name, be it Dumuzi (southern Sumeria) or Tammuz (northern Sumeria),
meant ‘the faithful son.’ A more familiar title was ‘shepherd of the people’ - a
title given also to Sumerian kings as servant of the god and custodian of the land.
At the time of sacrifice, the shepherd became simultaneously the lamb.
 The aptness of the symbols of shepherd and lamb ensured their
adoption by Christianity and thus their continued familiarity through the figure
of the dying and resurrected Christ, the bearer of light whose teachings were an
expression of love. Equally the shepherd guiding his flock, king in his own
kingdom, and eventually too, the sacrificial lamb, the figure of Christ is a
supreme Self-symbol expressing the vision of love and balm of grace through his
life in form, pointing the way to the highest attainments capable in this sphere.
In Western tradition the sacrificial master is found in ‘the green
man’, the green knight of Arthurian legend who annually survives the loss of his
head. The green man appears in Sufi tradition as Khidr, ‘the Verdant One’, who
sits on the throne of light between the upper and lower sea, as the Emperor
mediates between the upper and lower worlds. Born in darkness, Khidr is the
‘long-lived one’ who continually renews himself. Dismembered at the end of
time by Antichrist, he is able to restore himself to life. To Moses he was higher
consciousness and counselor. In alchemical tradition Khidr is the self-generating,
transformative and self-destroying Mercurius; thus we are back full-circle with
the Magician as divine child.
In Egyptian myth, as has already been said, the role is shared by
father and son: Osiris and Horus, while in Greek myth the role belongs to
Dionysos.
The mother of Dionysos is Persephone – the dying and resurrected
goddess who prefigures him and who we have already met in the card of the
High Priestess, situated on the pillar of mercy in Chokmah, directly above the
Emperor in Chesed. As with Persephone, Dionysos has been described as
imprisoned in winter and freed in spring, and like Demeter he has been seen as a
nature god, representing the four ages of birth, growth, decay and rebirth. For
Dionysos partakes of the qualities of both Demeter and Persephone, as the
Emperor partakes of the qualities of the High Priestess and the Empress, and
Chesed partakes of the qualities of its predecessors in the supernal triangle.
Endowed with the epithet ‘Dithyrambos’, understood as signifying ‘he of the
double door’, Dionysos was the twice-born, the killed and resurrected god of the
vine who offers the promise of new life to those who surrender themselves to
follow the spiritual mysteries.
The keynote of all spiritual mysteries and religious teachings is love.
The spiritual experience of Chesed is love. Sufi tradition teaches that love is
ultimately the way and aim of the mystical path, the merging into the Divine
oneness where the lover and the beloved are not differentiated. In the search for
attainment of such oneness the disciple seeks to break free of the self by total
submergence of personal will in the Divine will. In other words, the disciple
seeks to overcome the illusion of the self that the Self may live. Similarly in
Qabbalah, Chesed, the sphere of the masters, is the custodian of the virtue of
obedience, where the will of the soul is aligned with the Will of God. The
devotee who reaches this level, having no wishes of his own to express that are
not in harmony with the divine life flowing through him, finds obedience as
natural as the art of breathing, for his path is itself the expression of the divine
life. He has entered the realm of the masters.
Yet to enter this realm demands long-suffering, great kindness,
forgiveness and sacrifice. All are aspects of the quality of mercy. The measured
co-mingling of love and mercy poured as a redeeming balm into our thirsty souls
is both a quality of the sphere of the Emperor and of the fourth sefirah, as
represented in the alternate titles of Gedulah and Chesed. The merciful, long-
suffering father of the prodigal son was a forgiving, loving father. Abraham was
tested with the sacrifice of his beloved son, his willingness to obey cancelling his
need to do so. For to voluntarily sacrifice in this sphere is simultaneously to heal.
Both Chesed and the Emperor carry the number four for four is the number of
wholeness. ‘Man’s efforts to achieve wholeness,’ writes Jung, ‘correspond as the
divine myth shows, to a voluntary sacrifice of the self to the bondage of earthly
existence.’ [80] The symbol of the cross on which Christ hung is itself a quaternity
symbol of the healing effect of becoming whole, to sacrifice meaning, in its
original connotation, ‘to make whole.’
For it is, finally, the totality of the true spirit that can be attained by
man that is represented in the card of the Emperor. In Jungian psychology man’s
totality is expressed by a quaternity. For pythgoreans the sacred and holy number
four is the number of totality, as in the tetraktys: 1+2+3+4=10. In Barbelo
Gnosis the primordial man is described as composed of four parts (four lights
surround the auto-genes - the self-born); while the complete man of alchemy is
the homo quadratus.
The alchemical quaternity is the complement of unity and equals the
squared circle. In alchemy the number four is sacred to Mercury, as it is to
Hermes. In Tarot this is equivalent to relating the Emperor and the Magician.
The lapis, or perfect human elixir, is said to consist of the union of the four
elements which, brought together, ‘represent the unfolding of the unknowable
inchoate state.’ [81] The unknown of Kether is similarly brought into something
attainable by the mercy of Chesed, while the Emperor as the ‘centre of the
squared circle is the “mediator making peace between the enemies or elements
so that they may love one another in a meet embrace.”’ [82]
This is the state Chinese alchemy calls the ‘Diamond body’ [83] ,
referring to the wholeness attained when the four energies or powers: all-
pervading power (swords), generative power (wands), beneficial power (cups),
and determinative power (discs) are in perfect union. The emanations go forth
from chi’en, heaven, or creative energy, here corresponding to the Emperor
situated at the centre of the four elements and maintaining the equilibrium of the
ultimate in form.
In Binah was the idea of form, in Chesed is the first expression of
form itself. It is also, as the first - and the last sefirah of form, (depending on
whether one is descending or ascending the tree), the supreme expression of
what can be attained in form, the highest we can aim for from the viewpoint of
the material world, the canopy of the heavens of possible human attainment.
The Emperor, then, is the card of the living masters, an expression of
light in form, a bearer of the Logos principle. Seated on the throne of
fundamental truth, the spiritual Emperor is both the seed and the sower of
enlightenment. In the mystery tradition he corresponds to the heavenly original
man, clothed in the body of Adam.
According to Jewish legend, from the beginning the whole of
mankind was contained in Adam who was buried where the four quarters of the
earth come together. In this same place ‘the Word of God will come down unto
the land which is our destination and will suffer and be crucified in the place
where my body will be buried. The crown of my head will be baptized with his
blood and salvation will then be accomplished. My priesthood, my gift of
prophecy and my kingship will he restore unto me.’ [84]
The Adam of the mystery tradition is that within us which is
immortal, the world-creating principle made manifest as Purusha- ‘person’, the
first created, of cosmic size yet living in every heart. In Tarot, dwelling in every
heart is the merciful, immortal light of the Emperor with its message of divine
grace. The Emperor is a constant reminder that, if we remain true to ourselves
just long enough to light the spark of faith, we will realize that even in the depths
of darkness we are always watched over by the adamantine brilliance of the
guarding and protective spirit whose role it is to preserve the light within.

The Page of Wands and the Page of Cups

The strong bond between the Empress and the Emperor is given
further play in the Page of Wands. This card shows the influence of the Emperor
as child, invoking maternal concern, but it also shows the Emperor as parent,
exercising paternal concern. It is a card influenced by both youth and age; a card
of youthful energy, and of parental concern for the energetic youth.
 The Page of Wands is a card of unobtrusive guardianship. It is a card
of children, but as seen through the concerned, watchful eyes of an adult, be it
parent, teacher or family friend. Extending from this, reflecting the wider scope
of the Emperor, it indicates a concern with the effect of present actions on future
generations and the moral issues and responsibilities thereby raised. For, affected
by both the Emperor and the Queen of Wands in the sefirah directly above, this
Page is the tender light of moral conscience, striving hard to understand and to
act on, what is right. In this aspect the wand relates to the Emperor’s sceptre as
the wand of justice and moral authority upholding cosmic order.
Alongside a card of wilful determination such as the Knight of the
same suit or the Seven of Swords from the sefirah directly below, the Page of
Wands can take the form of a youthful idealist, sure with the untempered
convictions of youth of knowing absolutely what is right and wrong and exactly
what is needed. Alongside gentler companions, such as the Pages or Knights of
either the Cups or Discs suits, the Page of Wands is more likely to indicate a case
of hesitant good intentions, meaning well and wanting to do right, rather than
being sure what the right course is.
Yet the relationship to the sceptre also gives to the wand the qualities
of mercy and guidance. Though with the youthful, learning aspect of this card,
we may not get it right first time, no great harm will come from these well-
meaning intentions and, with a little perseverance - and not too proud to admit
our errors, we do learn here by our mistakes. Gently leading by the hand this is a
card which offers encouragement to those willing to listen and to think on what
they have heard. Bringing care and sensitivity it shows a willingness to make
amends for any well-meant blunder.
The Page of Wands is a card of growing up, and of all the joy and
folly associated with the transition from youth to adulthood. In the first sphere of
form it is a card concerned with the conscious donning of forms to identify the
persona the individual wishes to portray. How one wishes to be seen is the
telling point. New (outlandish?) hair-do, mod-clothes, any of the variety of
means used to convey a developing sense of persona vis-à-vis others, are of
relevance with this Page.
The Page of Wands is a card of flowers coming into bloom and
brightening the world with a message of joie de vivre. It is a card of youth
embarking on love, though never at this stage too seriously. Finally, having much
of the spirit of the Four of Wands, when accompanied by the latter, the Page of
Wands too is a card of harmony, and of music. Indicating either musical talent or
a love for music, this melodic Page serenades with intent to please.
 The Page of Cups is among the most benevolent of Tarot influences.
Situated by the throne of the Emperor, in the sefirah of mercy at the centre of the
pillar of mercy, this Page is the envoi of the bringer of light. It is a card of the
resurrection of hopes and of the encouraging faith of optimism.
Inclining to the face of the Emperor as the dying and resurrected god,
the Page of Cups corresponds well to the Easter of emotions. It relates not
however to the dying, but to the joy of revival. This is a card of Spring. It is a
card of new seedlings, of the delicate, vulnerable beginnings of a new phase of
life. The message this Page bears is one of new opportunities, of a door opening
where all seemed to be dark.
The mood of the Page of Cups is one of optimistic tranquility and of
quiet joy. Repaying inner reflection and meditation, it is a card of the light
shining through and softening the darkness. Here problems dissolve and what
was obscured becomes clarified. There is a coming to terms with something
inside yourself and a consequent feeling of inner peace.
The cup held by the Page of the water suit is the cup containing the
healing balm of grace, filling one with the spirit of tender renewed hope. It is a
card of the healing power of love, both in loving and being loved. Indeed the
only negativity denoted by this card is that, by focusing on what we don’t have
rather than on what we do, we are not always aware of our own blessings, and
that is to our loss. The gift of this card is to be able to see things in their proper
perspective. In the growth to maturity it is a card also of learning to forgive, both
others, and ourselves.
Mundanely, gifts can be a concrete factor of this card. Usually this is
in relation to children, but tokens of love are also appropriate. More generally
though, the Page of Cups is a card of renaissance, of the awakening of tender
dreams and the gentle nurturing of fragile hopes. Its relevance in a spread
however is not so much for its meaning in its self but for the light it shines on
surrounding cards. The effect of the Page of Cups is to soften a harsh reading or
reading fraught with difficulties, while strengthening or extending the sense of
joy in a reading proclaiming good things ahead.

The Fours
As the four pillars which metaphorically support the heavens, the
canopy of the sky gods, the Four of Wands is a very stable and secure card. Its
main theme is one of underlying harmony. The patterns of nature, the four
seasons, the four flowing rivers of paradise mingling gently into one another yet
each with a separate tributary, all correspond to the symphonic qualities of the
Four of Wands.
This is indeed a very musical card. The beauty of rhythmic
arrangement, whether of musical notes, the blending of line and colours, or the
art of dance all belong in the Four of Wands. Any artistic pursuit which does not
rely on words has its place here. For the Four of Wands is a wordless poem.
Transcending words, it attains to the deep peace of meditative tranquillity.
Through the senses, and through graceful motion, it expresses the joy of
communion through attunement to the music of life.
Qabbalistically the Four of Wands is perfected work. This relates to
the stability of the Emperor as the reign of peace in which new areas can be
explored and expressed. The Four of Wands is a card of achievement, and of
innovation. The foundations here being quite secure, there is ample scope for
experimentation. It offers the freedom, and support, to examine things from
alternative angles. Opportunities to break through cultural, social and political
barriers and to develop a wide reaching approach, are part of the broad-minded
tolerance extended by the effects of this card.
The Four of Wands is a celebration of the grace of the perfected form
and of the rituals of nature; the symmetry of the snowflake, the enchantment
glistening in the raindrops on the leaves, the celestial symphony of the
constellations, spring shoots as the melodious song of the earth. It relates, of
course, to all the seasons; yet emotionally the Four of Wands is sympathetically
most suited to spring.
To Dionysos were attributed the titles of ‘making the fruit to grow’
and ‘he of the green fruit.’ The Four of Wands is a card of new growth. As with
the spring shoots, half is showing, half is still underlying; yet the bounty
promised by the growth we can see is already optimistically spreading its joy of
rejuvenation. This is a card of awakenings, and of re-awakening. Building on the
sense of long-cherished tradition, present revivals may celebrate shared
memories of a good past, uniting communities together in a bond of shared
heredity and common destiny.
The Four of Wands is a card suited to spring carnivals, of
celebrations to chase away the darkness after coming through a difficult period.
Denoted here are gatherings of friends, weddings, engagements, the giving of
eternity rings, the continuing of any tradition which simultaneously expresses
the sense of optimism invested in the prospective beauty of the unknown future.
It is the gradual extension of the frieze of time painted in glowing colours.
At the concluding stages of a spread, the Four of Wands carries the
same meaning, but usually from the perspective of autumnal maturity. Here there
can be a sense of nostalgia, of hankering back to the joys of youth. Yet, with a
sense almost of blessing and then releasing the past, the older sojourner is in a
position to step beyond, to seek that something which whispers of the grace of
all-reaching love, and which beckons from the stillness of a golden haze
emanating from the Self. Whether in the spring of youth, or in the autumn of
established maturity, the Four of Wands sings of the harmony of the soul,
continually glimpsed in the blending beauty of this card. Yet its song, too, is the
song of deep love and longing for that promise of something more, which will
ultimately send one away from the peace of one’s homeland to find the origins of
that universal peace within.

The Four of Cups is the transitional journey from outer pleasure to

inner contentment. It begins somewhat in the mood of Dionysos with a surfeit of
revelry. Yet that which has been a source of much enjoyment hitherto begins
incipiently to lose its power to please. As a Four and part of the Emperor’s
domain, one does attain with this card very much all that was hoped for. Yet
what has been long anticipated as a source of pleasure, when attained fails to live
up to expectations. This is due not to any diminution in the experiences in
comparison to previous occasions, but to an inner shift in perspective in the one
who is experiencing. For the Four of Cups denotes the gradual outgrowing of old
skins and the awareness of newly arisen areas lying unexplored within.
In present positions then, the Four of Cups indicates the sense of
circling on the spot and not getting anywhere. The pursuit of pleasure for its own
sake has lost most of its appeal. There is an awareness, in a subtle, wordless way,
of what is missing, but not yet what to do about it. There is indeed no simple
solutions here. This is a search to know the self, and to find that ‘more to life.’
Accompanied by the Devil card the Four of Cups frequently occurs
in the spreads of those having to deal with troubled mental states, whether
through a family member or as a trained professional. For this is a card of what
is going on within. With regard to career matters the square formed by the suit of
the water element remains an emotional square, a symbol of emotional
constriction despite - or rather because of - the outer trappings of success.

In keeping with the Emperor’s overall influence, much has been achieved
careerwise with this card. Yet there is the experience of loneliness and
responsibility at the top of the ladder, and the awareness of a growing need to go
inside to balance the outer success with the inner fulfillment presently lacking.
With this card the querent has gone as far as is possible in a given direction.
There is no going forward and yet no going back either. The repetition of earlier
achievements would not bring the desired contentment. It is simply a case here
of having to wait to see what comes.
Where big career changes are presaged by the surrounding cards, the
contribution of the Four of Cups is to emphasize the need to undergo the
challenge of something totally different. This may mean discarding a well-paid
position in an established profession for a lower and less well-paid position in an
unknown area where current credentials don’t account for much. This can of
course be very difficult to do. It needs a lot of courage to make so complete a
new start.
In advanced positions the Four of Cups indicates voluntarily entering
deep water in an attempt to wrest some meaning from one’s situation and
reinvest enthusiasm into daily life. The focus here is definitively on the purging
emotions undergone. There is a facing up to much that has long exerted an
unacknowledged influence. There is, at its most difficult point, a feeling of total
emptiness with this card. The discovery of the chest of broken dreams lying at
the bottom of the ocean brings the realization of how much has been invested
emotionally in totally unattainable dreams which inevitably have come to
nothing. There is also the recognition, conversely, that that which was wanted so
much and which was achieved has also come ultimately to nothing, leaving one
in the last analysis equally with a feeling of emptiness. This is the penultimate
stage in the step towards discovery of the light of the inner Emperor, the
discovery of inner meaning. Nevertheless, it is a very difficult stage, which is
helped considerably by the gentle influence of the Page of Cups, constantly
encouraging that there is something more, something worth holding on for, and
something worth the trouble of seeking.
With the positive unfolding of this card there is an emphasis on the
simplicities of life. Working with children or a child of one’s own may help. Yet
the emphasis is more simply on restoring the direct affirmation of enjoyment we
experienced as children in doing things which we feel silly admitting to as adults
unless we’re either brilliantly talented or we have the excuse that we’re helping a
child. Affirming that we need no excuse, and no talent to do something which
may be classed as silly to others, is part of the healing influence of the Four of
Cups.
In the concluding stages of a spread the Four of Cups is a card of
affirmation. The outer circumstances being sufficiently stable, there is plenty of
opportunity to look inside, to bring forth the unknown aspects of the self and to
give birth to the ‘new’ transformed you. The shedding of the old skin, and the
undergoing of an inner ‘death’ results at this stage in resurrection.
Finding oneself less concerned by the opinions of others gives one the
strength to stand by one’s own views even where they differ from mainstream
opinion. Discovering a more tolerant outlook to things which previously would
have shocked, and thinking and feeling differently than heretofore are part of the
new lease of life offered by the resurgence of the Four of Cups. With the re-
found affirmation of life denoted by this card as an outcome, one is content to
settle outside the thrust of mainstream society and to peacefully follow one’s
own path. The card thus becomes, to use its qabbalistic title, the lord of blended
pleasure, except now the pleasure arises from the rediscovery of inner meaning
and the harmony of contentment. The rediscovery of the light of the inner
Emperor illumines the possibility of alternative paths than one previously
expected to follow. But don’t expect universal understanding; the choice of such
paths will never be fully appreciated by anyone who hasn’t pursued a similar
emotional sea journey through to its conclusion.

The Four of Swords is the most meditative of the Tarot Fours. It is

here we meet the diamond body of the Emperor as the preserver of the light of
inner truth. It is a card which demands we take time to journey inside ourselves,
and if not voluntarily submitted to, such time may be imposed in the form of a
necessary rest or recuperation period in which one can again become attuned to
the needs of the inner self.
Tibetan Buddhist Sogyal Rinpoche describes meditation as an ‘open,
sky-like attitude of mind’. When we meditate, he says, we link the sky and the
earth, the absolute and the relative, ‘the sky-like deathless nature of mind and the
ground of our transient, mortal nature.’ [85] Here again we recognize the Emperor
as mediator; for this sky-like attitude of mind is the territory of the Four of
Swords.
Linking the remoteness of the mythic sky gods with the realities of
an earthly kingdom, the Four of Swords is a mirror dividing yet relating outer
and inner realities, the subtle transitions between which are best experienced in
the transmuting skill of meditation. Finding ourselves at the centre of the
diamond body, or the centre of the diamond formed by the four overlapping
swords, with the numerous quaternities of crosses given of as the sparkling
reflection of the diamond in the light, we can travel through the tunnels of light
to become attuned to our inner nature. Here we are able to observe, serenely and
impassively, the eternal cycles of Dionysos: the birth, life, death and rebirth
which make up the quaternity of the seasons, and at the same time learn to step
beyond them.
Qabbalistically the Four of Swords signifies rest from strife, the
reign of peace of the Emperor imposing stillness even on the difficult suit of
swords. It is a card removed from the clashing din of the pressures of the
external world, silence and calm acceptance being the qualities taken on the
journey inside at this stage. Sometimes these qualities are encountered literally
as, through recuperation from illness or through the rest imposed after a
strenuous workload, we place ourselves in surroundings of peace and quiet in
accordance with what we know we need.
The Four of Swords is a card ideally suited to the pursuits of Jungian
psychologists, being concerned with both the Self and the shadow aspects of
ourselves, the balance and healing search for inner wholeness. Through
becoming attuned to the peace within in the time set aside by the Four of
Swords, we become aware of our self-imposed limitations and the reasons for
the imposing of barriers at particular points in our lives. The honing of
concentration to a fine sword point in order to cut cleanly through the obstacles
is itself a facet of meditation, as is the strengthening of inner resources in order
to progress.
With the Four of Swords comes the calm, sensible voice of the
caring but uninvolved advisor. Depending on surrounding cards, however, this is
equally likely to be the voice of the higher self within. Rooted in the adamantine
qualities of the transcendent self, the Four of Swords is a card of detached
benevolence, remote yet protective. In the weaving in and out of the four swords,
the second pair of swords forms a shadow-play to the duel of the first pair, the
outer and inner realities countering each other at every turn. It is amidst this
wordless pantomime on the multi-dimensional altars of our inner temples, that
we encounter, silently and serenely, the inner truth of our being sitting in
profound meditation over our lives.

As the Emperor in the first sphere of form can be seen in some

measure as the representative of the Empress in Binah, so the Four of Discs and
the Queen of Discs share a similar relationship. As the queen of the earth suit,
the Queen of Discs rules over the wealth and riches of the earth; in this the Four
of Discs could be seen as her financial custodian or advisor, the accumulator and
bestower of earthly treasure.
Positively placed, the Four of Discs is a card of material and
financial security. It denotes a good steady income, usually from a stable job,
often professionally established. Qabbalistically it is the card of earthly power.
Building on the generosity of the Queen, this Four provides the material security
in which one has the time and opportunity to pursue one’s own inclinations. The
need for money not being paramount, one can explore further avenues for self-
growth - perhaps in hobbies which may be costly, or through further education
which one must pay for oneself. It is a card of accomplished completion and of
promotion. A rise in wages, further responsibility and a greater degree of
independence may be provided by financial or employment opportunities, that
which was sought in the Three achieved in the Four. At its most pleasingly
complacent, it is a card of contentment and well-being, with money available to
pursue one’s own interests.
As a card of the element of earth the Four of Discs relates also to the
body, and to physical well-being. As the Emperor has his roots in the Magician,
so the Four of Discs has its roots in the Ace of the suit. Like the Ace of Discs,
this Four can also denote the riches of the earth’s resources, oil, coal, gas, and so
forth. Exploration and expansion are likewise attributes here.
More widely this card denotes all material resources - the buying and
selling of property for example, or the furnishing of property - the factor here
being the materials, fabrics and textures the card is rich in. It may also denote a
legacy accumulated and passed down through established enterprise. Finally, to
note in passing, a simple but pleasant aspect of this card is the offering of a gift -
which very often is a piece of jewellery. The diamond quality of the Emperor
here takes literal form, with the gift of something which will be held very
special.
There is, however, a more challenging face to this card, the challenge
coming through its seeming abundance. ‘It is easier for a camel to pass through
the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God,’ [86] Jesus
told his disciples. This is the territory of the spiritual challenge of the Four of
Discs. Qabbalistically the vices of Chesed are tyranny and gluttony, the misuse
of one’s power and the desire for more than one’s fair share. Such too are the
dangers of this Tarot Four.
The test here is to make the most of one’s material security without
however being attached to, or controlled by it. Greater finances may perhaps
mean we can afford a bigger mortgage, expand the business, treat ourselves to
what we want. Yet it is also very easy to over-do it – to suddenly find the
mortgage becoming crippling, our small expenses running into heavy debts,
while the maintenance of the high style of living we have accustomed ourselves
to becomes a constant source of anxiety rather than a pleasure. Still we refuse to
give it all up. So much misplaced self-status has usually been tied up in our
material standing that we are afraid to have to face ourselves - our inner
resources without the protection of our material security.
Succeeding the Four of the suit, is the Five of Discs, a card which
financially may denote hardship, and which forms on the pillar of severity a
check to the over expansion of the pillar of mercy. The Four is a very pleasing
card, if one retains balance in relation to its gifts. Yet there are many forms of the
tempting apple in the Garden of Eden. The Four of Discs can be a haven of
peaceful, happy security. Yet its very security, a good income and freedom to
spend, can be the tempting apple that will bind us to its delights and result in our
being ‘thrown out of Eden.’ Instead of being in control of our money we find
ourselves slowly being controlled by it; instead of being in control of ourselves
with money serving our pleasure, the material and the money takes control and
we become the puppets dancing to its tune. Such is, unfortunately, the anthem of
the modern day: money first. The exploitation of the earth in pursuit of wealth is,
in the context of the Tarot Fours, tantamount to suicide on a global scale. For
both the earth and the wealth belong in this same sphere. Yet instead of
maintaining a respectful regard for both at a balanced, sufficient level, the
gluttonous accumulation of one at the expense of the other can only denote
increasing imbalance at our very foundations - the foundations of the structure of
form itself. The vices of Chesed here, the misuse of our power and the greed for
more than is needed will eventually call forth the stricture of limitation of the
pillar of severity, the necessary eclipse of the sphere of mercy by the pillar of
severity to redress the balance. Yet the eclipse of the sphere of mercy and of the
Emperor situated there, is the loss of sight of the guiding light and a consequent
plunge into the dark ages - unless we can come to our senses in time.
And for that we begin, very simply, putting our own house in order,
making sure we are the masters and not the slaves of our desires and our material
belongings, on however subtle a scale. Properly aligned, we can bask along time
in the glow of the Four of Discs. Yet we need to attune ourselves to its key
attributes of benevolence and mercy, with the securing of our own foundations
both physically and spiritually through sharing, and through love.
 Chapter Five: The Hierophant in Gevurah
I asked a child, walking with a candle, “From where comes that
light?” Instantly he blew it out. “Tell me where it is gone - then I will
tell you where it came from.”
(Hasan of Basra)

With the Hierophant, called in some packs the High Priest or the
Pope, we arrive at one of the most elusive and tantalising of the major cards.
Taken from the Latin pontifex, understood literally as meaning bridge-maker, the
term Pontiff, used now exclusively in Christianity for the Pope, was adopted
from the title in Rome of the pagan High Priest. The Pope, Hierophant or High
Priest in Tarot is very much the bridge-maker. He relates to many of the cards
both in himself - that is, in his own meaning, and by acting as a bridge spanning
the relationship between other cards. He is the bridge between the High Priestess
and Empress above and Temperance below, connecting their united five (two
and three) with the five of Temperance (one and four), with his own single five
as a passage between. He is the bridge between the Empress and Justice, and
also between the Emperor and Justice. He is the bridge between Justice and
Judgement, between the Lovers and the Hanged Man, and, at his most elusive,
between the Devil and the Magician. Able to reach both above and below,
between the past and the future, the Hierophant is the High Priest of the
mysteries who conducts the sacred marriage, the Hieros gamos, between bios
and zoe: eternity and time, and, at a deeper level, between heaven and hell.
The number five is the number of the microcosm, the number of
man. In Qabbalah Gevurah too is the microcosm. The Hierophant is placed
qabbalistically in the fifth sefirah of Gevurah, Severity, which also has its
alternative titles of Din, Justice, or Pechad, Fear. For, as with the Hierophant, the
fifth sefirah in Qabbalah is one to make us pause in our tracks and deliberate
about our deeds. Forming a counterbalance to the excesses of the sefirah of
mercy, Gevurah is a sefirah of struggle and of limitation, and of the courage
needed to face up to the truth about oneself if progress is to be made. Gevurah is
the sefirah of spiritual activity in manifestation.
As the fifth of the major cards the Hierophant continues the work
established by the Emperor in the fourth. Repeating the bond between the
Empress and the High Priestess in the sefirot above, the Emperor and the
Hierophant are the twin Janus faces of a single truth, balancing aspects of a
working unity.
Both are guardians of the approach to the Abyss, the dividing line which
separates the supernals above from the sefirot below. Placed in the qabbalistic
tree in Chesed and Gevurah, they are like two crosses on either side of the
central cross of Tiferet. Here they are reminiscent of the two dadophors, the
torch bearers Cautes and Cautophates providing balance and counterbalance on
either side of the sacrificing Mithras, one pointing with his torch upward and one
down to signify the ascent and descent of light, sunrise and sunset, whereas
Tiferet would be the sun at its zenith at midday.

Yet immediately we are faced with one of the paradoxes of the Tarot. For, as
with the Empress directly above, the scene in which the Hierophant is one third
of a triangle on the larger scale, becomes in microcosm a trinity within himself.
On the small stage the same scene can be said to exist within the Hierophant’s
card. Here the Hierophant plays the role of the supervising midday sun, with his
two disciples as sunrise and sunset, the dadophori, or the two thieves on either
side of the cross of Christ, one ascending to heaven and one descending to hell.
‘The spiritual master contains in himself his disciple, or a duad or
triad of disciples’ Mead tells us in Thrice Greatest Hermes [87] . Like the Greek
twins Castor and Pollux, one mortal and one immortal, the two disciples are, at
one level, the soul and body of his questing nature, soul which needs body to
experience and body which needs soul to live. In this case the Hierophant
represents the overseer, the spirit presiding over both. Yet at another level the
two disciples are the warring faces of one’s nature, the face of inner conflict.
As part of the moral triad, Gevurah reinforces the Hierophant’s
concern with moral conflict. At the centre of the pillar of severity, the conflict
here is at its most intense. It is the conflict of the spiritual warrior whose most
formidable opponent is always himself.
Whatever the level of polarity represented by the disciples however,
in all cases the Hierophant holds out the hope of eventual reunion. For the
Hierophant aligns with the archetype of the wise old man, which is to say, the
archetype of the spirit or Holy Ghost. The Holy Ghost is a reconciliation of
opposites and the means of evolving our religious understanding through a
matrix of encountered difficulties and moral dilemmas. It is, says Jung, ‘the pre-
existent meaning hidden in the chaos of Life.’ [88]
In folktales, myth or in dreams this archetype appears as the helpful
agent, usually in the guise of the wise old man, but sometimes as an animal,
frequently a fish or a bird bringing from the heavens (the realms of spirit) or the
deeps the much needed insight which will rescue the hero from a stagnant
situation.
The wise old man is the patient and often inscrutable teacher who
knows what roads led to our goals and prepares us for the dangers or challenges
that we must confront to continue on our path.
Representing reflection and insight, and the power of gnosis, he is a figure of
benevolence, turning up to provide some further clue or intervention when we
find ourselves at an impasse and can go no further ourselves. He is the idea that
pops into our heads out of the blue, the timely advice given just at the right
moment, a dream whose unveiling unlocks an obstructing doorway. Like the old
man of folk tales who provides the hero with the means to succeed, the wise old
man in the card of the Hierophant will intervene to provide us with the means to
continue our quest, but he provides just enough to re-stimulate our interest and
hopes and to set us going again. The next step depends on our conscious
understanding.
The Hierophant is the bridge to the solution of the problem, he is not
the problem solved. He is the question which lies between the questor on one
side and the answer on the other and which spurs the seeker on to find the
meaning and solution of his dilemma.
As the wise old man, the Hierophant instigates a series of
confrontations to bring one to the elusive realization one is reaching for, the
slippery solution to one’s dilemma, the finding of which usually results in a
unification of aspects of the personality not hitherto brought to light. His probing
questions instigate moral conundrums and lead to self-reflection. Yet to find the
solutions, one must leave the haven of one’s complacencies to cross the narrow
bridge to the shores of greater understanding. The bridge often takes the form of
a difficult situation; we find ourselves in narrow straits. The experience passed
through, however, enlarges our perspective and our empathy with others,
shattering any illusions of neat containment of good and bad, black and white,
until we are led through confusion to a deeper, ultimately more rewarding self-
knowledge.
Revealingly, despite his sagaciousness and benevolence, the figure of
the wise old man who reconciles the opposites has a somewhat ambiguous
nature. Consider, for example, the wily figure of Merlin, who brings about the
birth of the ‘king’ (Arthur), and clears the path for the quest to the Grail, but
performs some morally pro vocative acts in doing so.
According to the account by Robert de Boron, Merlin was fathered
on a pure young girl by a devil who intended to nullify Christ’s work by
providing a prophet from hell as a counterpart to the son of God. She, who forgot
never to be in a room without light, goes in despair to confession. Here the priest
breaks the Devil’s power by making the sign of the cross and sprinkling her with
holy water. The power is broken, or transmuted - Merlin is not controlled by, but
controls in his person the gifts of his dual heritage: darkness and light,
performing in his own being the marriage of heaven and hell.
Both Merlin, who we meet here, and Mercurius, who we met in the
card of the Magician, have, so Emma Jung informs us, been ‘compared now with
Christ, now with Antichrist. Both serve as analogues for the inspiring breath of
the Holy Spirit...Both have the nature of the trickster...both are the mysterious
agent behind the transformation of the “King”... Both are connected with the
experience of the divine in nature or in the unconscious.’ [89]
It is here we encounter the Hierophant as the figure who in his own meaning
forms a bridge between the cards of the Devil and of the Magician, the number
One of the Magician united to the Five of the Hierophant forming the number in
Tarot of the Devil card.
While still a child Merlin points out the psychic problem of the
opposites, the red and white dragon fighting under the tower, thereby revealing
his awareness of the unconscious connective processes.
In Tarot this is the role of the Hierophant (the term hierophant is itself from
the Greek Hiero – holy plus phainein - to reveal). Merlin acts as counsellor to the
king; the Tarot Hierophant acts as our higher consciousness, opening up a
personal direct road to the holy mysteries, a road leading to and through the
unconscious to reach the source of spiritual life. Yet in his attempts to shake a
sleeping soul out of lethargy and into taking that road, the Hierophant is quite
capable of playing devil’s advocate, provoking one to seek inside, to reflect and
discover within oneself the meaning of one’s problems. Significantly, in
Qabbalah the testing of Job belongs in the sefirah of Gevurah.
As a brother card to the Emperor, the Hierophant first assists in
building up the harmonised realm of the teachings of the Emperor card. He then
introduces the snake into the works. The Hierophant throws in the thorny
problem which either destroys or delivers, but which is in any case necessary;
just as in Qabbalah the purging destruction of Gevurah is a necessary process in
the maintenance both of the balance of the tree and of the opening of the paths of
potential.
Destruction comes about where lessons can no longer be learned,
where forms have outgrown their use, and also where the foundations are not
strong enough to build on; deliverance where the teachings or disciples are ready
to be moved forward to the next stage.
Like the path of the lightning flash, the Hierophant proceeds by a
continually jagged path of thesis to antithesis to synthesis. In terms of their
interdependent relationship, the figures of Jesus and Judas would belong here,
with the Hierophant supporting, as the trusty disciple, the setting up of the
teachings appertaining to the realm of the Emperor card. Then, in the step to
reconcile the opposites, becoming the antithesis, the betrayer of the teachings in
order that the synthesis, the union of the spirit, soul and body, of God and man,
can come about. In Tarot this would be in terms of the cards related to Tiferet:
the threefold way of the Love card and the sacrifice of the Hanged Man. For the
Hierophant, like the sefirah of Gevurah, is not the sacrifice but the sacrificial
priest of the mysteries, sacer-facere: to make holy; transmuting from the lesser to
the greater in order to complete the cycle of eternal return.
In Egyptian myth Osiris and Set enact the equivalent drama as the
pair of hostile brothers, seemingly eternally in conflict, yet each with an equally
necessary cooperative role in the myth of the cosmic drama, as sacrificer and
sacrificed. Here Thoth, the consummate priest, is the mediator between them.
The astrological equivalent of the pair of brothers is the sign of the dual fishes
swimming in opposite directions; while the astrological components of the fish
contain the cross and the moral conflict with its split into the figures of Christ
and Antichrist.
The fish is of course a well-known symbol of Christianity with
Christ as both the sacrificial fish which is eucharistically eaten and the fisherman
angling for himself. His disciples were chosen from among fisherman and made
into fishers of men; the first of which was Peter, the rock, who became the first
Pope.
The ring worn by the Pope and engraved with the miraculous draft of fishes,
is called the ‘Fisherman’s ring.’ Under his title of Pope the Hierophant too is a
fisherman. Customarily depicted with the ecclesiastical staff, wearing the triple
tiara such as the Pope receives at his coronation at St. Peters Basilica, (Rome),
from whence he dates his Pontificate, and carrying the keys of St. Peter on which
all justice and mercy depend, the card of the Hierophant has a clear connection
to the fishers of men and the eucharistic fish.
The number five is a number of meditation, religion and spiritual
aspiration. The Hierophant teaches the mysteries and inspires the seeker in the
search for wisdom and understanding. The fish too is an inspirer, a wisdom
bearer, like the Celtic salmon of wisdom. It is also a redemptive impulse arising
through the silence from deep within. For St. Augustine the two fishes in the
feeding of the five thousand were representative of the kingly and priestly
powers. In Tarot this would signify the roles of Emperor and Hierophant: the
roles aspired to by the two disciples who as pious fishes desire baptism in the
piscina - fish pond, immersion in the waters of the Empress, the waters of faith,
which are the living waters of the fish.
The fish as inhabitant of deep waters is often symbolic of contents in
which the spiritual and instinctual are still merged, swimming below the
threshold of consciousness, while the fisherman is he who draws up from the
hidden depths the self-knowledge which is his own redemption.
The fish appears as redeemer in many religions. The priests of the
wisdom bringing Babylonian fish-man Oannes wrapped themselves in fish-
skins; Vishnu, or Brahma, appears to Manu in the guise of the small fish who
asks to be taken home: ‘take care of me and I will be thy saviour.’ [90] There he
poses great problems for Manu by promptly out-growing every container Manu
transfers him into -bowl, pond, lake, and so on. Yet the fish which cannot be
contained is Manu’s salvation, guiding his vessel through the deluge ‘on an
immense ocean without light, except the radiance of thy holy companions.’ [91] As
creatures not destroyed in the purging deluge fish are symbolic of transforming
spirit, with messianic connotations. Such is Leviathan, created on the fifth day to
rise from the sea with the advent of the messiah and provide food for all that is
left. Again we face the connection with Judgement.
The leviathan is a composite creature uniting in his body the separate
attributes of animals that walk, swim and fly. This too is relevant to the
Hierophant. For, as shown in the triple tiara and the triple cross of his staff, the
Hierophant is guardian and guide of the three realms we must pass through: the
kingdoms of water, land and air. At the level of Asiyah this can be interpreted
literally to indicate our responsibility to the totality of the world we live in.
At the level of Beriyah, however, the interpretation is psychological, with the
winged kingdom of air signifying the realms of transformative consciousness
passing over the unconscious of the watery realms and the consciousness of dry
land. ‘Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the
kingdom of God.’ [92]

On mediating land between air and sea the Hierophant forms the mid-way, the
bridge between the self which is seeking and the self which is sought, the fish
and the fisherman. The Talmud says: ‘Only the son of a man with the name of a
fish could lead the Children of Israel into the Promised land, namely Joshua, the
son of the fish.’ Joshua ben Nun – Joshua son of Nun, Nun meaning fish, is
found as the servant or shadow of Moses in the myth whose unfolding
encompasses clearly the terrain of the Hierophant: that of Moses and Khidr.
The figure of Khidr we have already met in the discussion of the
dying and reborn in the card of the Emperor, yet as teacher the role overlaps with
the sphere of the Hierophant. It is while returning to the place where the elusive
fish slipped back into the ocean that Moses, with his servant or shadow, Joshua
ben Nun, finds in place of the fish, Khidr.
Moses, who had fared ‘as far as the meeting place of the two seas’ [93]
in search of Khidr, asks the latter to ‘teach me for my guidance some of the
wisdom you have learnt.’ Khidr, however, replies that Moses will not be able to
bear with him: ‘for how can you bear patiently with things you cannot
comprehend?’ Moses promises to be patient and obedient, whereupon he is
commanded not to question Khidr’s behaviour, but to wait until Khidr himself
offers an explanation. This first command Moses steadfastly disobeys in the face
of Khidr’s subsequent acts - such as killing a man, or boring a hole in the bottom
of a boat. Quick to judge from what he understands of the matter, Moses cannot
repress his indignation and demand for explanation, and after the third such
occasion Khidr explains all his actions and then disappears. Khidr’s explanations
rest each time on a reference to the future: of what would occur if he didn’t
intervene, such that his interventions are intended to avoid a less acceptable
scenario.
Similarly, with the card of the Hierophant we may find ourselves in
unpleasant circumstances, yet the aim of the Hierophant is to protect us from
ourselves. He succeeds only where we are prepared to reflect on, and come to
terms with, what we are doing, making amends when necessary while there is
still the opportunity to do so. The lesson not learnt must be continuously
repeated, each time perhaps becoming a little more severe as we add to past
mistakes. The card of the Hierophant is not itself a card of karma, but as the link
between Justice and Judgement it does foresee the karmic shadow, of what will
occur if the lesson of the Fives is bypassed without heed.
Just as an alternative title of Gevurah is Pechad, Fear, so the card of
the Hierophant implores that we face up to ourselves, to our own fears before
they enmesh us in a situation from which there is no escape except through the
karmic laws of Justice. The keys the Hierophant holds can unlock the doors, but
they can also lock them when necessary.
As Gevurah is the principle of limitation and the warrior defending his
kingdom against enemy assault, so the Hierophant is the guardian of the gates,
letting none through without subjecting them to stringent tests of self-discipline
and self-control. This is not meanness but self-protection. Both Gevurah and the
Hierophant are spheres of immense knowledge and power, both attributes which,
in the hands of ignorance, can indeed be dangerous to one and all.
In Qabbalah the sphere of Gevurah at the centre of the pillar of
severity has an alternative title of Din, translating as Justice or Judgement. The
residing angel of Gevurah is Khamael, the agent of Judgement. Khamael
imposes severity, and contraction or limitation where it is deemed necessary,
thus breaking down an outmoded situation.
In Tarot the card of the Hierophant has its place mid-centre of the
pillar of severity between the Empress at its head and the card of Justice whose
place is in the concluding sefirah of the left-hand pillar. For Justice in Tarot
evolves out of the principles of the cards of the Empress and the Hierophant, the
five of the latter united with the three of the former, so that the feminine and
masculine self, mother and son, are united in the single figure of Justice. In Tarot
the angel of Judgement is the overself of the Hierophant, reuniting this card with
his brother and twin-self, the Emperor. The pentagon of five fours and the square
of the four fives both equal twenty, the number of Judgement; that is, with five
as the number of man, the completion of the Hierophant’s fives in the four
quarters - the quaternity of man, calls forth the number of the card of Judgement.
Pre-dating the Christian symbolism the constellation of the fishes
was related to the mother/son tragedy of the goddess religions. Such, for
example, was Atargatis and her son Ichthys; half-fish, half woman, pools were
attached to her sanctuaries for sacred fish. It is probable, however, that, as in the
mythology of Babylonia and India, the two fishes universally were originally
only one, representing the inherent unity of the seemingly divided components
of the cyclic drama. Vyasa, the sage and narrator of the Hindu epic ‘the
Mahabharata,’ the teller of his own tale, was the off-spring of a fish-born virgin
Satyavati, whose name meant Truth but whose nick-name was ‘fishy-smell’.
Gevurah too is a sefirah of Truth. It was Satyavati’s role to ferry travellers across
the waters of the goddess from shore to shore.
Symbolically the waters of the goddess are the domain of the
Empress in Binah, and in Tarot the Hierophant forms a similar role as High
Priest of the Empress, the ferryman or bridge spanning the waters of
understanding.
The Hierophant is the key to knowledge. As Gevurah, the fifth path,
is ‘unified in the essence of understanding, which emanates from the domain of
the original wisdom,’ [94] so the throne of the Hierophant is the seat of wisdom on
the waters of understanding. The underlying support of the Hierophant is the
Empress as the font of life and sea of faith, nourishing and sustaining her
priesthood. In his relationship to the Empress and the High Priestess, the
Hierophant is High Priest of the mysteries.
In ancient Greece the term Hierophant for the high priest was used
particularly with regard to the Eleusis mysteries, where a central function of the
priest was to bring about the reunion of mother and daughter at the ‘place of
Happy Arrival.’ I have already discussed the mother and daughter roles of the
Empress and High Priestess, whose numbers of two and three are similarly
brought together in the number five of the Hierophant. The Hierophant thus
becomes, as half of the completed Ten, the inner face of Temperance, whose
own 1+4 equals his five and who forms a counterpart of himself in the tenth
sefirah of Malkuth, the little mother.
The Wheel of Fortune, the tenth Tarot major, belongs also in
Malkuth. The Wheel is itself an elucidation of the balanced halves, or fives of
the Hierophant and Temperance together, convoking with its continuous circling,
the eternal spirals of the descent and ascent.
Reminiscent of the image of Temperance and of the Star, the final act
of the high priest in the Eleusis mysteries is to fill two vessels then pour the
contents to the ground, one toward the east and one toward the west while those
around cry towards heaven ‘rain’, and towards earth ‘conceive’. A mediating act
by a high priest to bring rain to an agrarian culture certainly; yet equally in
religious terms a mediating act to bring spiritual rain where the people
themselves are the seeds of corn in need of divine care.
Sustaining the Hierophant, then, is the Empress as the water of life.
Yet the spirit who moves on the water is that of Sophia: the High Priestess. Thus
the spirit of the supernal feminine triad reaches across to her counterpart: the
spirit of the triune father below. The High Priestess reaches down to the High
Priest who will initiate and instruct her disciples through the labyrinth of her
ways.
Opposing and complementing the High Priestess, the Hierophant is
the second of the Tarot sequence whose main concern is with balance. The
concern of the Hierophant is to balance the needs of the many with the needs of
the one. Knowing there is only one quest, yet many paths, the Hierophant
emphasizes the equality of the many roads leading back to the source. For each
seeker responds only to that call which speaks in the language of their
understanding.
Unfortunately, however much the voice of the Hierophant
emphasizes the need for balance, with this card the message is all too often
drowned in our lack of understanding. Allocated the mid-number five, with the
Hierophant the journey is well underway, and the Hierophant at the centre of the
pillar of severity has a complex and pivotal role to play. Connecting what has
gone before with the anticipation of what will be, he forms a meaningful bridge
in the unfolding of the stages of life.
Five is the number of the pentagram. In the figure of the pentagram
we find the symbol of man: the five points equaling the four outstretched limbs
while the upright point designates the head. It is also the symbol of life with the
five points equaling the four elements and the fifth upright as aether or the spirit,
mind ruling the world of matter. The pentagram is cryptically called the endless
knot. It is the endless search for meaning, the questor’s attempts to unravel the
riddle of man posed by this endless knot that we meet in the card of the
Hierophant, with the Hierophant as teacher and helper, even if his ways are
somewhat ambiguous.
Both the Emperor and the Hierophant are teachers. Yet whereas we
would find in the Emperor the bringers of the world religions, the originators of
the teachings, the enlightened power of new and ultimately transformative ideas,
in the Hierophant we find their successors - the disciples, scholars and
interpreters of those ideas to the future. Schools, churches, the established bodies
of tradition for the transmission of knowledge belong under the auspices of the
Hierophant. Situated qabbalistically at the centre of the pillar of tradition the
Hierophant continues and elucidates the teachings begun by the Emperor at the
centre of the pillar of revelation, carrying it forth to a wider arena. High priest,
Celtic bard, shaman, medicine man, head-master or publishing agent, the
Hierophant represents all mediators or communicators of a source of knowledge.
There is a corollary however; for the fifth sefirah is one of outer
emotion, and without continued input from the light of the Emperor or the mercy
of Chesed, the teachings of the pillar of tradition can become an externalised set
of strict rules and dogmas which have lost their anchorage in the immediate
contact of the pillar of revelation. In Qabbalah, whereas the patriarch placed in
Chesed is Abraham, the friend of God, it is Isaac, the dutiful follower of God
who is situated in Gevurah. As Isaac, the judgemental aspect of the self, was
stern and disciplined - occasionally too much so (arousing conflict between his
twin sons), so too is Gevurah a highly powerful yet highly disciplined sefirah,
with the negation of its virtues of energy and courage taken to excess becoming
cruelty, curtailment and destruction. Similarly in the card of the Hierophant we
have too the excesses of unbalanced severity. The fanatical destructiveness
carried out worldwide in the name of religion is a clear example of a message
drowned in the sea of faith.
Becoming empty of meaning, dogmas may outgrow their use, though
frequently not their application. Paradoxically, in terms of Gevurah and the
Hierophant this is not a complete catastrophe. For where tradition becomes
unbalanced and externalised in favour of the strictly dogmatic, those who will
attempt to right the balance become dissatisfied and break away to seek
something corresponding to the inner truths of the pillar of revelation. They
make their way, in other words, towards the sphere of the Emperor, which is
what the Hierophant is pointing to in any case. In keeping with the humour
which sees through tragedy and is part of the inner face of Gevurah, the wily old
man of the Hierophant can permit himself a wry smile that by hook or by crook,
we end up, eventually, just where he wants us. Nevertheless, it is only through
solving his eternal riddles that we are able to understand the answers when we
find them. For, throughout all, strict or benevolent, the Hierophant remains the
eternal teacher whose riddles are the conundrums that beset our daily lives.

The Page of Swords and the Page of Discs

‘Greybeard and boy belong together’ writes Jung. [95] In Tarot we find
situated together with the wise old man of the Hierophant the two youths of the
Page of Discs and Page of Swords. The spiritual factor represented in the
Hierophant is usually symbolised as the wise old man, but can also take the form
of a boy or youth. The youth may be positive, representing conscious spiritual
effort in women or the higher personality in men; negatively, however, he
signifies the infantile shadow, and it is this aspect which has given the Page of
Swords such a bad press.

In the Page of Swords we find the young warrior, the idealist who
dreams of joining the highest circle of chivalrous knights and embodying in
himself only the best of characteristics. Unfortunately, between the ideal and the
long journey through the self to reach the goal of that ideal, lies an arduous
stretch, and the Page of Swords has far to go. It is, nevertheless, a courageous
card of the one who, however often he may fail and fall short of his own vague
ideals, has the energy and perseverance to continue to try; it is the card of the
young questor slowly and courageously coming to terms with himself.
An appropriate figure corresponding to the young Page of Swords is
that of Perceval, whose task it is, vis-à-vis the old Grail king, to solve the riddle
of the grail and discover the meaning of the wound and the bleeding lance. For
Perceval is faced with the problem in himself of evil, and of bringing about the
redemption of the Grail kingdom, whose ruler he thus becomes. In the spiritual
Perceval we find the qualities of the higher man within, inspiring the quest and
the love for the quest; in the naive youth we have the natural man driven initially
solely by instincts, not yet discriminating or able to consider the effect of his
actions on others.
It is of course our old friend Merlin who points out to Perceval the
road leading to the house of the fisher-king. Arriving at a river bank but seeing
no way to cross, Perceval spies a boat on the water with two men aboard, one of
whom is fishing. Perceval asks if there is a bridge and is told no, there is no ferry
or bridge, but the angler invites him to lodge overnight in his house and thus, not
realizing, he enters the home of the fisher-king, the lord of the Grail.
In the castle Perceval is conversing with the aging and wounded king
when a page enters bearing a rare and precious sword, a weapon to overcome
hostile powers ‘that will not break except under perilous circumstances’, the
perilous circumstances being unworthy or treacherous use of it. In some versions
the sword is already broken and Perceval must find the means to make it whole,
in others it is given whole and broken through treachery; in all though, and this
is the relevance to the Page of Swords, the sword has been broken through some
unworthy act which one must come to terms with before the healing process can
begin.
It is, writes Emma Jung, an ‘old and profound realization, that the
growth of consciousness concerning oneself proceeds simultaneously with an
awareness of guilt.’ [96] The growth of self-consciousness and of consciousness of
one’s own deeds brings also the growth of other-consciousness and awareness of
the effect of those actions on others. At the infantile stage, wrestling solely with
his instincts, the Page of Swords is so involved with the dialogue - or duel - with
his instincts and own cravings that he gives no concern to the cost for others. It
is only with the maturity achieved through the pilgrimage through the self that
one begins to realise what one has done - and to seek redemption of guilt.
The Page of Swords can certainly indicate feelings of guilt, usually,
but not always concerning youth, the guilt being either by or toward a young
person. It can, however, also refer to acts done to the adult as a child which have
had an unconscious but long-term influence, casting a dark shadow, and which
though painful, have to be faced if the wounds are ever to heal.
The Page and Five of Swords overlap. Opening the five wounds of
Christ, the Five of Swords indicates the Christian Five as the number of man
after the Fall and the expulsion from paradise, while the Page of Swords is the
wounded healer, the wounded part of the self, the wounded, and wounding child
within.
The sickness of the fisher-king causes stagnation and conflict.
Paramount in relation to the Hierophant, he is no longer able to hold the
opposites together. It is left to Perceval, the young regenerate self, to ask the
redeeming question. This he initially fails to do.
The question raises the problem of the origin of evil, the inflicting of
the wounds on the Grail king by an enemy; the failure to ask the question is the
failure to make the problems conscious. Negatively, the Page of Swords too can
represent the inability to come to terms with something arising from the
unconscious; the failure to shed the chains of aspects of the unconscious which
have at some point exercised a powerful grip. Where this is so, the wounds
remain open, just as young Perceval failed to heal the fisher-king by omitting to
ask the question about the origin of the wounds. Thus he finds himself departing
from an empty castle without having yet solved anything.
Being made aware of his omissions, however, he becomes aware of
his guilt. Gradually coming to terms with the chance he has lost, he resolves to
act in a way worthy of redeeming himself. Perceval is given a second chance.
Under the influence of the Hierophant the Page of Swords too indicates a second
chance, an opportunity to seek reconciliation, both in ourselves and with others.
The Page of Swords indicates that the means of opening the way to dialogue
with the higher self is by asking the questions of ourselves we have been afraid
to ask, and, as with the Five of Swords, in facing up to our weaknesses forging
our own strengths.

From the child’s perpetually repeated ‘why?’ to the adult’s more

deeply inquiring ‘how?’ the Page of Discs signifies the endeavour to understand.
This is the card of the perplexed seeker, wanting to know about the world and
about themselves.
The Page of Discs relates to the Hierophant in his mode of enigmatic
teacher. This Page is first and foremost the student, the scholar of any age. With
this card we find a positive and optimistic endeavour to better oneself through
improving one’s knowledge.
The card may represent a young schoolchild, or an adult seeking
further education either through external institutions or through self-education.
Equally, it may indicate the will to increase one’s knowledge and ability in areas
of particular interest, going deeper into hobbies to be able to express oneself in a
satisfying and creative way.
The Page of Discs is the conscientious student of life, the patient
observer and appreciator of the creatures of the three living kingdoms, including
man. This is a card whispering of the optimistic hope that eventually the
meaning for all will become clear. With sympathetic feminine influences
revealed through the cycles of the circle, this Page shows an appreciative sense
of wonder and a sense of natural affinity to all forms of life. For the Page of
Discs is the disciple of the Hierophant as High Priest of the Empress, of the
feminine mysteries, the bounty of earth’s treasure.
Wanting to unravel the mystery of the enigma of the endless knot
posed by the Hierophant, wanting in other words, to solve the riddle of man, the
pursuit of knowledge can lead this Page to seek high and low, in totally diverse
areas. Like Moses seeking out Khidr ‘as far as the two seas’ - only to be
confounded by further riddles, the search for answers needs dedication and
perseverance. This is an endless quest where the more that is known, the more
one realises there is still to know. There is, of course, the continued help of the
Hierophant. In recognition of progress the Hierophant occasionally provides us
with a key, though omitting to mention where exactly it fits. Only painstaking
trial and error will discover which door the key will open, and which expanded
vista will serve to perplex us next.
Displaying, at best, humility and modesty in the face of what is still
to be learnt, this Page is not afraid of the unknown. The young scientist or
naturalist, with an appreciative approach to the work which inspires him or her
with a love and enthusiasm to understand, would equally be at home here. The
arms of the wise old man are wide and tolerant; theism and atheism are here like
the thesis and the antithesis which the wise old Hierophant will lead to synthesis.
Whatever the choice of study, all disciples of knowledge are embraced equally
under the guardian eye of the Hierophant, who is after all the bridge to
reconciliation. Scientist or mystic, sooner or later all arrive at the same
destination; only the route is different.
The pentagram was said to be the star leading the Magi to the
manger of Christ, the flaming star lighting the way. It is the star of wonder the
young Page’s eyes are held firmly to, the star which inspires the sense of
mission. For this Page follows the road of wisdom. Carrying the disc of light,
she carries her own wholeness within her, but is too young a scholar of the
mysteries to realise this, and still diligently, and at this stage wisely, turns her
face in all directions.

Spiritual aspiration, diligent and conscientious student, hard-working

apprentice, caring yet confused child, the inquisitive and baffled Page of Discs is
the card of youthful enthusiasm, of wanting to know, and wanting to contribute
to the whole, to take part in the drama’s unfolding.
As with all the Pages, the Page of Discs can indicate a gift. Usually,
however, the gift here is either in the form of a small recognition of one’s talents,
a minor but encouraging achievement, or can refer to the latent talents
themselves. This is the gift within which, not yet developed, one is just
becoming aware of, or only just beginning to bring into play. As happened to
young Perceval, this Page can indicate the offering of a greater chance than is
realised, for that which is within one has not yet been brought sufficiently to
light. The missed chance is in some ways itself a gift. For it will act as an
inspiration to show us what or where we want to be, what we want to achieve,
and what we should be applying ourselves to in order to attain our goals at some
further future time. It is again the star lighting the way, even if the goal is still a
long way off.
Balancing the masculine inquisitiveness and discrimination of the
particular, with the feminine intuition and ability to see the whole, the Page of
Discs indicates the possibility of steady development into a well-balanced
individual, able to use both the yin and yang powers within. Yet the road this
Page pursues is labyrinthine, and the caution must be to ensure that both sides
develop equally. If the journey is inward, mystically or creatively, one must be
sure not to lose the foothold in the common sense of the earthly. If the journey is
an exploration of the outer, one must be sure not to lose touch with the inner
roots and the equally vivid life within. Bringing to any spread a glimmer of
hope, a guiding star to lighten the severity of the journey, the optimistic Page of
Discs indicates a patient search for meaning through the complexities of life.

The Fives
Just as Gevurah is a sefirah of severity, so the Fives of the Tarot, in
contrast to the Fours, are all cards of hardships and struggle. This is by no means
all negative however. Five is an important number in many religions. There are
the five daily prayers and five Pillars of Islam (prayer, almsgiving, fasting,
pilgrimage, and recognition of the creed), the devoted enactment of which would
all come under the Tarot Fives, emphasizing that the hardships herein, for
example in fasting and pilgrimage, can indeed be voluntary.
There is the feeding of the five thousand and the five wounds of
Christ, underlining the religious basis of all suffering; the five books of the
Pentateuch (the first five books of the bible regarded as a unity), the five classics
of Confucianism (including the I-Ching) underlining the inspirational flow of
communication across time and space; the five trees of the deathless ones in
paradise: Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Enoch and Elijah, with the focus on looking
ahead to the life to come and emphasizing its inter-relatedness with the deeds on
the tree of life as a whole; and the five faces of sublime, enigmatic Shiva, the
Great Yogi who reconciles asceticism and fertility, creation and destruction, the
forces of life and the forces of release from life. The meanings of the minor
Fives are intricately entwined with that of the Hierophant. At heart all are deeply
spiritual cards, yet often disturbingly challenging.

Picture a battle of spirit over the elements, or of mind over matter,

and we are in the landscape of the Five of Wands. The Five of Wands makes the
most of the higher creative faculties of man, bringing out the best in a difficult
situation - but only if we let it.
As with the Five of Discs, the Five of Wands can indicate material
scarcity. Usually, however, this card indicates hardship on a collective rather
than a personal level: general recession, for instance, which hits us all in
different ways; or a natural disaster like flood which can affect a whole area and
band everybody together to circumvent the worst effects. For as with the
Empress, the Five of Wands indicates not just the general chill of the hardship,
but the warmth created by a sense of camaraderie, of people facing the
difficulties together and finding therein a communal bond which overcomes any
previous differences and unites them in a shared task.
The Five of Wands is a card which emphasizes the importance of
other people, the appreciation and value of family and friends, and the
recognition of oneself as an integral part of the circle of the whole. Our
responsibility to the whole raises family, community, and global commitments.
For, as with the resemblance of Gevurah to Unity, at the level of unity
interlocked in the Tarot Fives the whole earth is mother church and we are all
responsible priests in her service. We are responsible both to the body of earth
which nourishes and to each other as disciples of life.
Qabbalistically the Five of Wands is a card of strife. Strife certainly
forms the background, the stage-setting of the card, although what forms the
foreground is a far more elusive matter, depending very much on ourselves. The
Five of Wands shares something of the slipperiness of the Hierophant. It cannot
be compartmentalised. Indeed, part of its meaning is that nothing seems any
longer to fit into neat categories. We are no longer able to grasp anything firmly,
or take a solid stand by what we believe; for we are no longer quite certain of
what we do believe, or indeed, of where would be the best place to stand.
As with the episode of Moses and Khidr, the Five of Wands
challenges our conceptions, seeming at times almost to mock our judgements.
Over all the Fives the angel of the Judgement card has its strongest basis in the
Five of Wands, being deeply associated with the eventual outcome of what is
initiated with the potential of this card.
The Hierophant is the High Priest of the ‘Ring of Power’, the
knowledge of the circular motion of power which when sent out returns to its
initiator sevenfold. Such power ultimately connects back to the card of Strength
and the fire of the spirit, but is here the gift of Unity given into the hands of
conscious man; a toy, but a dangerous one if misused. It is the gift of freewill.
The wands are the element of fire, but the caution must be only to start a fire
which we are sure of containing, and not one which will turn and consume us
completely. Not, that is, to take on more than we can handle. For what comes out
of the Five of Wands is, good or bad, what we put into it; and what we put into it
becomes what we are - what we are forming ourselves into. That is the being we
must confront in Judgement at the closing of the ring, when that initiated returns
to face the initiator. For the closing of the circle in Judgement is the meeting of
oneself.
There is, with the Five of Wands, a vague shimmer in the distance of
the Hierophant in his role of devil’s advocate. It is certainly a card which can test
our patience to its limit. This card denotes a definite sense of waiting for
something to happen, waiting for the situation to change. As with Moses,
however, it is difficult to see the long-term picture. Patience running out, we may
be tempted into actions which, along with the aim intended, also have many
effects which were not intended.
In all the Fives the constant challenge is to go beyond where we are
now in order to discover more about ourselves. Yet the only really safe place in
the Five of Wands is to stay close to the fire of spirit, holding onto the highest
within us which alone can balance the four elements. Taking up our freewill to
rush impetuously into the ‘waste-land’ can result rapidly in a loss of balance. A
one-sidedness ensues which is made worse by the provocation of the situation to
make quick judgements and reactions on the strength of one’s small pool of
knowledge, which, at this stage, is by no means knowledge of the whole.
Remorse over the unintended results of one’s actions can stimulate a
desire to return to the warmth of the fire of spirit. However, retracing our steps,
like Perceval’s attempts to re-find the grail castle, is by no means simple. The
waste land becomes here a desolate search for meaning, a striving for
understanding. Whether theist or atheist, trying to understand the calamities of a
collective tragedy such as civil war automatically takes us into the sphere of
religion even if we don’t see it as such initially; issues of just and unjust acts, the
best and worst in men, how this can be reconciled to the idea of a just God or of
life as something worthwhile. All such questions are part of the Five of Wands
and the strife taking place within oneself, the struggle to come to terms with the
whys and wherefores, where the elusive Hierophant is itself the meaning always
slipping out of grasp.
Questions of faith may certainly be challenged by this card. Yet
spiritual awareness can also be strengthened, if we are prepared patiently to bide
our time, waiting for the invite to go through the doors the Hierophant will open
for us. Here one will find inner resources which frequently lie unused, yet are
easily available. Strengths which one didn’t realise one had are suddenly brought
to the fore without conscious effort; and the key to our inner temple is entrusted
into our hands as a measure of the trust we have achieved.
 At its most positive the Five of Wands is a card of communication
and subtle influence. Receptive to knowledge from within and imparting it to
like-minded others, this card indicates a natural channel between the inner and
outer man, a bridge across which intuitive ideas can rise to the surface and in
turn form a link with a body of tradition spanning across space and time.
Reaching others in different countries, sometimes affecting, or being affected by
people we will never meet except in the sphere of mind, or even responding to
those who are long since deceased but whose spirit lives on in the work they
continued, all are tributaries of the unbroken channel of communication of the
Five of Wands.
In the setting of the Five of Wands communicator, communication
and recipient of the message may seem to be calling to one another across a
waste-land. Yet, for the small band of travellers wandering that way, the echo of
words can have a subtle and warming influence, encouraging them to bear with
the journey in order that understanding may come in time. With the Five of
Wands patience and perseverance do pay off, though the end result may indeed
take one by surprise, raising a bemused and irrepressible chuckle at the sense of
the absurd.

As the Five of the element of water, the Five of Cups relates to the
Hierophant as the realm of the living waters of the fish, the waters of
transformation. It is the face of the Hierophant turned towards the Emperor and
reflecting the inner light of Chesed, mercy within severity. For although as with
all the Fives, the Five of Cups is not an easy card, there is with this the
warmness of the ‘somebody up there likes me’ feeling, of being guided and
eased through the difficulties, until guidance is no longer felt to be needed.
Water is the element corresponding to the emotions, and this card
denotes an emotional maturing attained through accepting the experience of
sorrow and loss. Emerging from the unconscious, ‘instinctual impulses,
consisting either of biological urges or of convictions and emotions...can either
oppress or else “nourish” and enrich consciousness’ writes Emma Jung. [97]
Similarly, that arising from within through the waters of the Five of Cups can
enrich or oppress, depending on our own attitude towards it.
As the Hierophant serves the Empress, so the number five is also the
number of Venus. In the card of the Empress we met Venus as the love goddess
who, as in the case of Psyche, was capable of imposing suffering in the cause of
love. Fittingly, the source of the waters of this card is the ocean of love.
Qabbalistically the Five of Cups denotes loss in pleasure. Yet this
sense comes about because one has grown beyond ones present situation; games
enjoyed by the three year old soon become boring to the five year old who no
longer has anything to learn through them. Similarly with the Five of Cups, as
with the early stages of the Four, what was no longer gives pleasure because one
has gained all one can from it in its present form. Relationships too outgrow
their form and need to be transformed from time to time if they are positively to
continue.
The Five of Cups is a card of gradual maturing, of growth through
coming to terms with one’s experiences, of slowly coming to oneself. Yet it is a
card of relinquishing; for maturing denotes a relinquishing of the previous stage
in order to move on: letting go to grow. Partings can be denoted here, although,
unless there is a decisive influence from other cards, usually not endings. What
has been relinquished will return when ready (this is after all the cyclic number
five), but whatever returns will do so in a more mature form.
There is a strong maternal and protective element in this card, which
often goes beyond the individual per se; nor need it be expressed only through
women. It has roots with the caring maternal element in all of us, a watchful
guardianship displaying concern for all. It is love shown for each other by
helping each other in the collective search - which often means leaving one free
to go one’s own way; working together collectively to bring humane and
spiritual values into the world, and helping each through periods of turmoil and
distress.
Love involves first here the individual but evolves from that to an
empathy for all and to the highest agape love. Again the root here is mother
church in which all are one and one must ‘love thy neighbour as thyself.’ [98]
To embrace the world as thy neighbour is to embrace also the
sufferings in the world, to take pains for others, to patiently bear with, or
voluntarily undertake, a difficult task. Relevant to the Hierophant and all the
Fives, but especially to the Five of Cups, is the story of the five loaves and two
fishes which are blessed and broken and shared out to serve the needs of the five
thousand, and which have increased to fill twelve baskets when the hunger of all
has been nourished. From lack to abundance by the blessing and breaking of the
bread, this is the foundation of the Five of Cups in the service of the Hierophant,
the revealer of the mysteries.
Mirroring, on its own scale, the microcosm of the Hierophant, the
Five of Cups shows the union of the first five sefirot. With its feminine basis in
water, the five cups link the Hierophant through the refraction of light in the
Emperor, back to the Empress and thus to the High Priestess as the Holy Spirit
Sophia. For the Hierophant as High Priest is the counterpart of the High
Priestess. Sophia is the face of the Holy Spirit which moved upon the waters,
and the Hierophant is as the face of the spirit reflected. That is, the Hierophant is
the face of the spirit within the living waters, the face which, as creatures of the
living waters, is most accessible to us.
The fifth remaining cup, counting back up the tree, is that shared by
the Magician and Strength in Kether. As Gevurah resembles unity, so we are led
back through the High Priestess to the source of all living waters. In the
opposing direction, the next stop from the Five is into the sixth sefirah, where in
Tarot the Magician and Strength again come into play, united by the Hierophant
as priest of the sacred marriage. In this it is the all-serving love of the Five of
Cups which lays down the bridge linking the Hierophant with the Lovers, and
with the voluntary sacrifice of the Hanged Man.
Ultimately, the fish of the waters of the Five of Cups is as the fish of
Manu. The Five of Cups indicates voluntarily undertaking something which will
be regarded by many, including oneself in exasperated moments, as a burden.
This is something which needs dedicated effort, makes considerable demands on
one’s time and resources, raises at exhausted moments questions of ‘why am I
doing this?’ but ultimately is a labour of love, done for and through love.
Mundanely this may be simply helping someone through a difficult patch, or it
may be some arduous work one has devoted one’s life to (for meagre, if any,
financial accruement). With no gain foreseen accept in the immediate
satisfaction of giving, there is no ulterior motive beyond, simply, love.
Yet, though not aware of it, inwardly gains do accrue. As the angel of
Judgement over this card is a guardian angel, carefully allowing us room to
grow, so we are the guardian angel to that tiny figure growing inside oneself.
Fish, life-force or angel, designate it how you will, but that inner light of
increasing conscious awareness uniting water and spirit, is the fish of Manu that
will save one, but only if you nurture it to maturity, care for its needs, and allow
it room to grow. If kept stifled however, what else will have the strength to lead
us through the darkness of the waters to the mountains of peace of the Six of
Cups? If we do not build our own ark, what other vessel will serve us on the
journey from shore to shore?
The mountains of peace of the Six of Cups are prefigured in the Five
with moments of deep peace interspersed with the moments of hectic activity
and of weariness. It is a card which repays meditation as a means of remaining in
touch with one’s inner self, and not losing touch throughout the turbulent plunge
into emotion which is always a feature of the element of water. Like Nereus, the
shape changing old man of the sea, [§§§] to whom Heracles went seeking
knowledge, the Five of Cups asks for patience and perseverance in the face of
experience and emotion which is impossible to hold in a firm grasp. This card
denotes issues to be pondered over where one is never quite sure what to do for
the best. This may involve open discussions between people in order for mutual
agreement to be reached. Yet patience to let things take shape in their own time,
to do without doing, allowing matters to take their own course yet being ready to
serve where one can is very much the spirit of the Five of Cups. Only when one
has held true to oneself through all the changing forms the face of truth may
take, is the effort requited. Then the passport to guided access through the three
worlds is ours for the asking.

Just as there is nothing evil about the sefirah of Gevurah, though

because of its destructive aspect it has sometimes been described as such, so
there is nothing evil about the Five of Swords, although, like the Page of
Swords, it does often get a very bad press, and can indeed be a formidable card.
There is, in fact, much overlap between the Page of Swords and the
Five of Swords, the perilous path in both being a road of challenge and severity
to the formation of a greater self. The Five of Swords could legitimately be seen
as the image of the waste-land the seeking Page must travel through: a land
desolate and bleak, a land of spiritual emptiness, of paths which lead to dead-
ends where one must repeatedly retrace one’s steps, going back in order to
eventually go forward; a land where moral values seem to have crumbled, where
all seem to be out for themselves and where threat is the shadow dogging every
step. Certainly this is all a part of the Five of Swords, but it is by no means the
whole story.
The core of the Five of Swords is confrontation and fear. In keeping
with the complexities of the Hierophant, the Five of Swords relates to the
challenges constructed by the Hierophant card in a very subtle way. Where the
Hierophant ties together past and future through anticipation of future events, the
Five of Swords does not so much anticipate what will happen as dread what
might happen. ‘They threatened to hurt me...’ or ‘I was afraid of what he’d do
if...’ Certainly this is not pleasant; yet equally in keeping with the teaching
aspect of the Hierophant, the threat is only as strong as we let it become. If we
are prepared to stop in our tracks and turn round to face it head-on we will
usually find it will crumble. Growing strong on our weakness, where we are
strong the threat fades to nothingness on a diet of hot air - which is the element
of the sword suit after all.
The Hierophant is the mediator between formative and destructive
forces, and the threat indicated by the Five of Swords can also be a means of
finding our inner formative strengths, inner strength being too an aspect of
Gevurah. Yet our strengths can only be found by confronting the situation which
has aroused fear in us, and thereby escape entanglement in the game of cat and
mouse.
The fear inveigling the Five of Swords applies equally to culprit and
victim. Just as, at the heart of every school-bully is a frightened little boy or girl,
equally in the threatening adult, if somewhat better disguised (most importantly,
to themselves), is a person afraid of confronting their own fears. Running from
themselves, what they require is someone to fall into their game of cat and
mouse, and ultimately to continue the cycle; on the one hand to be afraid of
them; and on the other to become in time a threat to someone else - thus
vindicating their mode of being by behaving no better than them. Hence also the
‘come and join my gang’ - the seeking of support and security, trying to involve
as many people as possible almost as a bulwark against the voice of conscience
which the inner-self knows must eventually be faced - if not know, then in the
card of Judgement. The waste land is a land guttered by contagion of despair and
only by confronting the threat head-on can we avoid falling into the trap of
victor and victim, playing first one role and then another. The poison-pen letter
that unnerves when we receive it and which we obediently and quickly pass on,
only needs someone not afraid to tear it up and the chain is broken.

I was angry with my friend;

I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe;
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears,

Night and morning with my tears...

Thus begins Blake’s description of the growth of ‘The Poison Tree’,

an apt lesson for the meaning of the Five of Swords. For the Five of Swords is in
fact an extremely just card, belonging very much to the aspect of the Hierophant
forming a bridge between Justice and Judgement. Whatever may seem to be a
threat will in fact be rendered harmless by continued self-awareness, the spiritual
warrior constantly alert to the danger emanating from himself.
Shining light in one’s own dark areas to prevent or halt destructive -
or poisonous growth gives nothing for the negative aspects of the Five of Swords
to latch onto. The blackmailer only has power if you give him something to be
blackmailed over, and even then it is pointless to conceal the dark areas through
shame. If they exist, it is far healthier to one’s spiritual welfare to annihilate the
petrifying hold by bringing the ‘guilty secret’ into the open oneself, thus
beginning the process of self-cleansing and spiritual redemption, and allowing
one once again to move forward. Simply put, if there is something on one’s
conscience, come clean by bringing it out into the open so that any further
distress will at least be positive distress - healing the wound rather than letting it
fester. In situations where one’s conscience is clear, then with this card there is
nothing to worry about.
As the Hierophant foresees and tries to obviate in advance the chains
of Justice, so the Five of Swords is actually a protective card, offering a chance
of ‘redemption’ before the situation goes too deep. The decay and destruction of
Gevurah apply here but for one’s own good, the gripping and holding fast onto a
negative aspect in order to bring about positive destruction and decay: the
destruction of that which is blocking our spiritual path. ‘When you commit
wrong, He sends chastisement, to the end that you may go back from
imperfection towards perfection’ writes Rumi. [99]
As guardian of the inner light, the five swords are the weapons which
preserve those truths which the hands of ignorance, feeling threatened by what
they did not understand, would destroy. Like the Hierophant, the Five of Swords
is a bridge, a transitional phase which can be safely crossed to the other side. It is
only where one becomes afraid to cross the bridge and falls instead into the sea
of the unconscious unprepared, that the card becomes a forecast of danger - a
warning of the walls of the self-made prisons of fear.
Just as the ‘malefic’ planet Mars which pertains to Gevurah is said to
symbolise great struggle resulting in great revelation, so, for anyone prepared to
confront their inner problems, the Five of Swords is a very positive and
encouraging influence, offering a passport to the grail castle and the grail cup, to
plateaus of inner peace where one can bask for a time in the inner light. The
result then is not destruction but deliverance, the rediscovery and reaffirmation
of spiritual values, knowing again where one is going, the path well illumined by
inner knowledge of the self.
Finally, on a lighter note, Gevurah and the Hierophant share a sense
of humour, and the Five of Swords can indeed occasion a wry smile. The ability
to joke about and laugh at one’s fears is a good medicine. Similarly the
destruction of structures can also be an aspect of readjustment and a cause for
relief, the scales falling from our eyes giving a clear view of our own
weaknesses and faults as well as those of others. This can mean the crumbling of
the ‘perfect romance’ when we see the other no longer through rose-tinted
glasses; it can equally be the strengthening of a relationship as we accept the
other for all that they are, ‘warts and all’. Thus we become more balanced in our
expectations and more truthful with each other, with laughter in the relief of not
having to live the lie of pretending to be what we are not or having to live up to
expectations we could never fill. Again the ‘bringing things out into the open’
can mean deliverance and not destruction, clearing a way for a much healthier,
and more meaningful mode of living.

The Five of Discs is a deeply religious card, relating to the

Hierophant as the wise old man of the spiritual mysteries, the opener of doors to
the higher self. Yet like the other Fives, this Five too is a card of hardship,
although usually never as bad as we anticipate it might be.
Qabbalistically the Five of Discs is the card of earthly troubles, and
certainly the hardships that are imposed with this card do usually take the form
of definite material lack in the outer world. Loss of money, poverty in its various
faces, material hardship, difficult working conditions, homelessness, all could
huddle under the blanket of this Five. Yet such difficulties are not, as they may
seem on the surface, indiscriminate and unjust; they are in fact to help us,
keeping our sights not on the short-term but on the long-term.
As a number which continuously returns back on itself when self-
multiplied, and which always produces the half or the whole - the 5 or the 0
when multiplied by any other number, the number five, like the circle, is a
number of wholeness and return, designating the five stages from birth to rebirth.
The Five of Discs with its five separate rings of man united under the one roof
indicates the five stages almost completed in one phase of life; something which
came into being some time before has passed through its various potentials,
including the breakdown of decay and is preparing for the fifth stage of rebirth.

With the hardships of the Five of Discs we are usually still in the transition
stage between the break down and the rebirth, but without the breakdown or
decay of the present situation, there could be no rebirth into the higher self.
Though not as strong as in the Five of Wands, at this stage too the influence of
the angel of Judgement can be felt, as designating what has been achieved and
what form the next road will take. Yet ultimately which road is offered by
Judgement as the next stage of the journey depends greatly on how we accept the
lessons of the Fives.
As the Hierophant indicates the question between the seeker and the
answer, so with the Five of Discs it is always relevant to ask: ‘Why did I choose
this? What can I learn from it? Why did something within me deem this
necessary at this point in time?’ For whatever the situation, whatever form the
hardship may take, however difficult it may seem, with the card of the Five of
Discs the challenge is never actually imposed on us. Always there is an inner
voice, the voice of the transcendent self which has requested it for oneself as a
valid aid to spiritual progress. Asking the question and, through meditation and
journeying inward, seeking the answer which that same inner voice (the voice of
the Hierophant) is trying to reveal, will usually ameliorate the need for continued
hardship and certainly will alter the way one looks at the situation.
Yet one may not have to seek so far. The Five of Discs can indeed be
a card of voluntary poverty and renunciation of material ties. The figure of
Merlin discussed under the Hierophant spent his latter years in the forest in a
state of voluntary poverty, living his life wholly in surrender to God. Finding,
through his complete devotion, the knowledge and mystery of the divine within,
Merlin becomes synonymous with wisdom. Finally, encircled by spiritual
disciples, he returns to the inner silence. The circle of return indicates a concern
with what is to come, with what one is going back to. It indicates a concern with
the overall prospect of the tree of life, particularly the divine wisdom of the
leaves whose branches are only just beginning to grow: a concern with life to
come.
The surrender of the Five of Discs can be a voluntary relinquishing
of material objects, a voluntary relinquishing of the demands of the ego, a
voluntary relinquishing of dreams or plans. This is replaced with a devotion to
the truth of the Holy Ghost within, the fulfillment of the needs of the eternal
being. Like the Indian Sannyasi who gives up family and house in his latter
years to go into the forest to refind himself, the self which will survive after
death, so the Five of Discs is a card of rebirth or regeneration of the knowledge
of the eternal self, and an altering of life in service of its needs. One need not go
into the forest, but a re-appraisal of how one lives and how one wants to live is
called for here; a reassessment of one’s values in life.
Meditation, yoga, tai-chi, breathing techniques and methods of
relaxation to reach stillness are all means of redressing the balance in ourselves,
and finding the calm stillness within from which we can put our problems in
perspective. Aiming for the power of mind over matter indicated by the upright
pentagram of the Hierophant, the Five of Discs indicates the source of hidden
wisdom, the wise old man within who watches over us with kindly benevolence
and who would not face us with a test if we did not also have the ability to see it
through.
Yet we will need to find our inner strengths to do so, and thereby,
simultaneously, bring about the rebirth of the outer-self as the old layers are
discarded and that which is within is brought into play.
The Five of Discs indicates a purging and cleansing, emptying the
self of false attachments, such as attachment to money, position or status. The
breaking down of what seemed permanent, or the crumbling of our securities, is
a means of reminding us of what is transient and what is truly important. Putting
us in touch with the needs of our true selves, making sure we get our priorities
right, the purpose of this Five is to reveal the flimsiness of foundations resting
on the temporal, and the permanence of the foundations of the spiritual or
eternal. It is the means of becoming, as Peter, a rock onto our selves which is the
aim of the Five of Discs, under the watchful star of the transcendent self, the
Hierophant within.
 Chapter Six: The Lovers and the Hanged Man in
Tiferet
With an arrow of love, oh my bride, hast thou wounded my heart.
Which is why, out of love for thee, I am fastened to the wood of the
cross.
(Fourteenth Century Hymn.)

The bird of Vision is flying towards you on the wings of desire.

(Rumi. Mystical Odes 833.)

Tiferet is unique among the sefirah in having attributed to it two

different, but ultimately intertwined, spiritual experiences: the vision of the
harmony of things and the mysteries of the crucifixion. The two major Tarot: the
Lovers and the Hanged Man, which have their basis in the respective spiritual
experiences of Tiferet are themselves so closely intertwined that it is extremely
difficult to distinguish the domain specific to each without intruding on the other.
United, the Lovers and the Hanged Man signify the central and most
important of archetypes - the Self. The Self is the ruler of the inner-world: both
hero and god man. Throughout mythology the central pillar, or the world tree at
the centre of the universe, is the sphere where divinity and humanity embrace.
The tree is symbolised in Tiferet by the cross. It is in Tiferet that we
find the cross as the expression of the path of wholeness: the horizontal and
vertical poles as the united juxtaposition of love and sacrifice, equating in Tarot
jointly with the cards of the Lovers and the Hanged Man.
For Tiferet is the sefirah of wholeness, and of the Self. Placed mid-
point of the central pillar of equilibrium Tiferet is the sefirah central to and
equilibrizing all others. It is in Tiferet that all roads meet.
This meeting of the roads is frequently visually symbolized in the
card of the Lovers. Here we are shown a youth standing where two or three
roads intersect - at the meeting, or parting of the ways.
Where the roads cross and enter into one another is the placement of
the union of opposites. For the Self as symbol of wholeness is where the
opposites are reconciled. Thus we have the significance of the Lovers as a card
of complex meaning: it is both parting and reconciliation; companionship and
loneliness; the healing of divisions and the healing wound of solitude.
One of the mundane meanings of the Lovers card is parting with and
saying farewell to something very dear. Simultaneously this entails moving
forward for inner growth. Whether the exploration be internal and solitary, or
external and accompanied, a psychological birth is undergone, which is often
emotionally painful.
Yet the submission is to the path chosen by the higher self. The Lovers is a
card of free choice, as Eve chose to taste of the apple. Paradoxically, from the
limited view of the ego, our decisions may often seem circumscribed by the
vagaries of fate. For here the path desired is chosen by the inner Sophia, often
before we even begin the present life-cycle. In the Lovers card the soul herself
chooses the road of descent into the experience necessary for her development
towards wholeness; which is to say she voluntarily chooses to hang on the tree of
life: the fate of the Hanged Man.
In days past hangings took place at a crossroads - ostensibly to
confuse the spirit who wouldn’t know the way back. Yet crossroads have long
been a place for sacrifice and religious rite. It is a place where the positive and
negative are equalibrized in the neutral, a place of transition and of flux. At a
more profound level the crossroads are also a symbol of the mother. Thus death
at the crossroads is a return to the womb for rebirth into and through the
sorrowful transitions of life.
Like the crossroads, the tree too denotes the ‘mother’, or life-force. It
is, as both womb and coffin, both the symbol of union and of separation, thereby
reinforcing the shared myth of the Lovers and the Hanged Man.
The magical images of Tiferet are the child, the king and the
sacrificed god. Tiferet is the light of the higher consciousness. Thus it is that we
find here the light-bringers, the bearers of fire from heaven, the saviours and
redeemers who undergo the sacrificial death for mankind. For together the
Lovers and the Hanged Man are the unfolding of the meaning of the Emperor. It
is in the Emperor that we first encounter the role of the sun-child who is both
light-bearer and sacrificed god. Here the role has evolved and consolidated into
its central place in the myth: the unfolding of the quaternity of the Emperor to
reveal two opposing triads.
‘One could say,’ writes Jung, ‘that if the wholeness symbolized by
the quaternity is divided into equal halves, it produces two opposing triads.’ [100]
As the six-pointed star of Solomon, formed of two triangles and signifying
perfect balance, belongs here in Qabbalah, so it is two such opposing triads,
together forming the quaternity of wholeness that we find in these two Tarot
majors. In the Lovers, on either side of the youth is a woman. Together the trio
form the trinity of the three pillars: the tree of life in microcosm. The same
arrangement is repeated in the card of the Hanged Man with the two females
replaced by the two trunks - from the shared branches of which hangs the central
figure - suspended between the tree of knowledge and the tree of life.
It is under the branches of the tree of life that we find the inspiration
of the Lovers card. As Tiferet is the ‘child’ of Kether, so in the card of the
Lovers we meet Eros, the child of Hermes and Aphrodite. Eros is the life-
impulse, and god of relatedness. For Plato Eros designated ‘the desire and
pursuit of the whole.’
As Tiferet mediates the flow of force between Kether and Malkuth,
and unites in itself the sefirot of the two opposing pillars, so, marrying the
opposites and creating harmony out of chaos, it is Eros who brings together
heaven and earth by means of love.
For Eros is Love. Shown in most packs as a winged angel or cupid aiming his
arrow at the central figure, it is Love which releases the motivating arrow of
desire and inspiration which will determine the path chosen, and it is Love which
hangs on the tree of life in order to open the way to the kingdom of Malkuth.
In Qabbalah, Tiferet is the king or bridegroom and Malkuth, the
kingdom, is the queen or bride. Thus the sacred marriage is between the child of
Kether and the inferior mother, or between the upper and lower faces of the tree.
In the Lovers card the bridegroom is shown between the two
mothers, the superior and the inferior. For the inferior bride is said to be a
reflection of the supernal, as Microprosopus (the son) is said to be a reflection of
Macroprosopus (the Father).
United the trio reveal again the intimacy between Binah, the great
mother or tree of life itself, the son-redeemer who hangs on her cross of matter
and the queen or kingdom, to reach whom the voluntary sacrifice takes place. As
we read in the Book of Concealed Mystery:

On either side hath Microprosopus a connecting link, for he

superinvesteth the mother from the supernal part, so that he may receive
her into himself as his soul; and he also again is covered by his bride from
the inferior part, so that he in his turn may himself become her sou l. [101]

Within this trinity, the supernal mother is the soul of Tiferet, while Tiferet in
turn is the soul of Malkuth. Or in the terms of the psychological path to
wholeness, the cosmic Great Mother who in herself is tantamount to the
suffering world cross, is herself the soul of the redeemer, who in turn is the soul
of that to be redeemed. This in Tarot is reinforced by the numbers of the cards:
the 3 of the Empress equating as the conjunction of the 1 and 2 of the Hanged
Man. While together the 3, 1 & 2 create the 6 of the Lovers. The 6 is formed
again subsequently from Temperance and the Wheel together in Malkuth
(10+1+4=15=6), the mother and her child - the creation, together in
manifestation.
Placed midway between Gevurah and Chesed, Tiferet is the
culminating sefirah of the soul triad formed of these three. Above this, invisible
until we encounter Daath, is the concealed soul triad of Gevurah, Chesed and
Daath itself as the higher face of Tiferet. For Daath is the beautiful path when it
is concealed within the mother, while Tiferet is the beautiful path when it has
come forth from the mother. Again we have the quaternity of two triads, the
outer soul and the inner soul as the reflection of each other.

This hidden relationship between the upper and the lower face of the
soul triads is paralleled in Tarot. The combined total of the seven major Tarot
placed in Daath is 126, -equivalent to the united numbers of the adjacent Hanged
Man and Lovers placed below. Furthermore, between two of these cards - the
Hanged Man and the World, the one belonging in Tiferet and the other at the
apex of the invisible sefirah of Daath, there exists a very special relationship.
‘The number twelve danceth on high’ we are told cryptically in the
Acts of John. [102] And here in Tarot, dancing on high where the right is made left
is the Hanged Man reversed: Tarot card 21, the World.
For, in accordance with the Hermetic maxim: ‘as above, so below,’
the Hanged Man as the below is the reflection of the World figure above. It is
because he is the reflection that he hangs upside down, for as a reflection the
Hanged Man is simply the World card in reverse. Thus the 21 of the World card
becomes, when reversed, the 12 of the Hanged Man.
In Christian tradition Peter, the first pope, beseeched his executioners
to crucify him ‘head downwards and not otherwise.’ The explanation given for
such a request treads very much on Tarot territory.
The first man, we are told, fell head downwards:
 ‘ and showed forth a manner of birth such as was not heretofore: for it
was dead, having no motion. He, then, being pulled down - who also cast
his first state down upon the earth - established this whole disposition of
things, being hanged up an image of creation wherein he made the things
of the right hand into left hand and the left hand into right
hand,...Concerning which the Lord saith in a mystery: Unless ye make the
things of the right hand as those of the left, and those of the left as those of
the right, and those that are above as those below,...ye shall not have
knowledge of the kingdo m.’ [103]

This knowledge, Peter says, was revealed to him by the tree of life.
Correspondingly, the celestial tree in disparate myth has, like the tree of
Christianity or of Qabbalah, its roots in the above and its unfolding in the below.
To see the tree upright, therefore, one needs oneself to be reversed.
It is this same problem of opposites and reversal of point of view that
is witnessed in the Hanged Man. Here our preconceptions are stood totally on
their head. Suspended between heaven and earth, his world turned upside down,
the Hanged Man is subjected to a complete alteration of perspective, leading first
to a change of heart, and then to an expansion of consciousness.
In old Italian packs the Hanged Man is known as Il Traditore: the
traitor. In Renaissance Italy and, it has been asserted, yet further back in the
ancient Italian country of Etruria, the living traitor who changed his allegiance
was depicted as hanged by the heel.
His worldly outlook had changed, he was able to accept the opposite point of
view. At the time of the inquisition in the Middle Ages, religious heretics who
rejected the officially sanctioned beliefs of the established Church risked the
danger of being hung upside down over flames, much in the manner shown in
the card of the Hanged Man. For, holding firm to his own beliefs despite the
danger of persecution, the Hanged Man has discovered and remained true to his
own individual path to enlightenment.
Another ‘traitor’ brought to mind by this card is Judas. Judas was
able to complete the tapestry of destiny by a change of loyalty, and, like Jesus,
Judas too hung on the tree of death. Indeed, in some later Tarot packs the figure
of the Hanged Man is actually shown with the upturned bags of silver spilling
their contents to the ground. Though termed ‘traitor’, the treachery of Judas was
nevertheless necessary to the completion of Jesus’ sacrifice; - together they form
the two halves of sacrificer and sacrificed, as did Set and Osiris before them.
Thus the ramifications of Judas turns the acceptance of traditional views on their
head and opens the door to a far wider perspective.
The transformative experience of the Hanged Man is thus to enable
us to see things from a different perspective. He hangs alive for his meaning is
not to depart the world, but while still living to transform our view of it, learning
to recognise this highway through the path of beauty, and to regain awareness of
the innermost soul where all is not what it seems. Like Odin, the Hanged Man
undergoes his ordeal for the sake of gaining wisdom. This is an offering of self
to self.
One of the names given to Odin was Yggr, while the name of the
world tree in Scandinavian mythology is Yggdrasil, which has been interpreted
to mean the ‘horse of Yggr.’ As the gallows were described as the horse on
which the hanged man rode, it would seem that Odin was perceived as riding on
the world tree. Thus it was on the world tree that the ‘lord of the gallows,’ who
was also called ‘the hanged one,’ hung in a sacrificial rite, offering himself to
himself:

I ween that I hung on the windy tree,

Hung there for nights full nine;
With the spear I was wounded, and offered I was
To Odin, myself to myself.
(Poetic Edda)

After nine (1+2+6) nights of struggle, self with self, Odin perceived
the sought for runes of knowledge, and thereby released himself. For Odin’s
wisdom-gaining sacrifice is voluntarily chosen as a means of self-
transformation, to transfer the centre of consciousness from the lower to the
higher self.
This same transformation of the seat of consciousness is unfolded in
the story of Jacob. In qabbalistic terms the combined symbolism of these two
Tarot majors is illustrative of the road of Jacob’s transformation. For Jacob is the
patriarch of Tiferet. He assumes the central position both in Tiferet and in the
card of the Lovers, with his two wives, Leah and Rachel, on either side. In
qabbalistic teaching Leah and Rachel are said to represent the two side columns.
It was Jacob who saw the vision of the ladder stretching between heaven and
earth at the place called Beth el - House of God, hence his place centrally on the
ladder of lights between Kether and Malkuth, heaven and earth, or again where
divinity and humanity embrace.
If the Lover’s card delineates Jacob’s position as the central pillar
between his two wives, his attainment of that central position is the theme of the
Hanged Man. For Jacob attained his central position through encountering and
wrestling with the dark angel at the ford of Jabok. The ensuing change of name
from Jacob to ‘Israel’, signifying ‘ he who wrestles with God’ indicates the
nature of the transformative experience he undergoes. Rising from the
psychological to the spiritual, Jacob transforms himself from the lower into the
upper face through his struggles with the power here encountered. Thus Jacob,
the patriarch of Tiferet, endures the struggle symbolised in the card of the
Hanged Man, and survives to become the father of the twelve tribes, or twelve
types of humanity.
In Qabbalah the twelve tribes or twelve sons of Jacob signify the
twelve fruits of the tree of life. ‘The Tree of Life which bare twelve manner of
fruits...and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of nations.’ [104] As the tree
reaches from sapling to maturity the healing leaves form and fall again and again
in the recurring cycles of being. For the tree of life is simultaneously the tree of
destiny.
Crowning the tree of life are the twelve astrological signs of the
zodiac which encompass the twelve types of humanity, each in turn receiving the
sun’s blessing until the duodecad, the cycle of twelve is completed.
Forming in his own configuration in relation to the overhead branch
the T cross of time and of phenomena, the Hanged Man, the twelfth card, hangs
on the tree of time for the period of human destiny, the length of the soul’s
growth towards individuation, the length of the period of exile endured by the
Shekinah. All in all the full period of the Shekinah’s exile is signified by twelve
hours, during the course of which the sun rises to its zenith and then descends
voluntarily towards its evening as the life course, the cycle through the twelve
faces of humanity, is fulfilled.
The archangel of Tiferet is Raphael, the spirit of healing. Raphael is
the angel ‘which standeth in the sun’ while Tiferet is called shemesh, the sphere
of the sun. Six, as well as being the number of the Love card is also the number
attributed to the sun. In Tarot Love, as Eros, is frequently shown flying down
from the sun to bring the life-force or rays of the sun to mankind.
However, as well as being beneficent, the rays of the sun can also be
both harmful and destructive. In the cards of the Lovers and the Hanged Man we
find the unfolding of the confrontation of the Strength card. For bringing forth
the creative sun energy, the divine spark from within, is tantamount to bringing
fire from heaven. This, as shown by the fate of Prometheus, is a dangerous
undertaking. Hung on a rock and exposed to the sun, Prometheus was released
by the sun-hero Heracles only after long recurring cycles of suffering. In this
central position of the sacrifice and redeemer in Tiferet we find the mythic
equation of the sun hero wrestling with and sacrificing himself in order to
rejuvenate himself.
In Mithraism, Mithras renounces his own instinctive desires, and
conquers and sacrifices (in the form of a bull) his animal instinctuality in order
to realize in himself the strength of the sun. Similarly, Odin, to release himself
from himself must confront and wrestle with the animal nature of his own divine
libido as represented by the tree or ‘horse of Yggr’.
In relation to Odin the horse symbolises the life-death force, the
dynamic energy of the tree. Yet the horse is also a sun symbol and thus signifies
the dynamic power of the libido which brings forth both the creative and the
destructive, the good and bad. Hence the ambiguity and danger of the situation;
for the Self as archetype of wholeness contains the totality of both light and
dark. To succumb unreservedly to either results in imbalance and thence division
and destruction.
In Scandinavian myth the lord of the gallows and the lord of love are
one and the same. Odin presides over the world of Eros from the highest ecstasy
to the dark compulsiveness of the instincts. For Eros is an ambivalent figure
whose range extends from the ‘endless spaces of the heavens to the dark abysses
of hell.’ [105] He is both the experience of divinity and the demonic enemy.
Conniving at the marriage of heaven and hell and the birth of harmony from
chaos, he brings the opposites into confrontation with the aim that conflict will
show the way to reunion, and reunion to creative wholeness.
The duel between chaos and creation lasts, according to Sumero-
semitic myth, precisely twelve days. The sum of twelve days was echoed in
Rome with the celebration of the Saturnalia at the winter solstice. The Saturnalia
invoke the confusion of the crossroads: the established order was temporarily
overturned, slaves became masters and masters slaves, the dead returned, and
chaos reigned. Yet the twelve days of chaos (like the twelve hours of exile)
culminated in the birth of the divine child - born on the stroke of the completed
twelve.
Twelve in Tarot represents the completion of a cycle, the conjunction
of sun and moon, the marriage of the Magician and Strength, 1 and 11. It
contains within itself the mother giving birth to the child, the Empress and the
Emperor of the four quarters, and the union of spirit and body, 3x4 and 4x3.
Here we find the totality of the self, the opposites united in creative tension, the
cross of wholeness. At the centre of the cross the antagonism of opposing forces
is resolved in a creative equilibrium. From this central focal point of energy
simultaneous expansion is possible in all directions, maintaining the harmony of
the balance. The Buch Bahir tells us: ‘ The Blessed Holy One has a single Tree,
and it has twelve diagonal boundaries ... They continually spread forever and
ever. They are the “arms of the world .”’ [106]
If, however, instead of being united the opposites are divided against
themselves, the balance is lost, and the opposites fall into extremes of
antagonism and destruction instead of cooperation and creation.
The united 12, divided against itself, becomes sun and shadow: 6 + 6.
Together with the 6 of the Love card this gives us, not 126 - the wholeness of the
Tarot majors in Daath, the sleeping child, but rather 666 – the number of man,
the beast, and in Qabbalah the number of Sorath, the solar demon - solar energy
in its negative manifestation. Here man has not mastered the animal nature of the
divine libido but has been mastered by it. He does not ride the shadow, the
shadow rides him.
In the embrace of the Lovers and the Hanged Man the opposites are
united to bring forth the creative libido of our own soul, the fire from heaven.
Yet because of the constant danger of being swept up in the conflagration of this
dynamic force great care is needed in bringing it into play. Like Jacob wrestling
against the angel we must show that we are equal to it and can hold our own if
we are to wrest from it its blessing.
The great danger of this confrontation, however, is the danger of
inflation. The vice of Tiferet is pride, and coiled in the branches of the tree
awaits the pride of the man-beast, 666. Dizzy with the headiness of power, the
self as ego-consciousness conflates itself with the divine within, even, or
especially, at the moment of seeming victory. The Devil card meanwhile, itself a
divided six, hovers in the doorways of Daath, awaiting his prey.
Avoiding over inflation on the side of the ego, the ego-centredness
must be released into self-lessness as the sun reaches its zenith and the divine
spark is brought forth. For to maintain balance, in propitiation for that which has
been taken from within, something must be offered from without.
A physical interpretation of the psychological sacrifice of the man
hanging by one foot is given to both Odin and Jacob who both leave their
respective encounters with a limp. In wrestling with himself the Hanged Man
defends his humanity against the onslaught of libido and in mastering it both
undergo a transformative process. The Hanged Man represents the experience of
wrestling with the power within and transforming the inner chaos into harmony,
first through confrontation and then through sacrifice. Here the higher
consciousness and the unconscious bury their differences to unite in the
realization of the consciousness of humanity.
The myth translated into psychological terms delineates the need to
voluntarily surrender the subjective desires of the personal ego in order to
perceive with the objective eyes of the higher self. For this confrontation takes
place in the soul triad, and the soul triad is concerned with individual growth and
the growth to individuality. Yet for such growth to come about we must be
prepared to compromise, relinquishing the part for the sake of wholeness, and
undergoing the suffering of the road of self-realization. In the diagnosis of
Professor Jung:

... since man knows himself only as an ego, and the self, as a totality, is
indescribable and indistinguishable from a god image, self-realization - to
put it in religious or metaphysical terms - amounts to God’s
incarnation....And because individuation is an heroic and often tragic task,
the most difficult of all, it involves suffering a passion of the ego: the
ordinary, empirical man we once were [must lose himself] in a greater
dimension. .... He suffers, so to speak from the violence done to him by the
self . [107]

In terms of the personal inner Tarot in each of us, both the egoistic ‘I will’ of
the self-centred Magician and the instinctive ‘I desire’ of Strength must be
relinquished if 1 and 11 are to lose themselves to form 12. Equally, 666 ÷ 6 =
111; so, to redeem those caught in the coils of the concealed six of the Devil and
return them to their starting point, Eros, slayer and victim, like the self-burning
sun, turns his arrows on his self to sacrifice himself on the tree of life. For the
sacrifice belongs not just in the Hanged Man but in the union of the Hanged Man
and the Lovers. The hanging of a victim on a tree as religious rite occurred
universally; yet, as Professor Jung informs us, among the ancient Aztecs a youth
or maiden was likewise nailed to a cross every spring and the victim shot with
arrows. ‘The name of the cross signifies “Tree of our Life or flesh.”’ [108]
Hanging on the tree of life or flesh, wounded by the arrows of love,
the divine sacrifices its divinity to suffer the experience of humanity while the
human sacrifices ego-consciousness to become aware of the divine. Both vacate
their respective centres of self to become united in the not-self where and I and
thou are not, for ‘In love no longer I and thou exist.’ [109] Here in this place of not-
self whose centre is everywhere, is born the child of the path of union - or the
fruit of reunion after exile - neither ‘I’ nor ‘Thou’, but simply Love.

Situated then, where the angel stands guard over the soul, between
the Hierophant of the mysteries and the Emperor as man of light, we find the
voluntary suspension of spirit on the cross of matter. The purpose of such an
offering is to penetrate the veil of the kingdom in order to bring about the sacred
marriage between time and eternity, the human and the divine, the dancer and the
dance.
In card Five we met the High Priest who conducts the sacred
marriage, but the sacred marriage itself between the eternal and temporal, bios
and zoe, belongs in card Six. Six, anciently, was the number considered most
suited to regeneration, and the ‘child’ born of the sacred marriage of the
mysteries was the image of regenerated life on earth and the celebrant’s own
spiritual rebirth.
The numbers of both of these Tarot cards: six and twelve recur
constantly throughout rebirth mythology. Awakened to new life by the sun’s
healing rays, the aspirant on the descent path is embraced in the glorious release
of divine creativity, the divine presence born at midnight. On the stoke of twelve,
the number of the Hanged Man, the rejuvenated self - that is, the luminous
divine child of the Lovers card, emerges from the darkness of chaos like the
transcending sun redeemed from the depths.
Six, as we have seen, is itself the number of the sun, the sustainer of
all things. Eros, Dionysos, Christ, Adonis, Aion, all the healing redeemers have
sun connections. For mythologically the birth of the sun-god and the rebirth of
the sun are not differentiated. The birth of the new Osiris/Aion from the maiden
Isis/Kore was celebrated on the 6th of January.
This same date was adopted by Christianity to celebrate the manifestation of
Christ to the world. The 6th of January is the day of Epiphany, twelve days after
the winter solstice when the apparent downward course of the sun is halted and
light begins to increase. The twelfth night, the night before Epiphany, was and is
marked by the giving of gifts and commemorates still the baptism of Jesus in
Eastern Orthodoxy. (The nativity celebrations were transferred to the 25th to
coincide with the date of the Roman celebration of the winter solstice or rebirth
of the sun.) Mythologically the sun is itself the divine child, Sol Invictus, the
Christ-centre within. It is the golden light to which the great mother (tree) gives
birth annually at the winter solstice.
In Egyptian myth the tree goddess who gives birth to the sun is
Hathor, ‘lady of the sycamore.’ The sycamore is also sacred to Nut, mother of
birth and rebirth - mother of the gods and mother of the deceased. Through two
sycamores at the eastern gate of heaven the sun arose every morning.
The trinity of a son king between two queens is a recurring feature of
the rebirth myths of the mystery tradition. Together they represent the goddesses
of above and below, and the god who alternates between them. Thus we find, for
example, Isis, Osiris and Nephtys; Dumuzi - the Lord of the tree of life, with
Inanna and Ereshkigal; Demeter, Persephone and Triptolemus; or alternatively
Persephone, Aphrodite and Adonis: the lord of regeneration born from a myrtle
tree. Or, in an evolved variation taken wholly into psychological realms,
Aphrodite, Psyche and Eros, the goddess, the soul and Love.
As god of relatedness it is Eros who releases the arrows of desire that
pierce firstly himself and secondly Psyche. When the arrows have as yet only
pierced him, filling him with love for Psyche, they are able to live together in a
kind of compromised happiness, with Psyche ignorant of the true state of things
and never really knowing who or what her loving saviour really is.
After Psyche herself has experienced the vision of Love face to face,
she immediately stumbles and is wounded by the arrows of desire. No longer can
she remain in the same state of unawareness. She must forego her earlier
happiness, her garden of eden, in order to follow the path of desire awakened in
her heart. As illustrated in the Love card, she must journey away from the centre
of love, that love may be fulfilled.
Separated from what she realised too late was hers, the path leads
through the cycles of darkness, the womb of creation of the Mother - here
Aphrodite. She must open her wound to the healing experience of the tree of life,
suffering the confinement and the darkness in order to emerge reborn into the
light. For only on the cross of wholeness can the wound be healed.
Delivered from a condition of darkness and unconsciousness to one of
illuminated transcendence, the soul takes its second birth through the tree of the
Hanged Man into the majestic beauty of the Love card. Here redeemer and
redeemed are reunited in the sacred marriage and the fruit of reunion is the sun
of spiritual illumination. As the healing god of Love, it is Eros himself who heals
the wound of his own disunity by bringing about the wholeness of the Lovers
where divisions are reconciled.
Love embraces both agony and ecstasy, the wound of love and the
joy of love, the cross and the dance. Both sides are combined in divine-child
redeemers such as Dionysos, who is both sacrificial victim and also the fruit of
the vine bringing the inebriating intoxication of participation in the dance of life.
Alongside the sacrificial god in Tiferet belongs the inebriating god
who opens our eyes to the illuminating beauty of life. In the vision of the
harmony of things the mystery of the crucifixion and the inebriation of the card
of the Lovers are part and parcel of the same life force: the intoxicating
ambivalent power of Eros, the way of Love.
As the sefirah of beauty, Tiferet is concerned with carrying the
Divine plan into manifestation. In the same terms in Tarot the Hanged Man
hangs reversed in order to unite with the experience of the kingdom of Malkuth,
while the Love card offers the challenge of emotional involvement in life,
embracing and suffering through experience until we go beyond it to the
harmony of wholeness and ‘peace which passeth understanding.’ Healing the
inner divisions by facing up to each conflict as it arises and following it through
to its resolution, the god of relatedness embraces both these Tarot majors and
reconciles the joys and sufferings of involvement in the great round.
The arrow of the Lovers card denotes the influence of inner
consciousness purposefully guiding us on the path intended even though
circumstances may seem against us at the time. The soul triad is simultaneously
the ethical triad and Eros directs his arrows to release a shaft of emotional and
moral turmoil, setting in motion a complex web of affairs.
Where relationships are denoted with this card, they are never
uncomplicated. As with the trio depicted on the card, there is always something
else or someone else providing a conflict of desires and obligations. In this
situation the querent is usually not the one to decide, but the one passively
awaiting the outcome of another’s choice. Frequently too, the conflict seems not
to be resolved in our favour, leaving a stream of emotional challenge to be
crossed over. Yet what may seem at first sight to be against us, depends very
much on the angle of vision. Swaying in the background hangs the influence of
the Hanged Man where everything can be stood on its head. A decision which
seems severe from one angle is positively merciful from another; an outcome
which seems unfavourable paves the way for something else more appropriate
and more in keeping with our true desires. It may take a little time, but from the
vantage point of the future the querent will be able to look back on this
crossroads with a gladness and a recognition of the wisdom that things had to
turn out as they did. If not, they’d never have got where they are going.
Waving good-bye to hopes once dear, the soul turns its back on the
choices contemplated by the ego-consciousness, and places a hand of trust in the
hidden wisdom of the higher self. The free spirit of the Lovers card binds itself
in compassion to the vision of the Hanged Man.

Unable to see where the path may lead, yet showing faith in the evolution of
an inner design the heart can intuit but the head cannot fully comprehend, the
Hanged Man submits voluntarily to baptism in the whirlpool of being,
submersion in the sea of life. ‘For I have a baptism to be baptized with; and how
I am straitened till it be accomplished.’ [110] Taking courage in both hands, he
binds himself by the foot for the wondrous unfoldment of the soul’s journey,
treading the ledge of feeling over the twists and turns of the emotional spiral of
unfolding consciousness to reach the point of transcendence where love and
sacrifice, embracing and relinquishing, are as one.
 Like the Lovers, the Hanged man too treads the soul path. He too is
the central figure of a hidden soul triad, with the World above as his own soul,
while he in turn forms the soul of the world below: the still point of the
revolving Wheel of Fortune. Hanging on the tree of the universe from which ‘all
souls fly forth,’ [111] the Hanged Man in himself carries and is the unfolding of the
universe, the creation of himself.
The Hanged Man hangs reversed then, firstly because the tree itself
has its roots in the above and in order to see clearly the meaning of the tree a
complete reversal of viewpoint is necessary. Secondly, he is undergoing a birth;
he descends head-first from the coffin-womb of the world tree into the world of
matter. Yet in order to project his own reflection upright into the material world,
the soul must undertake voluntarily to hang reversed on the cross of life - the
offering, like that of Odin, of himself to himself.
Thirdly however, this sacrificing soul of individuality, casting its
own reflection, is itself but a reflection of the higher World Soul - the spirit of
life which has never descended but remains always at the deepest creative
centre, dancing into time the rhythms of the living cosmic dance.
The living redeemer diving headfirst into the world of matter is,
therefore, a reflection of the eternal cosmic dancer at the world-centre. Thus we
find the round dance of the apocryphal and Gnostic tradition in lieu of the Last
Supper:

Grace danceth. I would pipe; dance ye all. Amen.

I would mourn: lament ye all. Amen.
The number Twelve danceth on high. Amen.
The Whole on high hath part in our dancing. Amen.
Whoso danceth not, knoweth not what cometh to pass. Amen. [112]

Becoming aware of this World figure - the reverse of the Hanged

Man, is the goal of the Tarot journey. Yet even if such knowledge is reached, one
further step still remains. For beyond the dancer is the dance.
Beyond both the World and the Hanged Man is the Fool. The Fool, beginning
and end, encompasses both Hanged Man and the World, 12 and 21, and unites
them in the card of the Lovers as 33: 3 + 3 = 6. Here we have again the six
pointed star of the seal of Solomon, or the two united triangles of the mystic
marriage of Shiva and Shakti, the dancer and the dance.
From the Love card the path that leads in one direction to Kether and
in the other to Malkuth is one and the same path: the path of Love, the path the
Fool treads knowing, despite all appearances to the contrary, that whichever way
he goes, the destination is the same. For the path always leads back to one Self.
Hence the message of the Hanged Man: that staying still to pursue the inner
journey to find oneself is the same as the outer journey of movement through the
paths of life.
From the birth at the winter solstice to the sacrifice at the summer
solstice, the movement of the Lovers to the stillness of the Hanged Man is one
circle of exile during which the Hanged Man sacrifices himself to find himself.
Wounded by the shaft of desire of the Love card to an awareness of a
higher centre which gives meaning to his own, the prince of the Love card
becomes the Hanged Man and places himself at the mercy of the world beyond
to uncover the world within.
For the Hanged Man both exists and does not exist; he is real and he
is illusion. Yet to discover that within him which is real he must sacrifice the
idea of himself. The apparent individuated ego-consciousness which reaches its
heights in Tiferet must, when here attained, be here relinquished if the mind is to
become attuned to the one reality of the above which permeates the below.
As the middle way the Hanged Man is the transforming saviour who
undergoes the twelve hours of exile to wrestle consciousness from the lower to
the upper kingdom. In himself he becomes the road of healing which opens the
way for the reconciliation of opposites, the marriage of the Lovers, and therein
the advent of the Self.

The King of Cups.

As well as attaining wisdom by hanging on the tree, Odin quenched
his thirst for the vision of wholeness by imbibing from a further source. For at
the foot of the tree was the well of Mimir, and by drinking from these reviving
waters, wisdom could be obtained. However, as with the hanging on the tree, the
wisdom of the waters was not given freely. The sacred well had its guardian:
Mimir, represented as an ancient giant. Mimir challenged all who came seeking;
only those prepared to pay the high price obtained the goal they sought. In
exchange for a draught from the spring of Mimir, Odin had to give up one of his
eyes. He became, like the sun, one eyed. Like the Hanged Man he had imposed
limitations on the eyes of the head, and gained in perspective from the opening
of the eye of the heart.
In Qabbalah vau, assigned the numerical value six, is the eye of the
centre. In eastern religion the centre is the eye of the heart. Where all paths meet,
where east meets west in the central sefirah of the Lovers and the Hanged Man,
we find in the minor Tarot the King of Cups. In the suit of cups we have the suit
of the heart whose element is water. And thus it is that we find here the king of
the suit, offering through the draught of the living waters of the font of wisdom,
the vision of understanding through the eye of the heart.

Placed in the central sefirah of Tiferet, the King of Cups is concerned with the
quest for individuation. Yet individuation necessitates the healing of inner
divisions, and the single golden cup the king holds forth indicates the means. For
only when the opposing waters of yin and yang are united in the single vessel, -
the vessel symbolizing the individual - can the Self be realized in its
completeness. The King of Cups, sovereign of the element of water, is captain of
the soul-vessel, steering us carefully through the everflowing waters which keep
the wheel of life in motion.
Like the queen of the suit situated with the Empress in Binah, the
King of Cups offers both the involving cup of desire and temptation of Eros, as
well as the evolving cup of remembrance and recompense of the Hanged Man.
Situated as he is, however, midway between the Lovers and the
Hanged Man, the King of Cups does not offer two separate draughts; instead he
mingles their qualities so that we gain the wisdom of the Hanged Man through
the wound inflicted by Eros. For here we find Eros as the dark mystery of love,
unravelling the hidden secrets of the heart and bringing them to the surface to be
refined in the oceans of samsara.
As the royal sovereign of the heart suit, the King of Cups has an
obvious parallel with Eros, god of relatedness. Like Eros he is concerned with
the healing wound of love; yet like the Hanged Man he has learnt through his
own experience how far down the road of separation, loneliness and compassion
that wound can take him.
Reflecting the influence of the card of the Lovers, or the jealous
relationship between Aphrodite, Eros and Psyche, the King of Cups can refer to
a three-way relationship in which someone, and more likely all involved, will
end up being hurt. Like Eros stumbling on and wounded by his own arrows, the
King of Cups indicates the wounded healer, yet it is from his own wounds that
he learns how to heal, from his own sorrow that he learns to relate to and value
the feelings of others.
As the marriage with Tiferet is to heal the rift which denies Malkuth
direct access to the centre, so the King of Cups is concerned with healing the
chasms in the psyche, restoring and giving new life to the relationship to our
own centre. This card is concerned with the transformative power of
relationships. It emphasises the influences, both positive and negative, we have
on each other, and stresses the effect of these influences on the relationship to
oneself.
Strong in weakness, cleansing and reviving, seeping into the hidden
crevices, the element of water reaches the deepest paths of the soul. With the
power of water to make visible what the buried roots have concealed we meet a
very pleasing aspect of the King of Cups. For this card can denote the bringing
into the open of a ‘secret love’.
An admiration exercised from a distance and given reign only in dreams and
hope is here openly acknowledged and reciprocated: the marriage of Malkuth to
Tiferet

Bringing to the light of day the treasures concealed in darkness, the King of
Cups cultivates the water-lilies of the soul. With their creeping stems buried deep
in the mud below, the cup-shaped flowers of the water-lily rise through the lunar
waters and open to reveal their beauty on the water’s surface, attaining their
moment of glory in the light of the sun. Likewise from the soil of Malkuth to the
beauty of Tiferet, the King of Cups tends the potential from stem to flower. As
with the King of Wands, the King of Cups too is gardener of the soul.
All four Tarot kings do in fact share similar territory, for all work as
care-takers of the landscapes of the psyche, each tending to different facets of
the soul. Mirroring the six-pointed star uniting in itself fire and water, the two
kings of the elements of fire and of water join forces as king of the sacred wood
and gardener of the soul. The one is concerned with guarding the sacred tree and
the other is concerned with the life-giving water beneath the tree’s branches. The
latter, like the water triangle, points downwards, for the King of Cups is
concerned with what lies below the surface. Nevertheless, he brings to bear on
the hidden potential in need of cultivation all the nourishing wisdom and
understanding of the branches of the sefirot above:
As the tree produces its fruit through water, so God through water
increases the powers of the “tree.” And what is God’s water? It is the
Sophia, hokhma, . [113]
In their guise of Aphrodite and Psyche, the King of Cups brings
together the influences of the Empress and the High Priestess to take their place
on either side of Eros in the card of the Lovers. This is counter-balanced
completely by bringing down the influences of the High Priestess and the
Empress as the twin supports of wisdom and understanding on either side of the
Hanged Man. Thus, along with the waters of life the King of Cups offers the
waters of wisdom and cool judgement.
Tiferet is the centre for the seat of Solomon, renowned for his wise
and impartial judgement. By the well of Mimir Odin set up his judgement seat.
Mimir’s well was associated not just with the gaining of wisdom but also with
the giving of wise counsel (even if it did have to be paid for). Further, to drink
the waters of Mimir is to remember. For the well of Mimir is the source of
memory - Mimor -memor - memory. It is the well of remembrance and
recompense of the Hanged Man.
The Hanged Man reaches the wisdom of the High Priestess by the
route of memory. Through the King of Cups administering the united draughts,
he is led back to the Queen of Cups offering the draughts separately. With the
taste of memory on his tongue he is led back further still to the Queen of Wands
who has preserved the memories in the darkness of the unconscious, and guided
by the torch of the Queen of Wands he reaches eventually the halls of wisdom of
the High Priestess.
Wisdom reached through wandering the winding paths of
recollection is very much a theme of the King of Cups. So, too, is making
judgements for the future by coolly reflecting on the past.
Odin, having drunk deep from the well of memory, thereby gained
insight into the future - and the knowledge saddened him. For water takes on the
symbolism of the mirror in which the future is the recipient of the past and we
receive what we have given. In the mirror the roles are reversed: the right
becomes left and the left becomes right, the passive and active redress the
balance between them, the giver and receiver change places.
Dropped deep in the well of Mimir, Odin’s eye shone like the image
of the moon in water. Odin’s insight saddened him for he was looking down at
the planes centred in the moon: the planes of illusion. In terms of Qabbalah this
would be the view from Tiferet into Yesod and thereby to Malkuth, or in Tarot
into the valley of Death permeating the Wheel of Fortune, both replete with
karmic reverberations from the Chariot and Justice.
Yet although water is symbolically related to the moon, its deeper
symbolism also absorbs the motif of the sun, for water catches equally and
reflects back the sun’s light. At the deeper level, therefore, both yin and yang are
revealed in water. Thus it is that, from the heights of Kether the Vast
countenance gazed down at his own reflection in Tiferet - the reflection being
accorded the name of ‘lesser countenance.’
At the centre of Tiferet the King of Cups holds the chalice by which
the reflection of the above is contained in the waters of the below. At the same
time he witnesses the marriage of Tiferet to Malkuth. For the role of the King of
Cups in Tiferet is to maintain the harmonic flow of yin and yang, conjoining the
active and the passive while steering the way forward - or back - to self-
realisation - the pouring forth of the Self in self-giving.
 Placed midway between the heights and depths of Eros, mingling our
animal instinctuality with heavenly spirituality in the one human vehicle, on our
understanding of the inner sovereign at the centre of the tree, and at the centre of
our own being, depends the harmonious interaction within us of heaven and
earth, mind, body, and spirit.
Failing, however, to recognise and tread the way of love, the centre
is thereby lost to us and the balance of all three kingdoms becomes impossible to
uphold. Becoming blind to the love at the centre, we lose sight completely of the
journey of the Fool. Forsaken and ignored, the king of the heart suit falls sick
and the inner kingdom becomes a desolate wasteland. The King of Cups
becomes, in short, the wounded fisher-king. He becomes one-sided, leaning
towards the Hanged Man, while the surrounding cards, the Hierophant and
Emperor, valiantly strive to call attention to the inner wound.
Where the King of Cups is balanced positively, the forces of the two
majors, the Lovers and the Hanged Man are united in the expression of the love
path; east meets west, the way of Krishhna and the way of Christ are recognised
as two faces of the same journey to the centre.
Where the cup is overturned however, not union but division rules.
Instead of wholeness from the union of opposites, there is discord and separation
at our inner centre. Eros is divided against Eros.
As Merlin prophesied that as a result of the coup douloreux, three kingdoms
would be laid waste for a period of twelve years and their populations deported,
so when the cup of emotion is turned upside down and the keeper of the chalice
mortally wounded, we find ourselves exiled from our own centre. The
relationship of the Hanged Man to the World and thereby to the dance of life
expressed in the Lovers is forgotten. The twelve hours or days or years of the
Hanged Man become twelve hours, days, or years of separation from the source
rather than the journey of love through the experience of love. To heal the
divisions signified by the inner wound we must turn back on ourselves - return to
the well of Mimir and seek the healing draught of recollection. The King of
Cups thereby becomes the wounded healer within.
For these are wounds only we can heal for ourselves. Exercising the
kingship of the spirit over the kingdom of the psyche we are led by the king of
the water element from the maelstroms to the lagoons, exploring the terrain of
the unconscious while keeping our head above water. The exploration may be
through dreams, active imagination, or through therapeutic guidance. Constantly
testing the depth, the King of Cups is the navigator of the troubled waters we
must pass through. Only where we pay no heed to his navigation do we mistake
our way. Then we lose ourselves in waters much deeper than we had foreseen.
 The Sixes
Together the Sixes complete the 24 hour cycle, the 12 hours of the
day journey and the 12 hours of the night journey. All indicate in different ways
the fulfillment of a cycle or stages of a cycle. All have strong links to the past
and at a concealed level can indicate karmic debts repaid. All too have
connections with travel and with embarkation on the life journey; all, in different
ways relate the Lovers and the Hanged Man to the wanderings of the Fool.

As the six of the element of fire situated in the sefirah of the sun the
Six of Wands is the most profound of the Tarot Sixes. Indeed it is so intimately
related to the sefirah of the Self and of wholeness that it is one of the most
profound of the minor cards. In Tiferet it accords with the upward pointing
triangle, the masculine fire triangle of the seal of Solomon, which overlaps with
the emotional water triangle which has more affinity with the Six of Cups.
Together the Sixes of Wands and Cups relate to the six pointed star as the sign of
regeneration, the birth of the spiritual sun breaking forth from the womb of the
unconscious to herald a new dawn. For both are cards of fulfillment despite
difficult beginnings.
As the nourishing flow of water and sunlight merging together to
nurture and sustain life, in these two united Sixes we find the triumphant pageant
of the water lily victoriously breaking through the waters surface to open its
petals directly to the sunlight and sing, from the depths of its full glory, a hymn
of beauty just to be.
Together these two overlapping Sixes form the transitional meeting point
between the gardeners of the soul: the King of Cups and the King of Wands.
Tiferet as Zeir Anpin or the lesser countenance is the means of
approach to understanding Arik Anpin, the Vast Countenance, in Kether above.
Likewise the Six of Wands in Tiferet is closely aligned to the head of the suit in
Kether, the King of Wands. From lofty heights the latter follows the ebb and
flow of continuity and, where necessary, intervenes to ensure peaceful transition
through his diplomatic secretary and cunning ambassador, the Six of Wands.
The Six of Wands is a card of communication, both externally and
internally. At the spiritual level it indicates the chain of consciousness between
the outer and inner self along which messages are received as intuition, the
guiding influence of this card. Yet externally too the card can indicate effective
communication. This may be in simple terms, such as decisive letters sent and
received. More complexly it may signify making oneself heard and understood,
and, in being able to reach and empathize with people, acting as a spokesperson
in turn to make their voices heard and understood.
Acting, at best altruistically, on behalf of others, is part of the
meaning of this Six. Like Prometheus stealing fire from heaven to help
humanity, the Six of Wands indicates a willingness to enter the fray on behalf of
the underdog, often thereby putting oneself at risk.
For this is indeed the card bringing fire from heaven, not stolen
however, but bargained for in risky undertakings. The Six of Wands is the
nearest in the minor Tarot to wrestling with the angel. The outcome of the
undertaking may cause some apprehension yet the results are far-reaching,
beyond anything we can foresee. The qabbalistic title of this card is lord of
victory, and victory there is with the Six of Wands. Using arts, guile, intelligence
and ability to surge forward, we move up the ladder of our aims rung by rung.
The higher we get, the harder it becomes; and the nearer we get to the zenith, the
harder to extract ourselves if we find the going gets too hot!
The fire triangle is the triangle of the spirit with its upward arrow
aimed at the heights. With the Six of Wands we do turn our gaze upward and aim
high. This is the card of the morning sun climbing from dawn to midday. It is a
card of the first half of life - upward striving, ambitious, full of hopes and
optimism. Here the youthful ego, independent and confident is prepared to take
on the challenges of life. And with the Six of Wands, the challenges come in
plenty.
Aiming at the heights, Tiferet is the meeting place of spirit with the
mind of man. Here, through encountering divinity, man is motivated to realise
his humanity: to rescue humanity from the darkness of inhumanity and bring
forth the illumined beauty of the human soul. As six is designated as the perfect
number (because its aliquots: 1,2 & 3 add up to itself), so in Tiferet is the perfect
equilibrated centre. Here in the meeting place of the sacrificed god and divine
child redeemer, the force of the supernals is brought down into manifestation.
Force is sacrificially transmuted to give form to the redeemer child-king.
In the Six of Wands this finds its correlation as the manifest
realisation of a creative vision, releasing the inner sun to provide the transfusion
of human vitality which gives to any creative endeavour depth and meaning.
Connected with the element of fire, and with the sun, and thereby with the
vitality within, the Six of Wands is a card of Eros as the life force expressed
tantalizingly both in the playfulness and tragedy of being. Humorous, playful,
exasperating and, when all is said and done, redeeming, we are carried here from
ignorance to illumination. Here too the opposites can be synthesized in an
endeavour of skilful beauty, giving expression to the light of humanity and hope
to the plight of man.

As with the other Sixes, the Six of Cups too begins by offering a
challenge. The challenge here is something which initially seems very simple,
but which turns out to have far more snags than foreseen. There is, of course,
some element of risk, but the risk is lessened by a frame of mind ready to think
and plan clearly and prepared to find a way to overcome obstacles. Without
accepting exposure to the hazardous possibilities of this challenge the beauty of
the Six of Cups can never be realised. For the theme of this card is a willingness
to trust in the wisdom of the inner self, and to make a step we feel is right
despite the obvious gamble.
The Six of Cups offers the interaction of the emotional and the
spiritual. Yet the attainment offered by the card can only be achieved by taking a
deep breath and plunging headfirst into the emotional waters of this therapeutic
Six. Though never really knowing where we are heading, this card denotes a
chain of seemingly small episodes which ultimately will link the past into the
present and future through a correspondence that can only be seen with the
vantage of time.
The Six of Cups is filled with a sense of yearning. It denotes
yearning for that which will fill the soul. While quietly getting on with life, it is a
card nevertheless of looking for something, of knowing where you want to be
but not being sure how to get there. One day the goal may seem near, the next
day new obstacles arise and the goal shimmers from a distance. Yet with this
card the treasure is nearer than it often seems. It may even be that we have to
retrace our steps a little. Prepared to seek assistance when nothing more can be
done by our own efforts, a door that was there all the time but which we never
noticed, suddenly opens before us and the answer lies before our eyes. The door
can’t be seen until we are ready to go through it, yet with patient perseverance
that moment will arrive.
With the right attitude of mind the Six of Cups can be a passport –
albeit temporarily - to paradise. All it asks is a mind prepared both to accede to
what is offered and to reason with calm equanimity, ‘okay, if all goes as planned,
that’s well and good; if it doesn’t I’ll gain from the experience and maybe enjoy
myself anyway.’ This card is after all, to give its qabbalistic title, the lord of joy.
After the successful resolution of conflict it offers, especially alongside the Page
of Cups, the heavenly plateaus of peace.
The Six of this card corresponds to six as the perfect number. It is
Tiferet as the son: the fulfillment of the supernal triangle: 1, 2 & 3 in united
harmony. This is the six of equilibrium and of harmonic union; a six of love,
health and beauty. Like Tiferet and the Lovers, the spiritual experience
underlying this card is the vision of the harmony of things. This can in fact be
experienced here in mundane terms with the beauty of Tiferet finding expression
in the beauty of the physical landscape where the spiritual and the physical blend
as one. With the plateaus of peace attained with this card, external events mirror
the peace within; the happiness of the outer world and the happiness of the inner
world are one and the same. At its best, with all six cups over-brimming with
intoxicating nectar, the influence of the Lovers spills over in a banquet of sheer
delight. Here is the inebriating and playful Eros as bestower of illumination,
joyously inviting us to the wedding of divinity and world, and briefly but
memorably opening our eyes to the mystical interaction of heaven and earth. The
Six of Cups indicates a profound state of deep emotional insight.
The view from the higher plateaus of consciousness can,
unfortunately, only leave its blissful residue in memory as a boon to be recalled
in difficult times ahead, a hidden treasure giving value to the soul. Nevertheless,
Tiferet is concerned with the evolution of the spiritual and with that which
endures, and the lasting effects of this Six are the strengthening of a faith that
began as a delicate optimism, an expansion of consciousness and an increase in
confidence in one’s own ability. As a Six the card does denote the completion of
a spiritual cycle, although this is at a deeper level than most of us would usually
be aware of except perhaps through dreams. The card also indicates a release
from the past; for, despite periods of nostalgia, once the challenge of this card
has been embraced there is, on the evolution of the soul’s journey, no turning
back.
Yet this is to see things from the inner perspective of the Hanged
Man. Turning things the other way round, the opposite view could almost be said
to be the case. For mundanely the Six of Cups can denote, not quite a turning
back, but with the completion of a cycle, a return. This card can indicate a brief
return to a scene connected with pleasant memories and past happiness. Usually
this will be for a holiday. Overlapping with the Six of Swords the card can
indicate temporary accommodation: bed and breakfast places, holiday homes,
homely farm houses, places of pleasant peace to sort out where you want to go
from here. This card can indicate, too, nostalgia for earlier peaceful times, and
briefly experiencing again such times through a holiday setting, fully aware that
it can’t last but making the most of it while it does. The intention here is not to
relive old times. In a setting so conducive to inner harmony, the aim is to
rediscover and restore that inner peace which acts as a healing balm to the
divisions of the psyche, and gives us the equanimity to face, in whatever form it
takes, the challenge of the future.
 The serpentine chain of interconnected sixes linked together on the
vertical axis form an unbroken spiral flowing from past to future. This rope
ladder, repeating the same cycle over and over on the lower as on the higher arc,
creates a visual expression of the influence of all the Sixes, but is especially
illustrative of the pattern of the Six of Swords.
Like the serpent it resembles, this Six can shed its skin. It is also
chameleon-like. It is a card whose bi-directional flow can lead to subtle yet
decisive alterations in interpretation, depending on the permutations lent by the
surrounding cards.
The long chain stretching through time gives this card links reaching
back far into the past. The Six of Swords is steeped in a sense of history. It can
refer to the querent’s personal past, looking back on or reliving past times. It can
also refer to the collective past. Here it can denote an interest in older
civilizations or travel to a place rich in history.
Travel is an integral part of this card. The Rider Waite illustration
shows a boat ferried over still water. Evocative both of Charon and of calm, the
scene accords very suitably with the permutations of meaning. For this card is
both movement and repose.
As a card of the element of air the Six of Swords denotes a
wandering spirit exploring far and wide. At its most basic this card can be
interpreted simply as travel, usually by air over water; in other words trips
abroad. Even if this does apply however, it is rarely the whole story. Depending
on the surrounding cards, the travel associated with the Six of Swords is more
likely to be connected with work than a holiday. Caution is needed here too
owing to the tendency of the Sixes to turn back in on themselves; for it can well
be that the period of travel referred to took place in the past and for some reason
is being remembered now ( perhaps as a happier time).
Similarly holidays too, when indicated here, will have connections
with the past. Whether travelling abroad or staying in the same country, the
traveller will usually be visiting or staying with friends, the meeting more often
than not being the stimulus behind the travelling. Where this is not so, the place
will probably have been visited before, and chances are the party will be staying
not in a hotel, but in a holiday home.
A stranger in home-like surroundings, but not at home. This could
almost be the perpetual echo of this card. As part of the suit of swords this Six
relates not just to the parting of the ways of the Lovers, but also to the trials of
the Hanged Man. It is a card of personal sacrifice and of self-denial. At its most
profound it is a card of exile.
 With a heart heavy with regret for the face of the past that has been
permanently lost, yet with a sense too of painful inevitability, this card indicates
the necessity of cutting ties and leaving behind a place or time much loved.
Looking back with wistful melancholy, the feeling here is of being cast adrift to
fend alone in alien circumstances.
Setting out on the journey around the Self, the Six of Swords is
indeed a lonely card. It is the loneliness in the crowd; the loneliness of the
stranger in a strange land where neither the customs nor language are
understood; and deeper still, derived from the searchings of the Hanged Man, the
sense of loneliness in the face of infinity and the smallness of man in the
cosmos. Again the sweep of the past is a factor here. Like the traveller from an
antique land [****] contemplating the long stretch of level sand where civilization
once stood, there is a feel with this card for the passing of time on a grand scale,
in which man is just an atom of dust trickling back into the earth.

The quavering voice of humanity raised here valiantly yet vainly against the
overwhelming tide of collective forces reaches its crescendo and then falls into
silence. And slowly into the silence creeps a resigned acceptance and an attempt
to attain greater understanding of all that has taken place. As with the Hanged
Man hanging in transience while undergoing rebirth on the coffin-womb of the
life tree, the gradual relinquishing of, and release from, the past indicates a
transition, the shedding of a skin while passing through no-man’s land to return
sadder but wiser to the shores of the soul.
Yet discovered on the journey of the Six of Swords are quiet havens
of peace sheltered from the immediate sources of conflict. Here there is an
attempt to heal the wounds of the psyche and to redress the inner balance
knocked awry by the pressures of modern life. In this we find another aspect of
this card. Raphael is the angel of healing and, especially alongside the Four of
the same suit, or the reversed Eight, the Six of Swords is a card of convalescence
and recuperation. The recuperation may be from a physical illness or maybe
from exhaustion and mental strain. It may, however, simply express itself as an
attempt to rise above external circumstances in order to find respite away from
the noise and chaos of city life, and if not possible physically, at least mentally to
distance oneself from the tension and turbulence of immediate troubles to gain a
clearer perspective. When, caught in never ending traffic jams, the card of travel
grinds to a standstill, when the troubles pile up one on top of the other, this card
announces an opportunity to step aside and alter perspective, reversing the angle
of vision from the downward triangle immersed in the turbulent waters, to
follow the arrow of the upward triangle aimed not at the chaos of Malkuth but at
the cosmos of Kether.
Absorbing reflections from both above and below yet holding on to
neither, Tiferet as the son and as the centre of transition and transmutation is the
place where divinity and humanity can unite in consciousness. As a sefirah of
beauty uniting force and form in exemplary symmetry its role is simply to be.
Equally, as a card of transition between the Lovers and the Hanged Man,
clinging to neither past nor future and rising above the present difficulties, the
Six of Swords can give rise to inner harmony leading to calmness of being.
Re-evoking the Eastern connection (most specifically alongside the
Fool) this card at its best, puts me somewhat in mind of the atmosphere of a Zen
garden. Experiencing the fragrant beauty but never reaching out to crush it by
clumsily trying to cling on, here everything just is, in perfect attunement to the
eternal present through acceptance and letting go. Similarly, the Six of Swords is
a card of tranquil motion, freeing each moment to pass unhindered through a
body and mind in perfect accord, while passing with the body and mind
unhindered through each perfect moment. As the vessel of the soul scatters
gentle ripples on the waters of life to be absorbed without trace back into the
whole, so the Six of Swords is the arrow flying through the air to reach its
destination yet leaving no trace of the journey’s trail.
It is a card of being there, and letting go; of absorbing the beginning and the
goal into the present so that arrival and departure are as one. Qabbalistically the
title of the Six of Swords is lord of earned success. After the trials of the Hanged
Man and the loneliness of the kingdom of exile, the Six of Swords can indeed
denote the cessation of struggle, arrival at the place of release and spiritual
success in allowing oneself to let go.
As a six, the Six of Swords denotes the end of a cycle, a journey
completed, and something carried back from whence it came. Adjoining to the
tree of the Hanged Man as coffin and gallows, this Six with other relevant cards
can in fact mean death. The slow passing of the funeral cortege is more precisely
what is indicated, denoting thereby attendance at a funeral for the blessing and
releasing of the journeyer to new lands.
In mythic terms, the boat silently crossing the waters becomes as the
Egyptian boat of the sun god passing through the twelve zones of the after
world, or as the funeral cortege carrying the wounded Arthur back to the healing
shores of Avalon to be nurtured back to himself prior to an eventual return. So
with the bi-directional flow of the Six of Swords there can be convalescence,
nurturing back to strength to re-enter the fray, or when the cycle is completed, a
carrying back to the port of departure. Yet Tiferet is of the triad where the angel
stands guard over the soul and whatever the direction, there is no need for fear
here. Both journeys are watched over, and timely. Weary in mind and body,
death here represents a natural completion to a cycle fulfilled. It is a recalling
home, an end to exile and an easeful passing to the lands of healing to restore
and replenish the inner self before, like Arthur, rejuvenated and rearmed, being
ready to climb back into the Chariot to reengage in the battle for the kingdom.

As Tiferet is the bridegroom to Malkuth, the Kingdom, and as the

Hanged Man undergoes his ordeal to experience the reality of the kingdom, so as
the card of the element of earth in Tiferet, the Six of Discs is related both to the
Lovers and the Hanged Man on the one hand, and on the other to Temperance
and the Wheel of Fortune in Malkuth. To keep the wheel turning smoothly, the
kinetic forces which give rise to the forms must be maintained in perfect
equilibrium. This Six is, so to speak, the technological power house. Here all
four elements are in perfect accord, each complementing the other by carrying
out its appropriate function.
Balancing all that has gone before with all that is still to be, the Six
of Discs is the card of material success and of power in equilibrium. Redressing
the six days of chaos with six days of creation this card shows what can be
achieved with the conjunction of opposites, when everything works
cooperatively towards the same aim. As with the Six of Cups, this card has as its
underlying theme the vision of harmony. Unfortunately, because of the practical
nature of the card, here this is rarely realised. The card points to the perfectly
balanced beauty of creation and to the reliance and seemingly invisible bonds of
cooperation between species which may appear, at first glance, to have little in
common but which nevertheless are intricately connected in the chain of
survival.

The Six of Discs is a card of the ever-renewing phases of growth. It pertains

to the god as the life at work within the tree, Osiris or Dionysos as the rising sap,
domesticated libido to be utilised in fruitful construction. In the cult of Dionysos,
gifts were hung on the tree for the sacrificial god, who had given himself in
return. The giving of gifts is indeed part of the Six of Discs, but so is the need to
offer something in exchange; for in keeping with the balance so important to this
card, the giving is always a two-way flow.
This balance, one could almost say professional accord based on a
mutual attitude of quid pro quo, finds its mundane expression in the Six of Discs
with something being granted which will further plans for the future but which
nevertheless incurs obligations. An obvious example is a loan, being granted the
money needed to pursue present plans, but incurring the responsibility of paying
it back. The bi-directional flow can be more subtle; for example, a hoped-for
place on a training course may be granted, and time given from work to attend,
but the money to pay for the course must come from one’s own pocket;
alternatively, if work provides the funds, the course must be completed in one’s
own time or there may be strings such as secondment necessitating a
commitment to return to the place of work for a stated period. The emphasis is
on mutual reciprocation, with both parties gaining something from the
arrangement. The Six of Discs surges forward and then spirals back on itself to
complete its journey, retracing its steps in order to neatly wind up the obligations
of the past before moving further on.
Somewhat like a main cosmopolitan airport, as the central sefirah
Tiferet receives the influx of influences from all other sefirot. From this
pulsating meeting point it integrates the inflow of properties and then re-
disperses the renewed forces, some from whence they came, others being
relayed to a further port of call. Equally, in all the Sixes but seen most clearly in
the Six of Discs, we find the constant relay of communication, interaction and
turnabout. With the Six of Wands also in a spread, this can in fact take a business
turn, with the wheelings and dealings of financial transactions, buying and
selling, or the fluctuating rise and fall of stocks and shares. By contrast, with the
Six of Swords or of Cups as neighbour, a journey is more likely to be indicated,
with the Six of Discs as the middle ground through which everybody passes,
always on their way to someplace else. Showing awareness of the constant
round, the Six of Discs is a card expressing a need always to be going
somewhere; yet in itself it occupies the still centre from which the journey can
be seen in its wholeness.
With Eros as god of relatedness, this Six brings us into confrontation
with the wider world. At the same time it engenders an attitude of faith in a
gradually unfolding meaning. The God name of Tiferet is Jehovah Eloah Va
Daath - God made manifest in the sphere of the mind. Though we realise and
accept that we cannot understand the workings, there is with this Six a sense of
‘just so; that is how it should be.’
With this comes a voluntary acquiescence to the dictates of the still centre
which oversees the, from our perspective, seemingly directionless
perambulations of the wheel. From this central point the Fool can move in any
direction he chooses. All the same, there is a thread of intuition which feels that
the path chosen will be the right path. From the still centre of motion in the Six
of Discs we become aware of an inner design behind the great work. For the first
time too, we glimpse fleetingly the passing of the Fool within, wandering lightly
over the face of the earth.
 Chapter Seven: The Chariot in Netzach

And I have felt

A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man:
A motion and a spirit that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things.

(Wordsworth, Tintern Abbey.)

I have called this book the Fool’s journey, and yet so far there has been little
mention of the Fool. Nevertheless, though inscrutable and hidden, the Fool has
been present from the very beginning. Yet it is not until the card of the Chariot
that we gain our first verification of the value and extent of this hidden presence.
In the previous cards we may have inklings, fleeting thoughts that vanish as
quickly as they arise. Thus far however, the power of each of the previous cards
is in itself more than enough to contend with, without vainly striving further to
grasp that hidden something beyond that has come, like the Magician, from the
nothingness beyond Kether, and is itself the wisdom of that nothingness in
motion. If we posit the Magician as the director, then the Fool is the play that
itself called forth a director in order that this play could be brought to perfection
in production. It is the unfolding of the play we meet in the card of the Chariot,
with the Magician at the helm, Strength providing the dynamism of the Chariot
in motion, while the Fool is the journey the Chariot takes us through.
 Both the Fool and the Chariot are wanderers. The famous wanderer of myth is
the figure we are already well-acquainted with through the Hanged Man: Odin.
Odin, the god who travels up and down the world taking an active interest in the
affairs of men, yet who also journeys beyond and visits the realm of the dead to
learn hidden secrets, is the ideal mythic figure most suited to the card of the
Chariot. For the Chariot is the card of the journey. It represents the means of
travelling through the three interlocked rings of Tarot: the three worlds of
infinity imposed on the tree of life.
If we look at the diagram of the tree of life showing the three rings,
we can see that each ring has, at its centre, its own sun. The sefirah of Yesod, the
Moon, is the centre of the lower ring: the midnight sun of the time of
unconsciousness, or in Qabbalah, of the planes of illusion. The sun of the central
ring is Tiferet, the sun of daylight and of consciousness. Finally we encounter
the sun of the upper ring in the sphere of Daath, the realm of higher
consciousness - or the deepest layers of the unconscious. Yesod’s is the sun of
the mind; Tiferet’s is the sun of the soul; Daath’s is the sun of the spirit.
The Chariot undertakes all three journeys: the night sea journey
around Yesod; the day journey through the twelve signs of the zodiac or twelve
labours of Heracles; and finally the journey into Daath. If I have said how suited
Odin is, this is more so when we consider Odin’s double heritage, taking over
from the war and sky-god Tiwaz on the one hand and from Wotan, the god of the
underworld on the other. In Greek myth we find here the three powers who
divided the world between them. For simplicities sake we can denote three
chariots: the chariot of Zeus traversing the sky and daylight sun, the chariot of
Poseidon circling the moon, and the chariot of Hades ‘the unseen one’, rising
through the invisible sefirah of Daath. The latter is the journey connecting the
sefirah at the foot of the pillar of revelation with the sefirah at the head: the
Chariot and the High Priestess, (Hades and Persephone) on an equal level.
Stimulating, powerful, inciting, the Chariot is a card of tremendous
contagious dynamism, vibrating to the thrill of adventure. Qabbalistically it
belongs in Netzach, the sphere of Eternity, more commonly known as Victory.
Netzach provides the energy necessary to the continued maintenance
of life. It is a sefirah of constant driving force, pulsating microcosmically
through the living body, and on a larger scale maintaining the rhythms of natural
laws, the ever-repeating cycles of eternity. Assigned the element of force,
Netzach is the fiery energy of nature.
The Tarot provides the equivalent force in the tremendous dynamic
energy of the Chariot: the driving force of the body, and the harnessed power of
Strength sent spiralling through the worlds of form. For the Chariot’s energy
derives from the Strength card, as we see clearly in the Chariot of the sun. In the
card of Strength we saw the female soul figure over-powering with the force of
love the fiery sun lion. All the forces of Strength are again present on a lower arc
in the card of the Chariot. We find love here through the power of Venus, the
mundane chakra of Netzach; the animal energy through the moving chariot
drawn by two harnessed horses (sometimes shown as oxen or sphinxes), and
finally control through the Charioteer who drives without the need of reins -
using mind control. For the Charioteer and the Magician are one, the master of
thought in motion.

The forms of Netzach are thought forms. Netzach is the victorious sphere of
creative imagination, and the first of the quaternity of sefirot which make up the
planes of illusion: the planes of form. Thus it is that we find in the Tarot Chariot
the master of thought and illusion: the Magician at the helm, flush with the
success of victory. For what was set out to be achieved from the beginning has
here its first major completion: the establishing of thought into discernible
reality. What one has dreamed and worked towards is becoming tangible. In the
card of the Chariot the dynamic tensions of both the Magician and Strength are
in operation, one providing the energy of movement and one invisibly
controlling the reins, giving the perfect realizable balance of force and form, as
is the sefirah of Netzach.
‘The forefathers are the chariot,’ is a saying of Jewish origin,
inferring that that which has gone before supports that which is its continuance.
The Chariot represents a coming together of all that has gone before, and a
foretaste of what is to come. It contains the signature, not just of the Magician
and Strength, but of all the previous major cards. For each of the previous majors
have been necessary in the creating of the Chariot.
As the wily map-reader who plans the route, the Hierophant plays
the most prominent role on the journey with regard to the Chariot. Frequently,
however, he is not willing to show himself directly but employs instead the
mediation of Temperance. As one and four Temperance is the outer face of the
Hierophant. As fourteen she is the completion of the sun and moon cycles of the
Chariot: two completed sevens. From here, as the lower face of the High
Priestess, descended Persephone, she is the holder of the key to the third circle of
the Chariot’s journey, the guardian of the door into Daath, the step into the
fifteenth card of the Devil. As the Chariot’s double, Temperance and the Chariot
together reflect in the quaternity of illusion the relationship between the
Magician and Strength at the head of the tree. In the trio of the Chariot,
Hierophant and Temperance, we have the trinity of journey, map-reader and
intermediate destination, or adventure, guide and temporary resting place.
In the choice of the Lovers we saw the three roads open for the
journey, while the Hanged Man denotes the price necessary for the seat in the
Chariot. Of the three journeys that are constantly and simultaneously travelled,
we are only ever consciously aware of one; we see, as if with only one eye, only
one sun at any one time. For the Chariot has its base in the entrance hall of the
planes of illusion. To enter one must give up the vision of the three circles, and
strive restlessly ever after to regain it.
The sphere of Netzach is described as ‘the radiance that illuminates
the transcendental powers that are seen with the mind’s eye.’ [114] It is the sphere
where the one manifests into diversity, where the compound light reveals itself in
the seven separated rays of colour of the beautiful prismatic rainbow, the ‘vision
of beauty triumphant.’ Yet, revealing the truth of the unity of the one and the
apparent many, mythically the rainbow is also the bridge that leads homeward,
or to the realm of the gods.
Like Netzach, the Chariot denotes the plurality of forms contained in
the one, and the one contained in the plurality of forms. There is however a
catch. To enter the realms of the planes of illusion one must sacrifice in the
Hanged Man the overall vision, and leave as a pledge at the well of wisdom in
the sun of Tiferet ‘one eye.’ One enters the planes of illusion to begin the Chariot
journey with limited vision. Previously the unity has been experienced but not
the diversity; on entering the planes of illusion one experiences the diversity but
loses sight of the unity. The journey of the Chariot is to maintain sight of the
diversity while redeeming what was lost - the experience of unity. As with the
Hierophant, the Chariot is not the goal, but it provides the means to the goal. It is
the means of re-circling the worlds until, rising through the third eye of Daath in
the card of the World (itself the completion of the third seven), we are able to
experience all three paths as one, unity, and multiplicity, and unity and
multiplicity as one and the same. It is thus we attain our birthright and become
that which we always were from the beginning - the Fool enjoying the journey
that is oneself travelling through Oneself.
It is, as yet, a long way to this stage. While denoting the multi-rayed
prism, the Chariot, like Netzach, concentrates at any one time only on a
specialised, but partial manifestation, magnifying only one fragment of the
whole. To do more one needs desperately the input of the other cards. For in the
Chariot there is something of a single-minded intensity. To a great extent this
may be necessary to reach the determined goal, yet moderation is needed if
unwise actions are to be avoided. In seeking here to regain what was lost and to
add it to what has been gained, we somersault between a constant striving and a
need to let go. Keeping abreast of which exactly is applicable at any one time
becomes, with this card, something of a gamble.
The constant movement of the Chariot can denote a tireless seeking.
Wandering is a symbol of restless longing, of yearning for some hazy
unspecified ‘something’, or a sense of being far from home. In this the Chariot
relates back to the High Priestess. The High Priestess, as Sophia or Wisdom at
the head of the pillar of mercy, began the descent and yearned for the ascent. She
prefigures the story of the Chariot, to which she is deeply related as a guide
through the eternal cycles.
In her own visage, as High Priestess, she guides through the Daath
cycle. In the visage of her twin-self: Strength, she guides through the Tiferet-
centred cycle; and in the manifestation of the priestess of the balance in the
kingdom, that is as Temperance, she guides through the lower cycle. In this we
can compare the situation of Persephone. Hades, on his chariot driven by two
black horses, breaks through the earth to abduct Persephone: energy flowing up
and down the pillar of force. Persephone must return again and again to the
underworld, dividing herself equally between the upper and lower realms,
because she has bound herself to the number seven and the perpetual cycles of
the Chariot by eating seven pomegranate seeds. Daughter of day and queen of
night, she guides her Chariot through the three worlds, and, like the Fool,
possesses citizenship in each.
Containing the three of the heavenly soul and the four of the earthly
body, seven is the first number to yoke the spiritual and temporal in a single
vehicle. After the valiant efforts of the Hanged Man to master himself, the
Chariot emerges triumphantly in the sefirah of victory, riding high on the crest of
achievement. For the Chariot is the card of the hero who ventures forth to ‘slay
the dragon.’ It is a card of action, of deeds to be done and of the momentum
setting tasks in motion. It is a card of involvement.
‘The hero,’ writes Jung, ‘symbolizes a man’s unconscious self, and
this manifests itself empirically as the sum total of all archetypes and therefore
includes the archetype of the father and of the wise old man.’ [115] I have already
said how important a role the wise old man of Tarot - the Hierophant, plays as
map reader. As distant, but constantly supportive, guiding light, the father-
Emperor is also an important but silent partner. The Chariot has even been
described by some as the mobile throne, the throne of the Emperor in motion. As
such the Chariot becomes the movement of light through time and space. All
three, Chariot, Emperor and Hierophant, are connected by their relationship to
the Magician, who brings the divergent aspects of himself together in the card of
the Chariot, where sometimes they will pull together, and sometimes drag apart.
The underlying focus of the seventh sphere in both Tarot and
Qabbalah, is polarity. The polarity throughout the tree and throughout the Tarot
is mirrored in Netzach and the Chariot, the dynamism of both arising from the
tensions of polarity within themselves. This is clearly represented in the glyph of
the Chariot, with its two strong horses, sometimes shown trying to pull in
opposite directions. As Netzach is the sphere of instincts and emotions, so the
Chariot confirms the force of the instinctual drives as designated by the two
horses, while the full-time role of the vigilant charioteer is to control rather than
be controlled by them.
We can go back to Plato to find the soul compared to a charioteer
with two horses, one restrained and noble, ‘good in every way and the other the
opposite.’ [116] Plato’s horses, like those of the Tarot Chariot, are white and black,
conflicting instincts pulling in opposite directions, libido fighting libido, the two
snakes of the caduceus, sometimes in harmony, sometimes at war, yet always the
polarity of relationship is pronounced.
Libido denotes the energy, vitality, passions and desires, the
emotional driving forces as a whole, all of which come symbolically under the
region of fire. In qabbalistic lore Netzach is designated as pointing north.
Mythically the region of fire is at the northern point of the ecliptic, where we
find also the constellation of Ursa Major: known variously as the Great Bear, or
Wagon, or the chariot in which folk heroes (Arthur, Charlemagne (Charles’
Wain), Elijah, Thor, Odin) traverse the sky. The seven stars of the Wagon are
known astrologically as the ‘indestructible ones,’ i.e. seen all year round. In the
Rig Veda they are identified with the seven Rishis, the semi-divine sages, the
sources of all sub-lunary wisdom. In Siberian legend too the seven stars are the
seven watchmen who guard the horses - the two bright stars of Ursa Minor, from
a wolf; when the wolf kills them the world will end.
Both the wolf and the horse are symbolically related to Odin, who
leads out the army of heroes at the battle of Ragnoråk, the twilight of the gods,
where he himself is devoured by the wolf. (This is to say, Odin devoured by
Odin, while the sons of the gods survive to repopulate the universe anew, as the
whole cycle begins again.)
The Chariot is affiliated to the victor or hero, both because of the
hero’s wandering associations and the chariot’s battle symbolism. Odin, the great
wanderer, was also the god of battle. It was he who gave to the hero the gifts of
both victory and defeat. In the Chariot we see the hero riding into battle and
adventure, but the conflict is between warring factors in one’s own nature, the
battlefield is the field of life, and the adventure is to discover oneself.
This is the object of the three cycles. The central solar circle spirals
around the number twelve and the sacrifice of the Hanged Man. It demands
repeated effort to become master over oneself, sometimes through the battle of
involvement, sometimes through renunciation, yet always through facing up to
the task in hand and going forth to meet the challenge.
Sleipnir, the horse rode by Odin, could overcome any obstacle. It
was a horse with eight hooves: duality united in a single creature. The Chariot is
pulled by two horses which between them have eight hooves; friction is indeed
still possible here. Yet under master control the polarity that is present is directed
to one purpose. The Chariot indicates the means of achieving victory: the
harnessing of the energy of the warring factors of our being so that they pull
together as one whole. In the card of the Chariot we realise our humanity by
conquering our animal nature and controlling instinctive desires, harnessing the
energy therein to self-create, rather than self-destroy.
The mythic caution of one who gave way to instinctive desires and
thus found himself driven by, rather than driving the fiery horses, can be found
in the Greek tale of Phaëton. Phaëton was the young son of the Greek sun god
Apollo. Granted the right to choose anything he wanted from his father, he
demands to be allowed to drive the chariot of the sun across the sky for one day.
Foreseeing at once the inevitable destruction, Apollo tries vainly to persuade
Phaëton to choose something else. Phaëton, however, will not heed to caution
and undertakes the solar journey with little mastering of himself. Sensing his
inability to restrain them, the horses career wildly out of control on a blazing
path of conflagration. Zeus, to save the world from burning destruction, is forced
to hurl one of his thunderbolts at the imprudent, impulsive youth, who topples
into the sea.
Phaëton’s fate is a warning of the danger of the fiery energy of the
Chariot if allowed out of control. A more successful solar hero can be found in
the figure of Heracles, the victorious conqueror of the Greek pantheon.
Like the Chariot of the Tiferet centred ring, Heracles origins’ were in
light and strength. His father was Zeus, the god of light, and his mortal mother
was Alcmene, the ‘woman of might.’ Thus from his parentage he contained
within himself the polarity of the seeds of divinity and mortality.

Yet it is to the great mother, Hera, that Heracles is dedicated as ‘the Glory of
Hera.’ For it is only she who can give him his ‘second birth’ as a god, and this
she will only do if he fulfills the twelve labours she imposes, via an
intermediary, to be carried out in her mortal world of forms.
Most of Heracles labours involved animals in some way. For animals
represent so well the libido, the potential of the untamed psychic energy of the
instinctual and emotional contents, which needs however to be mastered if we
are not to be devoured by it. His first labour was the slaying of the Nemean lion
in hand to hand combat. Being victorious, the lion’s skin provided a garment
which rendered him invulnerable. This was his second ‘skin’ or garment, for
Athene, Wisdom, had already given him a robe when he set forth. Thus he is
clothed by wisdom and by might, or in Tarot terms, he has balanced within him
the two of the High Priestess and that of Strength, and so gained the right to
guidance through the solar cycles.
The two tasks of Heracles which did not involve animals contain
Venus symbols. One was to obtain the girdle worn by the warrior Queen of the
Amazons. The girdle, a Venus symbol and an attribute of Netzach, is that which
girds the loins for action. The other, the eleventh labour, was to fetch three
golden apples from the garden of the Hesperides on the slopes of Atlas ‘where
the panting chariot horses of the sun complete their journey.’ [117] Not knowing
which direction to take, Heracles has to seek out Nereus, the wily old shape-
changing sea-god, to wrestle the information from him. This is equivalent in
Tarot to consulting the Hierophant to discover which route we need to take to
obtain our goal.
 On obtaining the apples, Heracles presents them as a gift to Athene.
Athene returns them whence they came, thus emphasizing that the importance
lies not in the ‘treasure’ at the end of the journey but in the adventures passed
through to reach it. Heracles then turns to his twelfth and final labour: to bring
into the light of day three-headed, serpent-maned Cerberus, the guardian of the
underworld.
In the mystery tradition the hero following the path of the sun must
undertake the night sea journey, for the descent into the sea is itself part of the
solar myth. The solar journey to reach the heights alternates with the descent to
one’s depths in the hours of darkness. Following, and preceding, the twelve
hours of day comes sunset, and the inward turning of the mind through the
twelve hours of night. This is the plunge into the lunar ruled planes of illusion.
With the descent of the Chariot into darkness, we embark on the journey through
the planes of illusion, and the subjectively lunar-ruled abodes of time.
It is in the chariot of Poseidon that we make the sea journey. Though
master over the immense sea, Poseidon was greedy still for earthly kingdoms.
His desire for possessions frequently brought him into conflict with other gods,
such as when contesting with Athene for the patent on horse and chariot.
In Greek myth, the ship, horse, bridle, and chariot, all effects of the
journey, are attributed to Athene. As she did with Heracles, Athene guides
Odysseus through his adventures, for, in the Greek pantheon, we find Odysseus
undertaking, after his long sojourn on the battlefield, an equally long sea odyssey
home.
Like Heracles, Odysseus grapples with monsters, but he uses wits
rather than strength. Mistakes are made on the way. Circe (fathered on a
daughter of Ocean by Helios, the sun), turned Odysseus’ companions into swine.
Odysseus, helped by Hermes, must himself avoid the same fate and force her to
restore his men to human shape; after this feat Circe becomes his guide and
helper. Again this emphasizes the positive attributes of the psychic energy if we
can overcome its enmity and turn it into a friend. Later some of the seven herds
of cattle owned by Helios were killed and eaten by Odysseus’ crew, resulting in
their own destruction. Thus it is Odysseus alone who survives to face the last
violent onslaught of the stormy seas of Poseidon. For this he is presented with
that familiar Venus symbol, a girdle to buoy him up in the waves until he reaches
land.
The number seven is prominent in the Odysseus myth for, in the
language of symbolism, seven is both a solar and a lunar number. With twelve it
relates to the solar aspirations and the seven rayed sun crown. It is however,
equally at home on lunar territory, with the moon hero, stellar lore and the sea
mysteries.
Following lunar tradition, the Jewish calendar is based throughout on
cycles of seven - seven days of the week, divisions of the year, the seventh
sabbatical year, the Jubilee year celebrated every forty-nine lunar years (7x7).
The Jewish New Year actually begins with the celebration of the new moon in
the seventh month, while the calendar day begins and ends at sunset, the lunar
hours of night precede those of day.
Of the seven patriarchs, Moses, the patriarch of Netzach, was forced
to endure several years of severity at the hands of Jethro in order to marry one of
Jethro’s seven daughters, and again, Moses had to overcome the enmity of seven
dreadful angels before he could receive the Torah. It was Moses who led the
Israelites on their long wanderings through seven deserts to sight of the promise-
land. It is Moses’ duty in Netzach to guide all wanderers and way-farers.
In Egypt, before embarking on his wanderings, Moses would have
been schooled in the tradition of stellar wisdom. He would be aware, therefore,
of the pivotal role played by the seven stars of Ursa Major: the Great Bear,
watching over the pole star of Ursa Minor: the Little Bear. For these are the stars
which guide us on our wanderings. Significantly, Odysseus, the inveterate
wanderer of the Greek pantheon, was himself of the House of Arceisios - the
House of the Bear.
The similarities between the sun and sea journey emphasize their
interrelationship and constant influence on each other, just as the hours of dream,
day-dream and waking interact to influence one another. All relate to various
states within the one mind, which shuttles back and forth between the twelve
hours of day and night on one continuous journey.
In both the sun and sea journey we are dealing with the polarised forces
within the unconscious itself, and the urge of the libido simultaneously forwards
and backwards.
For the urge to the heights vies with the desire to sink back into the sea before
the heights have been attained; and, after the plunge into night, the urge to sleep
vies with the push to renew the effort to reach land for the moment of rebirth at
dawn.
Despite the tremendous effort involved, the advantage of the battles
of the solar circle is that we can at least see what we are up against. Here it is
possible to discern what the obstacle is and thus to consider appropriate means
of overcoming it. In the lunar circle, with its centre in the planes of illusion, the
situation is quite the reverse. Nothing is clear, neither who is friend nor who is
foe, what the obstacle is nor where it lies. Just as darkness can give things an
illusory perspective, here we may magnify irrelevant things while the truly
important factors underlying the situation are quite overlooked, making
mountains out of molehills, yet regarding as quite harmless something which is
potentially explosive. Discerning the true reality from the false reality - which
often involves looking not at but through the world of forms, is the elusive,
sometimes nightmare task of the sea journey, which fluctuates, like the tides,
between desire and despair.
Astrologically Venus, the planet of Netzach, is the ruler of desire and
want. Related to the English ‘wish’, the desire to possess is part of its consuming
and binding influence, attaching us to the planes of illusion. Blinded by the
attachments of desire man cannot see beyond his own illusions. ‘Wisdom is
clouded by desire, the ever present enemy of the wise, desire in its innumerable
forms, which like a fire cannot find satisfaction.’ So warns Krishna, the
Charioteer of the soul, on the battle plains of the Bhagavad Gita. [118]
One cannot consider the symbolism of the Chariot without bringing
to mind this profound work. The Bhagavad Gita centres round the great battle
for the kingdom of the soul. It is narrated to a blind king by Sanjaya, his
charioteer. Sanjaya has been given vision, by Krishna, which will enable him to
see the whole battlefield. Thus Sanjaya relates ‘what came to pass ‘on the field
of Truth, on the battle-field of Life.’
He tells how Arjuna, the princely warrior soul, when lined up to
begin the battle, looks over to the opposing army and sees there friends, brothers,
teachers. His mind whirling in doubt and confusion, Arjuna sinks despairingly to
the floor of his chariot, not wanting to take part in a battle where he must fight
against his kith and kin. It is then that Krishna, the ‘Lord of the Soul,’ and
Arjuna’s charioteer, expounds from within the chariot the teachings of the
Bhagavad Gita.
In Hindu and Buddhist literature the chariot symbolises the psycho-
physical vehicle. The horses are the senses, the reins the controls, the axle the
world axis, and the wheels the Dharma of heaven and earth revolving through
the cycles of manifestation. The charioteer is the Spirit in us, or atman, the real
self.
Thus Krishna, as the Spirit within, teaches Arjuna about the planes of
illusion where, ‘if any man thinks he slays, and if another thinks he is slain,
neither knows the ways of truth. The Eternal in man cannot kill, the Eternal in
man cannot die.’ [119]
The teachings entwine around the vision of God in all things, and all
things in God - as Krishna shows in revealing his true form to Arjuna. The
thread of the teachings is that in the battle of life the only defeat is in giving up
the fight. For ‘not by refraining from action does man attain freedom from
action.’ [120] Such freedom is only attained by conquering the soul; for if a man is
not lord of his soul, that soul becomes an enemy. Thus Krishna counsels Arjuna:

‘ Prepare for war with peace in thy soul. Be in peace in pleasure and
pain, in gain and in loss, in victory or in the loss of a battle...Be in Truth
eternal ... Beyond gains and possessions, possess thine own sou l.’ [121]

On entering the planes of illusion, we aim not to escape from the planes, but
from the delusion. Subduing the restless violence of the senses, bound by neither
attraction nor aversion but riding above both, the victorious conqueror ‘moves in
the world of the senses and yet keeps the senses in harmony.’ [122] Seven is the
number of the vibration of harmony. By peacefully controlling the impulse of his
steeds, the Tarot charioteer maintains himself in self-harmony. Perched above
the horses yet not refraining from the journey, binding together the immanent
and transcendent perspective, the victorious charioteer is the one who,
‘unperturbed by changing conditions...watches and says “the powers of nature
go round,” and remains firm and shakes not.’ [123]
The God name of Netzach is ‘Jehovah Tseva’oth,’ meaning ‘God of
Hosts,’ or ‘Lord of Armies.’ As with the Hindu Krishna, in the Jewish lore of the
Ma’aseh Merkabah (‘Work of the Chariot’) God is the eternal charioteer ‘riding
through the heavens.’ [124] The Merkabah is the fiery chariot by which one
ascends to God, such a journey requiring tremendous steadfastness and wisdom.
The fiery chariot is, finally, also that which comes to receive the dying or
departing hero, as in the ascension of Elijah or Mithras.
Thus we come to the final phase of the Chariot - the chariot of
Hades, which is the chariot of death. The Chariot of Hades is, of course, a
chariot of symbolic or inner death. Nevertheless, when aligned with the
appropriate majors, the card of the Chariot can also, occasionally, denote bodily
death. Death here may come through a terminal illness such as cancer, where the
forces of the body are no longer in harmony. Yet, however it comes, death is part
of this card, as it is part of the journey of the sun chariot to descend from its
heights towards sunset. The Chariot is a card of destiny - in more ways than one.
The road of our destiny, the predetermined cycle of events , leads us
to our destination. In my Collins dictionary, ‘destination’ is defined as ‘the
predetermined end of a journey or... the ultimate end or purpose for which
something is created.’
On the larger scale, on the cycles of eternity, our destiny is to
discover our divine Selfhood, and the Chariot drives us in the directions needed
to fulfil our purpose. It leads us to the right place at the right time, yet it is up to
us to realise this and to make the most of the opportunities offered.
This is not incompatible with freewill. How long, or how many lifetimes, it
takes us to reach our destination depends on how we bear ourselves on the road
of destiny, and on how we react to the karmic duties engendered on the way.
Whether we use our freewill to stimulate or thwart the growth to selfhood, or to
ease or obstruct the journey, is clearly a factor in our progress and very much a
part of this card. On the smaller scale of the biological cycle however, the
ultimate destination is death. What death means depends on how we have lived
the journey; where it leads depends on what, within us, we have become.

The Knight of Wands and the Knight of Discs

The powerful flow of energy of Netzach and the Chariot finds its
immediate outlet in the minor cards through the Knight of Wands. Restless and
creative, this volatile knight of the fire suit ignites the flow of libido and
channels it into action. Here we have the wandering Odin represented, not so
much in his visage as god of battle, but rather through his attributes as god of
inspiration and ecstasy.
Where higher ideals are concerned, this knight is both inspiring and
aspiring. With more practical and mundane matters, the more appropriate terms
are motivating and ambitious; all are aspects of the same energy focused in
different directions. The Knight of Wands represents a constant striving forward
in a continual search for fulfillment - the yearning of the sun-flower for light.
Constantly turning to the sun as a source of energy and vibrating the
warming influence of the sun’s rays, this solar hero thaws - and where necessary
burns away resistances, clearing the way for forward movement. Time never
stands still, and there is no stopping the rollercoaster of events instigated by the
movement of this dynamic card. Once the surge forward has begun, the only
course open is to wait until, eventually running out of steam, it gradually begins
to diminish of itself.
Love, hope, passions, desire, romance, sexual energy, jealousy and
anger, the Knight of Wands relates to the energy of the instincts and the
emotions, and astrologically to the Venus aspect of Netzach. Netzach revolves
through the polarity of relationships at all levels, be it the comradeship of
fighting men, love of the mother for her child, the attachments of friendship, or
the love of man and woman. With regard to the Knight of Wands however, the
latter case will more frequently be a case of lust at first sight than of love -
physical attraction and the energies of the body being prominent here, while lust
is the vice of Netzach.
 The fundamental dynamic energy is often closely associated with the
sex drive, and in the past this card would have denoted a lot of ‘seven-month’
babies and marriages made in haste rather than in heaven.
Fortunately, nowadays the marriages won’t usually be made for the same
reason; yet this card can still indicate a hasty marriage as, caught up in the
whirlwind of blinding emotion, fools rush in where angels fear to tread. In all
cases however, even where the primary emotion has been lust, with this card
present, when the fires die down there is always the underlying legacy of love.
For the whole of the seventh sphere, of the Chariot and Netzach, and of Venus,
rests ultimately on love. Any marriages made here will certainly be volatile, and
disruptively stormy; nevertheless, where time lends tolerance to the two
‘antagonists,’ the relationship may frequently work out a lot better than expected.
The rose is one of the symbols of Venus and Netzach, and there is
something of the influence of the desert rose about this card. Here we find love
triumphing over obstacles; relationships blossoming despite the hardships of the
life journey; hopes coming to fruition and bringing great joy even where the
beauty is, of necessity, transient, the fragrance of sweetness in desolation. In
Qabbalah the rose is said to emanate from the tree of life. The centre of the rose
is the sun and the petals the infinite but harmonious diversities of nature, the
mysteries of heaven and earth; great happiness and great sorrow overlap in the
petals of the flower of love.
In his hand the Knight of Wands holds the rod of sapphire. The rod
of sapphire is representative both of the pillar of revelation and the rod of
tradition, thus it is of the right and of the left. It is a symbol of esoteric
knowledge, a branch of the tree of knowledge itself. It was said to be created on
the eve of the first Sabbath and handed down to Moses by Jethro, after the
former had heroically endured several years of suffering in the cause of true
love, to show himself worthy of the hand of Jethro’s daughter.
Love, divine madness, or creative inspiration, the knight of the fire
suit is a positive manifestation of latent libido. Like Heracles, this is a child of
strength and light. Pegasus, the horse of the sun, was tamed by means of a
golden bridle given, in dream, to Bellerophon by Athene. Pointing to our
dreams, imagination, and controlled fantasy as sources of inspiration, the Knight
of Wands stimulates, supports and encourages artistic endeavours, especially
where accompanied also by the Queen of Wands, the Athene of the minor
queens.
Netzach is the sefirah for all creative artists, and this knight
represents the force of creative imagination, the free range of thought forms and
embodiment of ideas. Thought provoking and mind challenging, the Knight of
Wands stimulates the imagination to pursue a line of vision until its evolution
into form, the joy of creation again not letting go until the impulse is fulfilled.
Finally, as a card of the journey, the Knight of Wands indicates ties -
usually business connections, with foreigners and places abroad. This journeyer
is independent and the business indicated may well be freelance, or a small
company.
Owing to the adventurous, changing nature of this card, unfortunately, it may
also be rather unstable and erratic. Yet the Knight of Wands thrives on the flow
of adrenaline from risk-taking and adventure; he also indicates a strong fiery will
to overcome obstacles.
Despite the ups and downs, therefore, when things seem hopeless this card
will always come up with one more idea which must be tried before giving in
completely. Then, almost before you know what is happening, swept up in the
inevitable momentum, things are on the go again and the wheels are gathering
speed in a heady forge onward into pastures new.

In contrast to the Knight of Wands, the Knight of Discs reveals a far

more relaxed attitude to life. Well-meaning and easy going, this card brings an
optimistic and encouraging influence to any spread. Speed is not impossible
here, but this knight reserves a sense of urgency purely for emergencies. For the
rest of the time a ‘nice’ ‘n easy’ rhythm dictates the pace of this amble through
life’s journey.
The Knight of Discs correlates with the hero of the moon cycles.
Certainly he is well caught up in the mesh of the planes of form; yet, gifted with
an earthly practical nature, the monsters and dragons this moon hero faces, taken
out of their fancy finery, are the mundane matters of the everyday, in all their
accumulated and wonderfully comic strangeness. Indicating the beauty of, and
the battle with, the small and mundane, the ordinary business of living, the
continued challenge of every-day earthly reality, this knight is, so to speak, the
hero of the kitchen sink. His problems are practical problems, his outlook one of
sensible, well-meaning (if sometimes clumsy) concern. Friendly,
communicative, helpful, this knight bears the gifts of support and good will to
any situation - even if the intentions are sometimes nobler than the means of
carrying them out.
In contrast to the aspiring nature of the Knight of Wands, this earthly
knight shows no ambition. He has no wish to rise to great heights - what for?
He’s happy where he is - on solid ground. Although he may be admired and
well-respected within his profession, the Knight of Discs still is, and likes to
think of himself as ‘one of the workers.’ And he is more than happy to stay that
way.
Unlike the short twenty-four fuse of the solar knight, the Knight of
Discs connects with the longer, more gradual phasing of the moon’s transitions,
and with the slightly more erratic journey of the moon hero. The knight of the
earth suit relates to the Chariot as the physical vehicle for carrying the soul
through its earthly journey. It is true the Knight of Discs does not know where he
is going, but he surmises that however hard he ponders on it, he isn’t really
going to find out until he gets there; so why ponder at all? Why not simply
accept and get on with it? - It’s so much easier and more productive. Such is the
influence of this practically based card.
As part of the suit of earth the Knight of Discs likes his home and
home comforts. He enjoys traditional food, and - the Venusian influence - the
camaraderie of old friends over a shared glass of wine.
Like the Fool, his silent mentor, this knight indicates the ability to enjoy the
sheer pleasure of being. This figure may be a knight, and of course he will travel
when he needs to, but in most cases the journey through life in itself brings
enough satisfaction. He feels little need to hanker after any actual physical
journey in addition.
Like Moses, however, this knight does indicate assistance and succour for
those wayfarers who do find themselves in search of a place of rest.
Two alternative titles of Netzach are firmness and endurance. The
Knight of Discs indicates both. Patiently and steadfastly grinding down
obstacles, the Knight of Discs shows a tenacity bordering on stubbornness in the
long, often gruelling struggles life may send our way. ‘Set thy heart upon thy
work, but never on its rewards,’ Krishna urges Arjuna in the Bhagavad Gita, [125]
and this is very much the attitude encouraged by the placement of the Knight of
Discs in a spread. It is a card of fulfilling one’s duties and responsibilities, of
doing the deed in hand and facing up to whatever needs to be done, and then one
can enjoy the subsequent rest with a clear conscience.
Finally, the microcosmic circle of the disc in this knight’s hand is a
circle of destiny. It indicates a return. After some venture has been undertaken,
this knight indicates a crossing of the lines to leave that venture behind, and a
return to the peace and familiarity of home ground. This may be for a short
period of relaxation before the work begins again - the seventh day of rest after
six days endeavour. Yet any respite here is only temporary. This is still the
sphere of movement, and the Knight of Discs, in the train of the Chariot’s
journey, knows that in the perpetual circles of time the end simply flows back
into the beginning. Thus, what may be a return simply indicates, from the
practical, common-sense approach of this card, going back to more of the same,
the endurance of the perpetual influx of mundane details facing the hero of the
‘ordinary life.’
The Sevens
‘Wisdom hath builded her house, she hath hewn out her seven
pillars’, we read in Proverbs. [126] In the Seven of Wands we traverse the difficult
paths and hard decrees of Sophia that lead ultimately to victory and the crown of
glory.
One of the titles given to Netzach is valour. The same title is applied
to the Seven of Wands. As I have already stated, other titles of Netzach are
Victory, Firmness, Endurance and Eternity. All apply in equal measure to the
Seven of Wands. One needs both valour and endurance to persevere on the stony
road of disappointments and continued inner challenge posed by this face of the
journey, the greatest challenge of which is to one’s inner belief in oneself. Yet
the road does lead, very slowly, but very surely to victory. Victory here signifies,
after a long period of time, the joyous attainment of the goal one was pursuing;
the overcoming of the contraries of oneself, and, through the understanding
gained on the journey, to victory over fear of death.
The Seven of Wands corresponds to the aspects of the Odin symbol
as god of battle, as god of inspiration, and as the wandering god leading through
the worlds of death. The power of the Seven of Wands is the ability to fuse all
these aspects together. This card derives from the higher, spiritual level of
Netzach.
Valour is both shown - and needed, in this card of the spiritual warrior facing
tremendous struggle. It is here we find, for example, reference to the mysteries
of the Merkabah. It is here also we discover that level of the Chariot which
equates to the teachings of Krishna to Arjuna, on the battlefield of life for the
kingdom of the soul. This is the battle of the will to overcome the backward drift
dragging against the fulfillment of one’s destiny.
Seven is a very spiritual number, with deep religious connotation. It
is also a number of destiny. The pilgrim of Islam who has completed the journey
to Mecca circumambulates the Ka’aba seven times. The Jewish Menorah, the
candlestick which is also a symbol of the tree of life, has seven branches. In
Christianity there are seven spirits before the throne of God, and seven golden
lampstands in the hands of he who ‘holds the keys of death and Hades.’ [127] And
of course there are the sevens seals to the book of Revelation, the seventh to be
opened at the time for the judging of the dead.
The Wands are the suit of the element of fire, the element associated
with both Netzach and Chokmah. Through the attainment of the seventh Wand
of the fire suit in the seventh sefirah of Victory, we fulfil the tasks of the solar
cycle, the journey through the seven rays of the sun. The solar circle centres
around the number twelve and the girdle of the zodiac; yet symbolically the door
in and out of the circumference always returns to the number seven - the ancient
number of the journey. The seventh ray of the sun is the path by which man
passes from one stage, or Tarot ring, to the next.
To travel on this seventh ray, however, is very much a triumphant
passage. It indicates completion of a circle of destiny in this life cycle. To reach
here, one has accomplished all one set oneself to do in a given sphere this time
around. Needless to say, passing through the door of transformation on the
seventh ray is not a particularly frequent occurrence. To get here involves having
endured and won through the arduous discipline of the Solar Sophia - by no
means an easy task.
As a card of the gateway between worlds, the fiery Wand Seven
aligns with the Seven of the earth suit to indicate the spiritual and physical levels
of Netzach enjoined. Both cards relate to the arduous nature of the road to be
travelled, the high cost of victory and the shared tragedies of the living journey.
With the combined influence of the appropriate cards, such as the
Chariot, Strength and the Knight of Swords, the Seven of Wands with the Seven
of Discs can also relate to physical death. However, the effects of death on a
personal level are rarely indicated here. The Seven of Wands may, for example,
commemorate the multitude e of lives sacrificed in war. It is a card honouring
the dead and wounded of all life’s battle plains, -including the home front. Again
what is relevant here is the cost of victory on a wider scale.
The card of Strength in relation to the Seven of Wands refers to that,
or those, left behind. This may appertain to someone who is reviewing, with
sadness and resignation, things which must be left behind for the journey to
continue; or it may refer to someone who, in remaining behind, must shoulder
their own heavy burden and accept a period of hardship and loneliness as being
necessary at this stage.
Integrated in these two cards together is the acceptance of a waiting period,
often the waiting for the return of someone (as Penelope waited patiently for the
return of Odysseus), or for news of an arrival. This waiting is infused with a
little apprehension and some sadness, yet also with a sense of achievement, of
having laid some matter to rest.
In the halls of Odin a maiden would await with a cup in her hand to
welcome the dead through their joyous entry into Odin’s realm. That the realm
of the dead could also be the realm of the living shedding outgrown aspects of
themselves to make way for the shoots of new self-growth, can be surmised from
the fact that this cup was also linked with the mead of inspiration. This is
relevant here for, like the knight of the same suit, the Seven of Wands is a highly
artistic card.
As a card of the struggle through the journey of life, the Seven of
Wands relates inevitably to the journeying knight of the Wand suit placed in
Netzach. Both are cards of creation and aspiration. Like the knight, this Seven
also gains its inspiration from the Queen of Wands at the head of the pillar of
revelation. The laurel wreaths of victory become in this case the crowns of
success after a long and arduous undertaking, in which one has been faced with
stiff competition at all levels.
In any battle there must be losses; equally so in the battle within.
Thus, even at the moment of victory, there may be quiet sighs for all that has
passed. There comes, with the Seven of Wands, a realisation that one has paid in
ways perhaps not bargained for. Here there are both losses and gains that could
not be foreseen. Nevertheless there is also a strong feeling of relief and inner
peace from having triumphed over overwhelming difficulties, and really earned
the success.
Seven is sacred to Apollo. In contrast to Phaëton, at the level of the
Seven of Wands we meet the victor who has applied, or is still valiantly applying
the spiritual and mental effort required to steer the chariot successfully. He is
diligently and patiently following the winding, and often painful road on which
he must learn his skills to become accomplished in his chosen profession.
Valour, self-discipline, inner strength and concentration, this card shows an
enduring dedication to the journey in the pursuit of one’s destined sun.

With both the Seven of Cups and the Seven of Swords we are firmly
in the realm of Netzach as the first sefirah of the planes of illusion. The Venus
undertones of the Seven of Cups make this very much a card of desire and
imagination. The journey here is in pursuit of that shimmering, elusive goal:
happiness.
The qabbalistic title of the Seven of Cups is ‘lord of illusory
success.’ There can be no real success to this card. Here one is seeking in the
realms of illusion something which one gives tangible credence to without really
knowing what it is one is looking for. This is a card of the windmills of the mind.
The Seven of Cups nevertheless can be a very helpful influence.
Netzach is the treasure house of thought forms, of all that can be imagined, and
in this Tarot Seven we can find the receptacle for a positive exploration of the
mind.
Force cascades here into forms, but nothing is as yet so definite that it closes
the door to other possibilities. In the Seven of Cups we explore the art of the
possible. This is a card which gives free reign to the imagination. Science
fiction, fantasy tales, horror stories or romance, all would belong here.
The Seven of Cups may certainly be helpful for science fiction
writers - although they would need the balance of an earth or fire card if their
ideas are ever to get down on paper. Yet, rather than writers, it is the readers of
such tales who are far more likely to find themselves in the spotlight here. What
is actually indicated by the Seven of Cups is the pleasure to be gained from the
weird and wonderful in the imagination, and we all have imagination which can
be played out in various ways. Fantasy theme parks, Disney world, Lego Land,
virtual reality, and that great house of fantasy we have all resorted to: the screen
image, be it via cinema, TV, or video, or more recently, computer game. Seeking
to compensate through the branches of the imagination for that which seems to
be lacking in the mundane, the Seven of Cups can be described as something of
a ‘pleasure dome’ which, as long as it is balanced with the more practical realties
of the other suits, has a positive role to play in any one’s life.
Positive also are the visionary aspects of this card. Artistic talent that
can be expressed through painting can be implied here. This need not be on a
professional level, but can simply be used as a relaxing and fulfilling pastime.
The card is particularly appropriate where the paintings are of a surrealistic or
subjective mode. Also indicated in the treasure house of images of the Seven of
Cups are dreams and dream interpretation, an exploration of the psyche through
the exploration of dreams.
Netzach is the sphere of the occult, and the Seven of Cups can
indicate psychic ability. It can also refer to an interest in alternative therapies
such as herbal lore, acupuncture, hypnotism, anything not confined by the
limitations of conventional thinking. With its roots in the card of destiny, the
Seven of Cups can also relate to the art of divining: astrology, palmistry, I-
Ching, runes, crystal ball or Tarot, this is fortune telling country as conceived by
the popular imagination - the seventh daughter of the seventh daughter! Again
however, with this Seven it is far more likely to be the user of such services
rather than the reader who is implicated here. What the Seven of Cups may, in
fact, denote to any Tarot reader, is that you’re by no means the first this querent
has come to. With this card the querent may be something of a ‘fortune-telling’
addict, in continual pursuit of hearing that happiness is waiting around that
corner, and she is only a step away from all her dreams coming true!
Etymologically the word ‘Venus’ is related to the English ‘wish’, and
there is a lot of wishful thinking about this card. Yet underlying the wishes are
darker mood-tones. The journeying aspect of this card fuels a restless search to
disguise a cavern of emptiness which one is afraid to look into on its own terms.
Unacknowledged, there is an inner awareness that all is not quite as it should be,
but one is afraid to take this further, preferring rather to seek escape in flight.
The journeying aspect of this card can actually be interpreted quite
literally in terms of day trips, holidays nearby - all in pursuit of the same thing:
the pleasurable experience.
There is no reason why these excursions can’t be simply experienced and
enjoyed, and yet with the Seven of Cups there is always that underlying sense of
wanting something more. So much is set by the experience that it can never
really live up to expectations. Even when the day is good, the happiness is
transient. Worse still, after the couple of hours’ journey home, held up by road-
works and traffic jams, with the tired youngsters fighting or crying in the back of
the car, it will soon seem in any case to be an age away. Thus the sigh, the
gnawing sense of restlessness and unaccountable dissatisfaction, and the turning
again of the windmills of the mind in search of that elusive something which is
glimpsed fleetingly, but on the whole seems to be always out of reach.
Between the Seven of Cups and the Knight of Discs there is a direct
contrast in the approach to experience. The latter indicates a humorous
contentment with one’s lot and the happiness which is not sought, but simply felt
in being alive. With the Seven of Cups on the other hand, there is a vague inner
yearning, fueled by and in turn fueling, the restless assumption that the grass is
always greener elsewhere. So of one goes searching endlessly for those greener
pastures which, in the state of mind of this card, are themselves simply a
phantom of the planes of illusion.
Hallucinations, mental instability, manic depression (an illness
suffered by a fair share of those in artistic professions), the Seven of Cups spirals
through the roller-coaster of emotions, from the lows to the highs and back again
with startling rapidity. Lunar ruled, the jagged rocks lying just below the surface
of consciousness provide the constant dangers of the dark sea journey. One is
also faced here with the temptations of the forbidden - as Odysseus’ crew learnt
only too well.
Everything about the Seven of Cups is fleeting, ephemeral, and
subjective. It does have very positive features, but the positive and negative are
so closely entwined that caution is always applicable here. With this card it is all
too easy to get into deep waters without realising it, and for the beautiful dream
of the pleasure trip to become a nightmare from which one cannot wake.
The ‘trip’ can take on darker tones, for example where drugs are
resorted to in search of the eternal repetition of that transient and ever more
elusive ‘kick’. It is a feature of this card, where ill-starred, that addictions can be
indicated. In such a scenario the Chariot itself is on a downhill spiral, ruled by
the impulses of the body: the horses, rather than the will of the driver. At its most
extreme, one may find oneself on an unstoppable journey, veering totally out of
control. All the facets of the Chariot and the seventh sphere thus take on a
nightmare quality: the eternal cycles of repetition, the inner control which
becomes robotic control by the body and not by the will, the chariot journey
continuing without a driver. This is the journey of Phaëton - successful in
gaining his desires, but thereby naively aspiring to his own destruction. Such is
the danger of the ‘lord of illusory success.’
Finally, as the element of emotion, the Seven of Cups enjoins with
the Chariot’s journey through the Empress’s world of forms to play its role in
investing form with feeling.
Uniting form and the emotion invested in it, we find here figurines and
religious icons, and the beliefs surrounding such figures. That which is inside is
here projected outside and given outward reality through a steady flow of hopes
and prayers offered in devotion: a gentler and more positive pursuit of the
stairway to heaven.

The swords of sorcery, dungeons and dragons of the Seven of Cups

spill over into its brother card: the Seven of Swords. There is a difference
however. The Seven of Swords is concerned not with the pursuit of pleasure, but
with the search for adventure. This is the card of the crusader, the would-be
knight seeking worlds to save and dragons to slay. Unfortunately our would-be
hero does not come across too many dragons on his travels, and so is forced to
create them. Thus we find in the Seven of Swords something of a Don Quixote,
tilting at windmills.
The Seven of Swords is one of the strangest of the minor cards. The
power behind this Seven is the Fool’s Chariot: the ways and means of the
wandering jester. Here we encounter the teeming and playful variety of the many
faces of life, the diverse manifestations of the fairground of fate. Amused,
mocked, entertained, thrilled or frightened, we are led along the Fool’s journey
and captured by its kaleidoscopic spell. In this diverse panorama of the jester we
meet the polarity of the Seven of Swords: the two faces of the clown, the comic
and the tragic.
Qabbalistically this is a card of unstable effort. Waxing hot and cold,
one moment full of hope, and the next of despair, this is really a card which
doesn’t know where it is going or where it wants to be. Lunar ruled, the Seven of
Swords relates more to the waning and dark phases of the moon. It is a card of
utter, often comic confusion. The real challenge of the journey in this card, is to
continue in the darkness, with no idea of where one is heading or of what is
happening. Indeed, from the perspective of this card it may seem as if nothing at
all is happening. With absolutely nothing making sense, the Seven of Swords is a
card of trust: to keep going without knowing where it all leads, and hope one is
moving in the right direction.
That we do keep going is inevitable here. For its placement behind
the Chariot, in Netzach, on the pillar of force, ensures the energy of the Seven of
Swords. This constant upsurge of energy is the preserving impulse of this card. It
is this which inspires the search for adventure. In the limbo of the Seven of
Swords we find a geyser of youthful energy which must flow somewhere. Where
there is no outlet one will be created, which is why we get the negativity
sometimes attributed to this card.
A youth seeking adventure in a land where there are not too many
adventures to be had, becomes a bored youth very likely to fall into trouble;
especially where, through unemployment, he is left with little money, no
constructive work as an outlet for his energy, and plenty of time on his hands. He
may turn ‘the establishment’ into his dragon and fight by kicking against it. He
may turn to vandalism or crime, or carry out practical jokes which are none too
practical and whose end results were not really intended.
Or, more positively, he may simply use his wits and imagination to turn his
energy to some constructive purpose. Always he is seeking an outlet, seeking to
create a turning point in the adventure - or un-adventure that is his life. Conflict,
quarrels and competition, all are used in the search to explore one’s potential and
test one’s limitations through the mediumship of challenge.
Thus we find the paradoxical situation in this card, of often noble
ideals which become deeply buried through never finding an outlet, and ignoble
actions which do, as we react and adapt to the situations we find ourselves in.
Trying to make the most of the situation and getting by the best one
can is very much a part of this card. The Seven of Swords is a card of defences,
but the defences referred to are our self-defences, our means of coping with life.
Here we find the suit of armour, the mask of the persona we lay over ourselves
as a form of protection against the knocks and bruises of life.
As Netzach has been compared to Gevurah on a lower arc, so we
find in the Seven of Swords and the Five of Swords a similar reality. Both are
concerned with how we react to difficult situations, and how we cope with the
danger emanating from ourselves. The Seven of Swords on the pillar of mercy, is
however, a gentler card, showing both understanding of why the armour is
attired while nevertheless hinting that frequently it is not nearly so necessary as
we imagine. With this Seven we can discard our armour to reveal our true selves
without danger. It is in any case, a good idea to climb out of the armour plating
and drop the swords of our defences from time to time, simply to discover if we
really still need them; are we really quite so vulnerable as we have led ourselves
to believe? Full of brittle edges and sharp fastenings, the danger of the mask of
armour if we keep it on too long, is that we being to identify with it and imagine
the armour is the person, while losing sight of our true reality encased within.
‘If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, / Or being lied about
don’t deal in lies, Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,’ counsels Kipling in
the poem ‘If’; this is counsel which can be applied equally well to the Seven of
Swords. The Seven of Swords is a card of energy in limbo. Geared out for
adventure yet caught in the in-between stage waiting for something to happen,
the challenge is to ensure we use our energy constructively, not allowing it to
fritter away through the impatience of boredom, on things we’ll later regret
having done. Learning to accept with patience and resignation the things,
sometimes even the injustices, that we cannot alter, is part of the lesson of this
card. We must learn here, too, to trust in the hands of fate, even when all seems
dark and ambivalent. At times, indeed, ignorance is bliss and in the card of the
Seven of Swords, it is often better not to know too much.
It was said of Odin, that at times of testing, he could bind or loose,
laying spells on the minds of men to cause panic and hesitation, or which could,
contrarily, free the mind from fear and doubt so that the warrior emerges
triumphant.
Such a critical moment of testing was experienced by Arjuna on the battle
plains of the Bhagavad Gita, where, wanting to act wisely yet not knowing how,
he had to overcome his paralyzing doubt in order to triumph over himself.
Striving to unravel the ‘spell-binding’ knots of the mind so that we can continue
our journey freely, unburdened by panic, doubt, or fear is part and parcel of the
Seven of Swords. It is thus, by simply resting in trust of the colourful
complexities of the Chariot of the Fool, that we can learn to face with
equanimity the trials of the cycles of time.

The Seven of Discs is arguably the most profound of the Tarot

Sevens. As the Seven of the earth suit, it relates directly to the journey of the
Chariot through the planes of form, and to the conflict of duality contained
within the physical vehicle of man.
The arrangement of the two polarised pillars of Qabbalah, the pillars
of force and form, each containing three sefirot, can be recognised in miniature
in the influence of the Seven of Discs. For the Seven of Discs represents, like
Netzach, the aim for the realised balance of force and form. Centred between the
two side-columns of three discs is the seventh disc of the equally divided self,
steadfastly upholding a negotiated equilibrium between the energies of inner
duality.
In the Seven of Discs the conflicting interests of the Chariot’s two
horses must be harmonised. For the Seven of Discs represents the Chariot at all
levels, both as the vehicle of the body and as the vehicle of the spirit on the
physical plane. It is a card of the laws of reincarnation, and of the cycles of
continuity. In the Seven of Discs is stored a fund of pragmatic wisdom to be
dipped into to assist us through the circles of humanity.
In every circle is the possibility of seven smaller circles, each with a
diameter precisely one third that of the larger circle. In esoteric lore man is said
to consist of seven bodies: seven veils corresponding to the seven planes of
existence (and to the seven grades of initiation). Scripturally there are seven
hells and seven heavens; the tablet of destiny is the seven-sealed scroll which
none can open. In the eastern tradition there are seven chakras, or power points
of the body, while we talk, too, of the seven ages of man.

All the world’s a stage

And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. [128]

From cradle to grave, the Seven of Discs negotiates our progress

through the seven ages of man, steering us with the hands of destiny, and
preparing each step of the way with protective caution.
Together, the seven discs represent the light of the seven stars of the
Chariot of the heavens: the abode of the seven watchmen, or seven rishis, the
source of all sub-lunary wisdom. Netzach is the sphere of the Elohim, or gods
encased in thought forms. Similarly in the Seven of Discs we find the attributes
of the god forces, of any religion, given cognitive reality through the power of
belief. Uniting the three and four of body and spirit, it is here we find the
religious and material in complementary embrace. In the Seven of Discs we
discover the psychic realities of man projected into acceptable forms so that we
may become more aware of the expanding universe inside of us - discovering
what is inside through what we are capable of bringing out. As the realisable
balance of force and form, the Seven of Discs denotes the power and freedom of
the mind despite the determined restrictions imposed here by the element of
form. It is a card of the power and guidance of the god forces within: the seven
lights of wisdom illuminated against the ark of the evening sky.
In the seventh, solitary disc, we find the mobile throne: the moving
centre of consciousness. Representing alternatively the central sun of the three
Tarot circles, but never all three suns at once, the Seven of Discs is, to use its
qabbalistic title, the card of success unfulfilled. It is a card which strives, but
cannot yet fulfil the Chariot’s quest of attaining awareness of all three centres
simultaneously. As the chariot of growth, of spirit in form, the Seven of Discs
does, however, afford glimpses of each, so that we remain aware of a larger
reality than we are able to perceive. To paraphrase Shakespeare, ‘there are more
things in heaven and earth than our dreamt of in our philosophy.’ This is the
knowledge borne consistently in mind with the Seven of Discs; with this card,
too, the element of the unknown should always be weighed in consideration of
any problem.
‘Render...unto Caesar the things which be Caesar’s, and unto God the
things which be God’s,’ [129] Jesus counselled. Caught between the light and the
dark, the demands of the spirit and the demands of the physical, the needs of
oneself and the needs of others, the Seven of Discs denotes a realistic appraisal
of the possibilities, and an astute handling of the options available. It is a card of
diplomatic compromise. Seeking to reach the best possible course for all
concerned, yet unable to fulfil the wishes of any one aspect entirely, the Seven of
Discs indicates a pragmatic acceptance of one’s limitations and the ability to
make the most of the resources at hand. It is a card of energy in reserve.
As the Seven of the suit of coins, this Seven does frequently relate to
money, particularly to money accrued over time and kept in reserve. It is a card
of savings, and pensions, of the little nest-egg cautiously set aside for a rainy
day. Yet, balancing between oneself and the demands of others, it can also be a
card of taxes, of fuel bills, of repayments that need to be made. Taking out a loan
or making a loan, speculating a little and saving a little, seeking to increase and
to maintain, the Seven of Discs denotes in money matters (as in all material
affairs) a positive approach. With this card there is a practical ability to balance
the out-going and the in-coming, with a timely caution here, always to keep
something in reserve.
As the card of success unfulfilled, the Seven of Discs can,
mundanely, indicate insurance or investment policies which have almost but not
quite reached maturity, or of merits earned although the benefits are not yet felt.
The Seven of Discs is a card of success unfulfilled - it is not a card of failure.
Netzach is, after all, still the sphere of victory; it is also, however, the sphere of
endurance. Thus, just as the goal of the Chariot remains to be fulfilled in the
journey which lies ahead, so the success heralded by the Seven of Discs is
simply not fulfilled at this time. One may even have achieved here what one was
aiming for, yet if this is so, it will still take some time before the fruits of success
show their face and one is able to reap the benefits.
Finally, as the last step before the eighth sefirah, we meet, concealed
in the inner circles of the seven discs, the cyclic laws of reincarnation, the seven
knots of human death and fate. As a positive card, the Seven of Discs denotes
the merit earned at each of the seven stages of man. Having gambled five discs
in the play of the senses on the stage of life, at the completion of the seventh
stage, we find ourselves, providing we have not foolishly gambled the spirit
along with the body, with two coins left in reserve. Symbolically covering our
two eyes at the closing of the journey, these are the two discs of the twin-self, the
two coins with which ‘to pay the ferryman’ for the crossing from the two side
pillars to the centre, to bring about, at transition, the reunion of the twin selves as
one.
 Chapter Eight: Justice in Hod
Excess of sorrow laughs, excess of joy weeps.
(Blake. Marriage of Heaven and Hell)

For souls it is death to become water, for water death to become

earth.
But from earth comes water, and from water, soul.
(Heraclitus.)

It is at the base of the pillar of severity, also called the pillar of

justice, that we meet in Tarot the house of Justice. The eighth card of the Tarot
has its qabbalistic foundations in the eighth sefirah of Hod, or Reverberation.
The number eight is itself the number of justice. It is a number which
contains within itself its own balance. Formed of equal divisions of even
numbers, when divided into halves it remains even; twice divided to reveal the
High Priestess within, it is still even. Eight represents the relationship of the
pairs of opposites, and the laws of equilibrium. It displays in its Arabic form the
two equal pans of the Justice scales and the delineation of the line of
reverberation as the hourglass of time flows back into itself. Its form reveals
also, with its two identical circles, the mirror of truth.
The supreme virtue of Hod is truthfulness, its vice: dishonesty. In the
Tarot scales of Justice we are confronted with the measure of our own self-
honesty, and with the resultant laws of karma. Transecting the diagonal
relationship between the Chariot and the Hierophant, Netzach and Gevurah, is
the diagonal relationship in the opposite direction between Gedulah and Hod. It
is from the ‘chambers of Gedulah’ that the proper essence of Hod is said to
emanate. Similarly, it is in the diamond truth of the Emperor, the source of
Dharma or the natural law of the cosmos, that we find the essence of Tarot
Justice.
Justice is concerned not with punishment and reward, but with
maintaining equilibrium. As seen by the scales in her hand, she is the upholder
of the balance. Overseeing the relationship of the manifest to the unmanifest,
hers are the self-regulating laws of the psyche. Mercy is inapplicable here for
Justice, sometimes shown blindfolded, is the impartial personification of the
inexorable and necessary order. As the cycles of energy processed in Netzach
reverberate up and down the tree via Hod, so in Justice we encounter the
reverberation of our own actions on the eternal cycles of the Chariot. Whatever
we instigate as the active subject on the one hand, we must experience as passive
recipient on the other. In this way the law of truth maintains its harmony.
In a system such as Tarot where the cornerstone is itself the principle
of balance, the enforcer of equilibrium clearly plays a very significant role. In
qabbalistic text the eighth path is called the ‘Original Arrangement.’
Similarly, placed in the final sefirah of the left-hand pillar, Justice concludes
that begun with the High Priestess in the first sefirah of the right-hand pillar.
Like the High Priestess, Justice too equilibrates between the pillars of Solomon:
strength and the establisher; she too forms the middle way between them, the
way of Tao. For Tarot Justice, like the High Priestess, denotes the mean, the
middle way between the opposites whose forces she balances equally within
herself. In the card of Justice we meet the High Priestess of the pillar of form.
Hers is the wisdom-face of the balance of form, in which is concealed the
wisdom-face of the balance of force.
It is the mythic figures first encountered in the card of the High
Priestess that we meet again in the card of Justice: Sophia, Inanna, Persephone
as queen now of the underworld, and Isis in her attribute as one of the ‘Two
Maati Goddesses’, that is, the two Truth-goddesses (the other being her twin
sister).
As holder of the me, the Sumerian tablets of the law, Inanna was the
incarnation of the principle of justice. Endowed with the titles of ‘Righteous
Judge’ and ‘Framer of Decrees,’ she was the face of inexorable law expressed as
fate. Correspondingly Sophia says of herself: ‘It is by me that monarchs’ reign,
and rulers deal out justice,’ [130] while Maat, or the double Maat, holds the same
office in Egyptian myth. She too was interpreted as that fate from whom each
received their just deserts.
It is from the scales of Maat that the concept has passed down into
common parlance of the heart being weighed at death against a feather. The
feather, which is worn by Maat in her head-dress or held in her hand, is itself the
symbol of Maat. It signifies the truth and harmony of the cosmic equilibrium.
For Maat is the personification of truth, and of universal justice.
The consort of Maat is Thoth. As keeper of the records, it was the
duty of Thoth to record the verdicts of Maat in the Halls of the dead. Thoth is the
recording angel of words. For the testing of the soul in the balance was called the
‘weighing of words’ and not of deeds, the words being the innermost intentions
of the soul. Similarly, in Hod the archangel is Michael, the scribe of
righteousness, who interprets the purposes of God to Abraham, Moses and
Isaiah. With Hod we are in the sefirah of communication, of intellect and of
memory.
The planet assigned to Hod is the planet of communication: Mercury.
Both Mercury and Thoth are aspects we are already acquainted with in Tarot
through the figure of the Magician. In the card of the Chariot it was the Magician
who was shown as the visible face while Strength and her planet of Venus
provided the underlying force. In contradistinction, in the card of Justice it is the
female face of the divine concept we meet as the controlling factor, while the
Magician with his planet of Mercury is the silent witness.

Three Mothers: Alef Mem Shin

Their foundation is
a pan of merit
a pan of liability
and the tongue of decree deciding between them. [131]

The verse is from the Sefer Yetzirah. The three mothers are
interpreted as the three pillars of the tree with the continuous tension equilibrized
in the central pillar. They are also the crowns of the pillar, in Tarot thus equating
to the feminine ground of the Empress, the High Priestess and Strength.
‘Mother of good counsel’ (Mater boni consilii), ‘Seat of Wisdom’
(Sedes sapientiae), and ‘Mother of Justice’ (Speculum justitiae), all are titles
inherited by and attributed to the Virgin in the Litany of Loreto. In the card of
Justice we meet the equation of the triune goddess, the holistic harmony and
innate order and regularity of the feminine cycles. Here we are confronted with
the face of the ‘mothers’ who maintain the equilibrium necessary to a continued
cycle of creation.
The path of the primordial mean, of universal harmony attained
through the equilibrized co-existence of all created forms, has long been
mythologically experienced and expressed as a feminine domain. It is this which
is the inheritance of the female figure of Tarot Justice placed in Hod, itself the
Primordial mean. A more familiar title of Hod is ‘Glory’, or ‘Splendour.’ The
glory is that expressed through the summa bonum of form, when a form displays
through its own perfect pitch the truths of the supernal regions. For Hod is the
functioning process of the divine intelligence, of that which carries out and
maintains the workings of the divine plan.
Appropriately in Tarot Justice we meet creativity at its most sublime:
the realisation of the balance of force into form. Here we find too the laws of
nature. From our limited intelligence such laws may seem at times majestic and
at times deadly cruel, but from the deeper perspective of the equilibrium of
Justice, they are part of the necessary order. The inheritance of Justice is the
tradition of the goddess’ cultures expressed through the mythic cycles of time,
the relationship of the inner force to the outer form, and of what was and what
will be. Hers is the ancient tradition of the serpent-wisdom: of the serpent and
the egg, of death and rebirth, of the shedding of the old skin and resurrection in
the new.
Coiled around the egg or womb, guardian of the life-force and of the
eternal principles of the universal law, the serpent as death and resurrection
belongs to the tradition of the female Wisdom goddesses such as Inanna or
Sophia. Encountered already in Tarot through the Empress and the High
Priestess, this tradition is of the Wisdom goddess as guardian of the underworld
or unconscious, and of the life principle that descends and is reborn from its own
darkness.
In alchemy the serpent is the serpens mercurailis, called
hermaphroditus, for it is its own begetter. The alchemical sword is that which
‘kills and vivifies’, dividing the philosophical egg in order to bring about the
separation of the elements so that a more perfect body can be produced.
The planet of Hod is Mercury; its magical image is the
hermaphrodite - denoting the perfect balance of the masculine and feminine
elements. Yet, combining the fiery and watery elements with the element of air,
Mercury denotes also trial and initiation. Like Hermes venturing into Hades to
awaken the dead, Mercury is the messenger and awakener.
In Tarot Justice, the perfect equilibrium of the scales indicates the
soul and the eternal spirit in harmonious balance over the worlds of form. Where
the soul however, weighed down with worldly concerns, becomes too heavy,
Justice with her discriminating sword can redress the balance. The spirit is the
feather of Maat, the light of truth of the Emperor. Against this is weighed the
soul, burdened with the conscience of individual life cycles.
We speak figuratively of burdens or guilt ‘weighing heavy on the
heart’ or ‘on the soul.’ Any burden for which we have not consciously made
amends while we were freely able to do so, we must account for in the purging
presence of Justice. For the sword of Justice is that ‘two-edged sword, piercing
even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and
is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.’ [132]
The psychic sundering of soul and spirit, severing us from our true
self, is resorted to only in cases of extreme unbalance, when the soul becomes so
afflicted it attempts to smother completely the spirit. At which point the spirit is,
like the divine child in the Empress, whisked away to safety and the soul given a
new chance. For, totally unbalanced and left alone on the scales, the soul is
dragged down by its own weight. Hung by its own chains, it becomes its own
enemy, and the only way to salvation is to become its own friend. Like the
serpent it must beget itself, sacrificing part of itself to spirit that both pans may
again be filled and equilibrium regained. Thus the sacrifice of the soul gives new
life to the spirit, but also to the soul. The sword of Justice becomes that which
kills and vivifies.
In Tarot Justice we beget, through our own deeds in the past, that
which we are now. The sword of Justice divides in order to separate the one into
the many - to reveal, and attend individually, each isolated facet. Hod denotes
knowledge and rational understanding. It is a sphere in which differences are
magnified and analysed. Equally, the discriminating sword of Tarot Justice
divides into measurable portions and manageable concentrations. It is the sword
of precision and of rational control. The position of Justice in the eighth sefirah
is within the planes of form and her concern here is with the many in the one,
giving due weight to each, that each divided measure may develop into
wholeness.
Holding both the masculine attribute of the sword and the feminine
attribute of the cups in the pairs of scales, Justice combines, like the magical
image of the hermaphrodite, the forces of yin and yang equally within her own
person. Continuing the direct line of descent as the natural evolution of the five
and three of the Hierophant and the Empress as conception of form, and
therefore, through their heritage containing within her the inner faces of the
Emperor and the High Priestess, the figure of Justice equates to the summation
of wisdom’s laws. She is the universal law revealed through the cycles of form.
Like her linear opposite, the Chariot, she contains within her, and divides to
reveal, that which has gone before. She is the conscience of hindsight and
foresight, past and future.
The symbol of the scales of the balance are themselves representative of the
tree of life in microcosm, while Justice, like the primordial serpent, is herself the
guardian of the life-force of the tree. As Hod is the sphere where forms are
definitively organised, so Justice is the visible revelation of the fundamental
laws of the universe.
Here we find the momentum maintaining time and movement, the
revolution of the cycles without which nothing could take form. Imposing order
on chaos, her laws enable creation to fulfil its desire to evolve and grow, and also
to destroy and die in order to evolve through growth, in the purging cycles of
rebirth.
‘When he marked out the foundations of the earth then I was by him
as a master workman,’ [133] Wisdom, or Sophia, says of herself. Like Sophia, Maat
too was there from the beginning, carrying out the work of creation and bringing
breath to life. The major role of Maat was at the weighing of the souls of the
dead. That she assisted also in bringing breath to life is part of the equilibrium
contained within her meaning. ‘You exist because Maat exists and she exists
because you exist,’ we read in an Egyptian incantation. Equally Tarot Justice is
present because of the fundamental need for her existence. If there was no need
for balance or the redress of truth she would not exist within us or within the
entirety of the whole. Denoting absolute order and regularity, she is the
anthromorphised expression of universal harmony and equilibrium imposed on
chaos. Without her fundamental laws of balance, wholeness would be
impossible.
The placement of both the Chariot and Justice gives them a double
basis in both the sun and moon circles, where together they strive to maintain the
equilibrium between the circles of eternity and between destiny and karma,
keeping us on the path of destiny while integrating this with the lessons of
karma.
As a card of the principle of reverberation, Justice relates inevitably,
like Maat and Inanna, to the laws of karma on the larger scale, and to the
rebound within one life time of our own actions on the smaller scale. That the
usual reaction when faced with the card of Justice is one of alarm, says more for
our guilty conscience than for the severity of the card.
Justice is an impartial and implacable maintainer of the just law. The
experiences encountered through her laws are neither chastisement nor reward,
but simply the inevitable effect of the completion of a circle of revolution and
the subsequent change of direction back towards oneself - the turning over of the
hourglass so that that half which was pouring becomes the vessel which
passively receives. The helpful influence of Justice is to use the analytical and
discriminating powers of the card not to rail against our lot, but to make a
conscious effort to understand the ways in which we ourselves bear the
responsibility for what we undergo and how we can release ourselves from our
own circles of action and reaction. ‘He who ignores me is injuring himself’
warns Wisdom. [134]
Beginning her descent in the card of the High Priestess, by the stage
of Justice Persephone is established as queen of the dead; her role has undergone
an inevitable transformation. For in sight of the scales of Justice, a phase of life
is ended, after which nothing can stay the same. After the ‘death’ of the Chariot
we are led into the hall of Justice to be weighed against the feather of truth.
Justice is rarely a card of physical death. She is concerned with the
judgement after ‘death,’ with the cycles of life and with reaping what we have
sown within life. What she does denote is the death of opportunity to
consciously ameliorate matters. Here the sands of time have already ran out and
we are presented with the bill. If we have been careless in running up the bill
without regard for future payment, we could be in for a difficult time as we
encounter the redressing and constrictive facets of the pillar of severity. In Tarot
terms, if we have ignored the opportunities offered in the Hierophant to put
matters right while still on the small scale, by the time of the appearance of
Justice the option is no longer open.
At the weighing and judging of the souls of the dead in the halls of
Maat, those whose heart proved as light as a feather were led into the presence of
Osiris. If the heart was heavier than the feather it would fall into the open jaws
of the crocodile-headed monster with lion feet waiting below.
The crocodile-headed monster, as we met in the card of the Empress,
is a symbol of the Great-Mother in her devouring aspect as the fearful face of the
unconscious. When we descend into the halls of Justice to meet ourselves, we
descend to the realm of the ‘mothers’:

Goddesses dwell, in solitude, sublime,

Enthroned beyond the world of place or time;
Even to speak of them dismays the bold.
These are the Mothers...
To reach them, delve below earth’s deepest floors;
And that we need them, all the blame is yours.
(Faust 11) [135]

In the scales of Justice it is our own inner light we are weighed against, and
whatever weighs heavier than the inner light - the balanced half or four of the
Emperor, the man of light, must be purged. The sword of Justice is that which
constantly cuts away and adjusts in order that we may attain wholeness with the
balanced light within.
Frequently depicted with a raised sword and with the scales in his
hands, Michael, the archangel of Hod, is, like Justice, the imposer of order over
chaos. He, too, is the ‘great watcher.’ As the guardian and guide of the newly
dead, he is the spirit which brings the souls of men into the presence of the
saviour. He is also the purging angel and the upholder of truth.
Michael is assigned to the fire quarter, and yet he is the angel set
over water. He conducts the soul over water, both as the tributary of death and of
the unconscious, and he leads through the purging fire. Similarly, in the spiritual
cleansing of Tarot Justice we are faced first with ‘death’ by water and then with
‘death’ by fire.

The submergence in the element of water comes with the baptism in the
vessels of the scales and the reliving of memory, memory being an important
feature of Justice. Then we are faced with the purging fire in the heat of the
sword. For Justice is the guardian of the tree of life, and the sword of Justice is
as the flaming sword which turns every which way to keep the tree of life. [136]
Before entering the paradise of peace, we must submit ourselves to the purging
fire of the flaming sword which burns away any burdens of guilt weighing heavy
on the soul.
Many traditions have the idea of a purging in ‘hell’, or before
entering the paradaisic realms. In Tarot the transmutation through fire and water
is carried out in the life journey of the Chariot, on one level through the sun and
moon circles, and at a deeper level through the stages of Daath. The latter is the
domain of the ‘mothers.’ Here we enter the doors of the Tower ruled over by the
Devil and the Star – chthonion Persephone as queen of the dead. This leads in
turn to the paths of the sun and moon within Daath.
As Justice is a card denoting revelations, after which things cannot
stay the same, so the Tower frequently accompanies Justice as the card of the
irrevocable breakdown of present circumstances. It could be said that the
weighing of Justice takes place amidst the breakdown of the Tower. The turmoil
of emotions accompanying such transitional stages will veer between despair
and hope, blowing now hot, now cold, as we strive to remain above and yet unite
within us, the opposites of fire and water.
It was said of the balancing pillars of Justice, the pillars of Boaz and
Jachin, that one could not sink and the other would not burn. To contain the art
of both pillars: that is, to be able to pass through the spiritual fire and the
spiritual water unscathed, (the feminine and masculine, Star and Devil, queenly
and kingly realms of the unconscious), is the art and aim of the perfect control of
Justice.

The Star in Tarot is attributed the number seventeen - one and seven relating
to Justice’s eight. The eight-rayed star was the star of Inanna, the morning and
evening star or planet Venus, eight being the number of years needed for Venus
to return to the same point of the zodiac while at greatest brilliancy. [137]
Esoterically Venus has a very close relationship both to Mercury and earth.
Venus (through the Star) and the number eight are associated in Tarot with
Justice, for Justice recalls us to ourselves. She returns us to our starting point
where we must readdress and readjust if our journey is to continue harmoniously.
In Sumeria, Egypt, Crete, and Greece, eight was the number of the
sacred year. Thus Fraser says: ‘In Greece the king’s fate seems to have hung in
the balance at the end of every eight years.’ [138] For every eight years the full
moon was seen to coincide exactly with the longest or shortest day. With this
reconciliation of solar and lunar time (fire and water), came a turning point - and
a testing point, a point of reckoning and of restoration.
As a number of cyclic repetition, eight reinforces the cyclic and karmic
significance of Justice. For both Justice and the number eight signify the passage
of time repeating itself, the revisitation of earlier states, the recovering of a
former course and the return journey through ourselves. Again this underlines
the importance here of reconciliation and restitution. For, after she has divided,
Justice restores. She is the restorer of the balance, breaking down only in order
to make whole, and striving to maintain the self as wholeness in equilibrium.

The Knight of Cups and the Knight of Swords.

As Justice is there because we need her, so the Knight of Cups fulfils
a fundamental need. Although the forms he represents are never realised beyond
the sphere of our own minds, without his influence the harsh realities of life
would become unbearable.
At the base of the pillar of severity the Knight of Cups does not deny
the hardships of being; on the contrary, it is precisely the travails of difficult
times which give him birth. Nevertheless, on the scales of equilibrium, this
knight balances the pan of reality as it is with the pan of our dreams of how it
should, or could be.
The Knight of Cups is of ‘the stuff that dreams are made on’. Among
the cinders and ashes of the dreary kitchen he brings to Cinderella dreams of the
ball; amidst the drudgery and poverty of the weary cycles he raises our eyes
towards the stars and points to a far distant light which imbues us with the will
and hope to keep going just a little longer.
It is an ill wind that blows no good, and the Knight of Cups turns our
gaze towards the good in any situation. With this card we seek the joy in the
seemingly joyless, and where there is no joy to be found, we are encouraged to
make our own. Strengthening the bonds of sentiment and sharing, in this
questing knight we meet the sad clown bringing a smile to our faces, and the
laughing clown evoking sympathetic humour. After lighting our lives with
laughter, the Knight of Cups displays the sensitive virtuosity of the violinist by
awakening the chords of our hearts to the sad-sweet sound of what it is simply to
be.
The crusader of the heart suit wanders the globe on the life journey
offering to all and sundry the chalice of love. This knight is love on a universal
scale. Despite the darkness of the planes of illusion which blind us to its
continuing presence, in the Knight of Cups we encounter love as the blood of
life flowing through the veins of the universal body and leading back to the
centre where the one heart beats for all. Despite, too, the difficulties of the
journey, the Knight of Cups supports us in following the way of the heart to seek
the source of inner truth.
Whether wishing upon a star or filling the cup at the stream of
dreams, the Knight of Cups lifts us above the mundane.
Shielding us from the clouds of darkness and despondency gathering
overhead, he points to the ladder of light which leads above the clouds and
reaches as far as the rays of the rainbow; from here we can continue our quest
with the glimmer of gold dust in our eyes from that far off pot of gold beckoning
at journey’s end.
Like the man of la Mancha, the Knight of Cups gives us the courage
to continue the chimerical quest and dream the impossible dream. In so doing, he
convinces us with the hope that through our faithful perseverance in the face of
unthinkable odds, one day, though it be in the far distant future, the glory of Hod
will enrobe us all, the fantastical quest will be attained and the impossible dream
realised.

From signals in the brain, to the network of the nervous system, Hod
governs all communication within the body. This includes of course the
messages we are more aware of through the windows of the five senses, as well
as the intuitive knowledge of the sixth sense. In the Knight of Swords too we
find the emphasis placed on instructive reliance on empirical realities and on the
importance of tangible knowledge gained through the senses. As Hod is the
sefirah of the concrete realisation of forms in the sphere of the mind, so in the
Knight of Swords the external world is perceived through the senses and
impressions built up in our minds. This is a card of the realities of the external
world shaping our understanding of the world within.
In the Knight of Swords the world around us and our body as the
means of interacting with the world around us are of key importance. This, at its
best, is a card of horse and rider, of body and spirit in harmonised union.
Negatively however, it can warn of the danger of impetuous speed and of
unharnessed temper. The Knight of Swords emphasizes the need to listen to the
messages of the body; it is a card of instinctive reaction and of ‘gut instinct.’
With its messages heeded it is possible to avoid the pitfalls and to tactically
manoeuvre the minefields of life.
Like rats deserting a sinking ship, there is with this card a sixth sense
when something which appears to be fine on the surface is not fine at all. As in
chess, the jumps of this knight represent the jumps of intuition alternating with
the moves of tactical logic. This is a card inviting cautious investigation and
forward planning, yet it warns too of the need to remain receptive to the mood of
the moment and to seize the sudden chances as and when they arise. It is a card
of heeding the signs, of foreseeing the gathering clouds and making sure we are
safely in the harbour when the storm is unleashed.
Hod is the sefirah where the forces of nature take sensible form. So,
relating to Justice as the maintainer of the natural order, the Knight of Swords
points to the wisdom of nature and to the natural laws upholding the animal
kingdom. It is a card with a due regard for both the animal world and for the
external world in general. Concerned both with the surroundings and with the
plurality of forms within the surroundings, the Knight of Swords is a card of
exploration, and of the search for cognitive truth.
Exploration with this card can take tangible form. Mundanely this
knight can indicate short expeditions, or short holidays, with a small party of two
or three people. The travelling may necessitate a long and tiring journey, but
usually the outcome will be as was hoped for, making the journey worthwhile.
The Knight of Swords indicates the often uncomfortable realities of physical
travel though the physical world. It is a card of bearing with discomfort as a
necessary means to a desired end.
In Hod the dynamic animal nature of the soul is constrained by the
inhibitions and moral restrictions of the rational mind. Here we are back to
Michael with his raised sword, preventing the chaos of confusion and diffusion
by purposefully containing and channelling the energy of free-moving force into
deliberately chosen directions. This same restriction and constraint is filtered
through to and exercised by the Knight of Swords. This knight indicates the need
to curtail and control the flow of energy to prevent excess. Consciously imposing
limitation and direction in accordance with the dictates of rational will, the
Knight of Swords seeks to differentiate the worthwhile from the worthless, the
good cause from the bad.
Discernment is a symbolic quality of the higher forms of knighthood
and the sword in this knight’s hand is the sword of discernment. The Knight of
Swords is a card of employing the analytical tools of logic to deduce the facts, a
card of scientific progress, but also of the moral challenges raised by scientific
progress as the limits of what we can do are subtly extended. The Knight of
Swords indicates the moral ethics raised by progress and the use to which that
progress is put. It is a card of striving to do the right thing, yet of learning that
even with the best intentions there will always be moral complications which
science and deductive logic alone cannot solve. This knight indicates issues
where there are good arguments to support both sides, and where logic leads to a
stalemate. Here, having reached the limits of rational inquiry and finding the
scales still evenly weighed, we fall back into the cauldron of personal belief,
forced to complement the answers deduced from the external world with faith in
the answers arising from within.
In contrast to the Knight of Cups the Knight of Swords is concerned
with distinguishing true reality from false reality. The Knight of Cups is
concerned with creating his own reality; the Knight of Swords with exploring a
reality perceived as already ‘out there.’ Between the Knight of Cups and the
Knight of Swords we find the clash of idealism versus pragmatism; -although the
Knight of Swords is more idealistic than he would suppose, his idealism simply
taking a more tangible form. Nevertheless, with these two knights there is
certainly a tension arising from the opposing approaches to reality. Yet, placed as
they are on either side of Justice, representing the sword and scales, they actually
complement one another. Both are equally needed and either approach without
the other is precariously one-sided.
In the vague, swirling mists of good intention, it is possible to
mistake the enemy. Not being fully clear about what is at stake, or what is being
fought for or against, we can here mistake friend for foe. The crusader of the
Knight of Swords card may sometimes mistake as his opponent the idealistic and
credulous dreams of the Knight of Cups. Yet his quest is not to conquer with the
analytical mind the dreams of the Knight of Cups, but to balance both ways of
interacting with reality, just as he must balance the horse’s intuitive knowledge,
which after all sustains his journey, with the empirical knowledge of the head.
The conflict of the Knight of Swords is the conflict of two realities in
one body. In his conscious outlook the Knight of Swords is governed by the age
of reason, but lying in the unconscious are many relics from far old layers of
being. Some of these relics will be positive and some negative. Again it is part of
the crusade of the Knight of Swords to discern the one from the other and to
salvage that which is worthwhile. Unfortunately with the tendency to mistake the
enemy, despite the good intentions, often the inner jewels are discarded on the
altar of progress and reason. Like Michael, the Knight of Swords can indicate
the spiritual warrior fighting the shadow side. Yet he is fighting too a mirror
image and the fight will be victorious only where he becomes aware of and
makes conscious the complementary nature of the duality within.
 With horse and rider at variance, at a moderated level the Knight of
Swords signifies the ongoing struggle between id and superego, instinctive
desires vying with the moral consciousness of mature rational control as both
seek to gain superiority. The Knight of Swords is a card of the challenge for
leadership, of seeking to gain the upper hand, positively over oneself, sometimes
not so positively, over others. It is a card of the crusader waging war against
what he perceives as the ignorances of superstition, and a card of the spiritual
warrior fighting the desire to succumb to the temptations of the senses: luxury,
ease, greed, and laxness, all of which conflict with his version of pragmatic
idealism.
Finally, at the deepest levels of the psyche, the Knight of Swords
raises the two-edged sword of the duality of opposing but complementary
currents of the life-force, creation and destruction, and brings down the sword to
divide the body from the soul. Situated with Justice in the halls of the balance,
the Knight of Swords is Death’s messenger. No single card can alone can ever
denote death. There are also so many ‘minor’ deaths, transitional stages within
life itself that the cards appertain to, that there is a need to be particularly
cautious about which door is being opened here. Secondly, it must also be
stressed that it is part of the journey through the planes of illusion that one
comes in time to understand and accept death peacefully as simply another, and
very important, door to go through, another phase of the journey. That being
said, it can be added that it is rare for any specifically combined trinity of cards
to signify death in a personal reading without either the Knight of Swords or
Death itself is the completing fourth card, the unexpected guest, arriving to lead
the way, like Anubis, into the halls of Maat.

The Eights
Under the patronage of Justice, all the Eights are concerned with the
passing of time, and more particularly with the permanent residue remaining
after the transient has passed away. They are cards concerned with the abiding
reality, the spark that remains with us through our many life journeys. With the
Eights it is time to call a halt and do a little spring cleaning for what lies ahead.
For whatever the future holds, with these cards it will not be a simple
continuance of the past in the same form, but rather a transmutation which may,
certainly in the initial stages, cause some trepidation.

Qabbalistically the title of the Eight of Wands is the lord of

swiftness. Change, when it does set in, happens very quickly with this card.
Bringing an end to one situation and moving forward to the next, the Eight of
Wands necessitates at this transitional stage a cleansing period: a burning away,
in the spiritual fire of the wands suit, of all that has been outgrown.
The purging fire transmutes forms to a higher level - which is very
much the message of this card. Yet this is a card of movement. With its fiery
basis activities here are of an urgent and demanding nature. Time is pressing
with this emissary, and we are not allowed a gentle relinquishing of gradually
outgrown aspects or a settling-in period for the new. Instead we encounter an
intense and thorough baptism of fire, after which there is no going back.
The moving on of the Eight of Wands is a moving up, albeit by way
of a temporary descent. In mundane terms both the ascent and descent may be
experienced simultaneously. The card can, for example, denote a new job and/or
promotion; hence the moving on and up. Yet, with an immediate and thorough
baptism in the deep end, the responsibilities and pressures of the new position
may themselves contribute to the opening of our eyes to a wider reality. This, in
turn, leads, over time, to the shedding of outmoded beliefs which no longer
suffice and which here need replacing with a greater level of understanding.
Responsibility is an important factor of the Eight of Wands. This
involves not just taking responsibility for oneself, but also our responsibility for
the well-fare of others. As such this card often turns up in relation to the caring
professions. Its scope however is much greater, resting on our global
responsibility to one another, and, like Hod, on the oneness underlying the many.
The experiences vis-à vis others are paramount here in terms of the
placement of this card alongside the scales of Justice. The Eight of Wands is
replete in feminine influence. It is based in the deeper goddess aspects of Justice,
the incubation of the vital spirit within and the serpent wisdom prepared
sacrificially to shed a skin. It is a card which relates back to the ‘mothers.’ It
opens the channels from the outer face of wisdom to the inner face: from Justice
to the High Priestess, and through the element of fire signals again to the
alternative face of the High Priestess: Strength.
In medieval times many of the sacred churches of St. Michael were
sited on the same hilltops where once sacred fires were lit for worship and
communication. Michael, the archangel of Hod (itself a sphere of
communication), is the purging angel of fire.
Yet Michael is the angel of fire set over water; for Hod is a water
sefirah. In his hand he bears the symbol of the element of air: the sword to keep
at bay the forces of darkness. For fire, water and air are the three original
elements of the ‘mothers’, with fire above, water below, while air is ‘the rule that
decides between them.’ [139]
 As messenger and communication, fire, water and air are associated
also with Mercury. Nevertheless the influence of Mercury in the Eight of Wands
is to signify that gifts of communication are granted here only after long trials.
The virtue of Hod is truth and its vice dishonesty. Accordingly, the
waters of Hod are the waters of the temple of truth. Similarly the Eights, as
branches of Justice, are concerned with truth. With these cards the only person
deluded by our deceptions is ourselves.
Set in the planes of illusion the Eights, Nines and Tens are all
pervaded by darkness. The Eights have the advantage in that inside, concealed
within the centre and defended by the discriminating sword of justice, is the man
of light: the Emperor, the Four concealed within the Eight like the babe
concealed within the womb of the mother.
Thus the Eights are concerned not with what happens on the surface,
but with what lies under the surface. These cards relate to the underlying
workings, the maze of subways and sub-chambers which lead through the
tributaries of the unconscious to the light within. In this, the Eight of Wands is
the opener of the ways.

The passage through the inner network of subways demands of course a

descent. In all the Eights we are led beneath the surface to explore the waters of
the temple of truth. The Eight of Wands opens a throughway in and out of these
inner passages, travelling through which we emerge transformed. The
psychological journey undergone here incurs a breakdown of outmoded aspects,
assimilating and absorbing facets of the personality back into the individuality
while eliminating those aspect which are ‘indigestible.’ The passage of the
Eights engenders a psychological release, a lightening of the burden by freeing
ourselves from attachment to the irrelevant and giving more attention to the
permanent which stays with us.
With all the Eights we move from the outside in, working our way
from a situation of bewilderment and unsurety to one of contented security,
despite the responsibility. It may take a lot of getting there, but with the Eight of
Wands the journey is assisted in that the card is a card of movement, continually
carrying us forward even when we feel completely lost. It allows us too,
occasionally, a higher vantage point from which to see the lay of the land and re-
plan our route.
The growing process denoted by this card will usually entail a dark
patch of struggle when we try to keep pace but feel inadequate to the
bewildering onslaught of perpetual demands.
Forced, in turn, to make demands on the deeper recesses of ourselves, and
explore the uncharted territory within in search of the means to come to terms
and cope with the onslaught, we are led here to discover aspects of ourselves that
have lain dormant for some time, or which have in fact never been used.
Dormant strengths which lay buried beneath the build-up of dross are suddenly
exposed by the purging fire as forgotten streams of inner wealth. Like the
phoenix arising from the ashes we find ourselves capable of rising to the new
challenge and mentally adjusting to the demands of the situation. From darkness
we climb into light, turning our backs on the passages traversed to get us here,
which, having served their purpose are themselves to be left behind along with
everything else we no longer need.
There is one final, yet very important feature before the Eight of
Wands itself can be left behind. At the very moment of stepping into light, there
is a confrontation with the Eight of Wands as the emissary of Justice. For at this
final stage we meet the constant and motivating factor of this card:
accountability.
Mundanely, the keeping of records, files or accounts against future
reference or a proposed visit from the auditors is a facet of this card. As part of
its communication network, the card can also denote a diary of events, the
keeping of a daily record for self use. At a deeper level however the diary is kept
for us; here we must account for our actions, both for what we have done and not
done, giving reasons and justifications to clear ourselves.
This balancing of accounts is an extremely important, if not the most
important feature of the Eight of Wands. It is here we encounter the influence of
Thoth as the scribe of Maat - the keeper of the hall of records. Michael serves a
similar function, as does Aaron, the eloquent priest and patriarch of the sefirah
of communication. Having eloquently cleared ourselves we are given access to a
clean page and permission to reside in the comfort of the temple of truth where
we subsequently renew the records for ourselves.
As the planet nearest to the sun, Mercury has the best seat in the
house for receiving the sun’s light. Similarly, with her sisterly relationship to the
Star, her setting in both the moon and sun circles, and her need to encircle the
sun in Tiferet in order to reach the inner light of the Emperor, Tarot Justice too
has a vested interest in the gifts of light. These she in turn bestows through her
disciples: the Eights. Although the psychological ascent is never easy, after the
trials of darkness all the Eights denote the gradual chrysalising into light to
receive the blessings of a new dawn.

In the pans of the scales held by Justice the heart is weighed against
a feather. Likewise in the corresponding cups of the heart suit we find ourselves
confronted with the law of equilibrium simultaneously maintaining the balance
of the scales in all four worlds (Atziluth, Beriyah, Yetzirah, and Asiyah).
The Eight of Cups correlates to Justice as the law of eternal harmony. With
this card the joys and sorrows of life are in equal proportion. In the four pairs of
cups the emotional needs of the immediate self in the present are weighed
against both the spiritual needs of the eternal self and against the needs of the
soul through the continuity of karmic cycles over many lifetimes. Spirit, soul,
mind and body, all here are balanced against each other to allow for the
requirements of each. The Eight of Cups takes into account the needs of the
whole person, including many facets we ourselves remain unaware of. The
immediate effect is inevitably a compromise in respect of the demands of the
ego, accompanied by an attempt on our part to understand why things seem to
fall so short of what was expected.
With the Eight of Cups there is a sense of waiting for ‘something big’
to happen, for plans to reach maturity, for that something more which will
suddenly make sense of everything. Into this expectant hiatus the awareness
gradually dawns that this is it. This is as far as it goes, the flower is already in
full bloom and the next stage is but to wither and to die. The Eight of Cups is not
a card of death. It does however denote the sudden awareness that we all are
mortal, the creeping knowledge that things have subtly changed and we are no
longer as young as we were. With this comes the desire to make the most of
what we have and the gradual turning inward to seek new meaning to these
mature stages of life.
With the long shadows of the late afternoon as our companions, the
Eight of Cups is a card suited to maturity and to the moving into the second half
of life. The loss of youthful zest is balanced here by the knowledge gained
through experience.
The relinquishing of hopes is offset by the recognition of their relative
unimportance. The intensity of the tragic comedy of youth is weighed against the
inner wisdom of the comic tragedy of age. With the maturing ability to smile at
our own folly and absurdity, the Eight of Cups is a card of coming to terms with
oneself and of attaining a level of equilibrium within.
Gazing into the mirror of truth, in the clear waters of the Eight of
Cups we see ourselves reflected. For the Eight of Cups is a card of self-
reflection, and of turning back to face oneself. It is, quite simply, a card of
return.
Qabbalistically this card denotes abandoned success. Realising that
we have gone as far as we can in a given direction, we turn our backs on
previous success to answer the call arising from within.
 The return of the Eight of Cups often finds concrete expression in
moving back to settle in or near localities of earlier years. This is a card of
homecoming, and of heading homeward. It may well mean departure from the
present home, and often necessitate giving up the present job, to return to the
home of the heart.
Despite the lack of visible activity, the selling of the home in this fate
card follows inner laws, so that everything happens just as and when it was
meant to. After a frustrating period of stalemate when nothing seems to be
happening, things will suddenly move very quickly so that the departure, when it
comes, is almost abrupt.
At this stage, however, another house is rarely bought, alternative
accommodation being available for a temporary period, (temporary meaning
here in most cases approximately two or three years). In abandoning the old life
it takes time before we are ready to make any long-term commitments in the
new. We need a little space to get our bearings in the unfolding situation before
we can decide on the next move, which in any case will prove to be shaped by
factors which at this stage we remain largely, if not completely, unaware of. In
turning back the Eight of Cups allows time to settle into the new (physical and
mental) location. Gradually leading forward to paths which can only be accessed
from roads which lie ahead, the Eight of Cups provides an accommodating
platform for emotional transition between what has been left behind and what is
to be offered in the years to come.
The disintegration of the past in its known form means, however,
the loss too of the opportunity to rectify past mistakes. The movement presided
with this card is always to our benefit, and certainly what we need; nevertheless,
with the Eight of Cups there are always regrets. Belonging to the suit of the
emotions, the regrets involve the relationship with others - usually close
relatives. The regrets are of divisions left unhealed, arguments left unsettled,
although the emotional upsurge which caused the rifts has all but dissolved.
Accepting the price of past mistakes, with hindsight and the clarity of vision
gained in maturity, one will be able to recognise and accept both one’s own
portion of blame in the matter, while letting bygones be bygones where the fault
lies elsewhere.
However, for whatever reason, there remains a residue of bitter taste, often
in the mind of the younger party, which prevents reconciliation. The movement
into the future, therefore, must be made with an acceptance that things will never
be as they were. Submitting to the reality of the situation and abandoning hopes
of reconciliation at this stage in time, cherished hopes are relinquished and loss
accepted along with the beckoning gains.
 Under the tutelage of Justice, the Eight of Cups balances a pan of
merit with a pan of liability. In this journey of self-reflection it is important to
recognise and accept our own share of responsibility for the configuration of
events in the past. It is equally important not to see only our bad points but to
acknowledge also where we have tried our best and to gain encouragement from
that. For this, like Justice is a card both of hindsight and of foresight, learning
from the past to foresee where our future actions will lead. With its relationship
of manifest to unmanifest, the Eight of Cups denotes a need to submit to the
situation as it is, handing over control to the steering hands of fate.
With its unending revolutions of turn and return, the Eight of Cups
emphasizes, on the one scale, the total significance of the individual on the
personal level, at the centre of his or her own world. On the other scale,
meanwhile, is emphasized the total insignificance of the individual in the wider
setting of the macrocosm. Reminding us of both our importance, and of our own
unimportance, the Eight of Cups encourages us to bear both scales in mind. It is
a card in youth of the formation of ego, and in age of the loss of ego as, with the
dying of the past we move into the temples of our soul to seek the truth within.

At the weighing of the heart in the halls of Maat, it was one of the
duties of jackal-headed Anubis to adjust the scales. Anubis was jackal headed
for the jackal eats rotting flesh, thereby transforming it into life-giving
nourishment. Like the vulture we met in the Empress, with whom Justice is so
intimately connected, the jackal facilitates the evolutionary process, concerning
itself with the unpleasant but necessary faces of decomposition most of us prefer
not to think about.
In Tarot the role of Anubis is the territory of the Eight of Swords.
Here too we are faced with the inevitable processes of breakdown that we would
rather, but cannot avoid. Situated with Justice at the base of the left-hand pillar
of constriction and decay, the Eight of Swords is a card of eliminative purging
and of the confining circumstances we are tied down by while this process in
undergone.
In the Eight of Swords we feel the weight of the swords of
discrimination and of adjustment. As jackal, Anubis discriminated between the
elements to be discarded completely, and those retaining the potential of
transformation. He conducted, so to speak, the necessary stripping away from
the life-cycle of that which was no longer appropriate.
To undergo a similar process in the Eight of Swords sounds painful,
and it usually is. Yet usually too it is submitted to with resigned acceptance. The
Eight of Swords is the curative medicine bitter to taste but effective in restoring
our health. Psychologically, it is the necessary amputation which prevents the
spreading of disease. If this sounds harsh, the process is equally that of the
cutting back of the plant to foster new shoots.
Eight is a number of rebirth and regeneration - albeit it with this card
after a trying and difficult labour. In the upright Eight of Swords it is the arduous
trials of labour we encounter, yet without the labour there cannot be
regeneration; one is not possible here without the other.
The Eight of Swords is not an easy card, but its trials are not
intended to punish but to help us. Here we encounter Michael as the purging
angel, dispensing the forces of darkness and exercising control over chaos. The
Eight of Swords is a card of rescue and repair - rescue from an adverse situation
and repair of what has been salvaged from the breakdown. If, tired of waiting in
limbo in the Seven of Swords we have actively tried to make things happen and
thereby entangled ourselves in a dreadful mess, the only way to extricate
ourselves from the situation is through the purging Eight. The Eight of Swords
redresses the situation and gets us out of our own mess, but the extraction can be
both painful, and oft-times embarrassing.
The embarrassment can be continued in that the breakdown here can
be in terms of bodily functions. This may, depending on surrounding cards,
denote illness, with the shift of focus to discover what is really important in the
situation. It may, far less seriously take the form of a minor but embarrassing
complaint, or we may simply find ourselves in embarrassing situations we‘ll
later be able to relate with a lot of humour. -For, with its constant prodding not to
take ourselves so seriously, humour there certainly is with this card. The Eight of
Swords is by no means a negative influence. Like staying too long in a sauna,
the situation may become rather hot and uncomfortable, but we emerge feeling
cleansed and refreshed all the same.
The Eight of Swords denotes a transformative process already
underway. It refers to a difficult period with the gradual breaking down of
circumstances brick by heavy brick. From this slow decomposition the Eight of
Swords is concerned with discriminating and salvaging what is important.
Certainly for a time we may feel very restricted by circumstances while the
situation is under amendment, yet the process is a necessary part of the
transformative cycle. It is an uncomfortable transformation, but it is nevertheless
a transformation and as such is part of the evolutionary process.
Reversed the Eight of Swords indicates the gradual ending of the
breakdown process, the bonds being severed as the process nears its completion.
The sword of adjustment has completed its task and the period of adversity is
coming to an end. Released from the burdens of the past we find ourselves with
a lighter heart and a renewed spirit of optimism, ready to re-enter the fray.

The Eight of Discs treads the way between Justice and Judgement.
When accompanied in a spread by Judgement, the emphasis of the Eight of
Discs is on the decisive cleaving of past from present, the ending of a phase of
life and the stepping forward to be judged before we can be sure of the next step.
The judging may take concrete expression in the sitting of tests or examinations
which in turn open doors to prospective futures.
With the Eight of Discs, beckoning vistas stretch out before us
offering a wealth of opportunity. To take advantage of the opportunity however,
we must be prepared to risk the plunge into the unknown and give up present
security for something not at all certain. With the Eight of Discs we cannot be
sure we are heading in the right direction, we can only rely on the instinct that in
this direction lies something ultimately worthwhile.
Prepared to confront the fears of the unknown, the Eight of Discs is a
sea-bed of discovery. Immersing ourselves in the world of experience, we
become awakened to a world beyond our immediate surroundings and present
knowledge. Realising that we have constrained ourselves in a narrow mode of
life, we realise too that there are other ways to live, other options open to us. By
freeing ourselves from the cage of our anxieties, we seek an avenue along which
the fresh breeze of ever renewed possibility will carry us on our way.
If the Eight of Cups is better suited to the second half of life, the
Eight of Discs is, in mood, more suited to the early stages of adulthood. This
card often turns up in the spreads of those working for themselves, or in those
employed by a small firm, yet with a responsible position. Waving between the
dreams of the Knight of Cups and the common sense of the Knight of Swords,
the outlook of this card is suited to the youthful-minded entrepreneur trying to
establish their own business and make their way in the world. Yet it is, too, a
card of the new trainee embarking on a new career, the enthusiastic young
apprentice.
As the apron, the characteristic garment of the craftsman, is an
attribute of Hod, so in the Eight of Discs we find the young apprentice learning a
professional craft. Beyond the apprentice the card can denote the learning and
practice of new skills and the development of a talent for use at career level. In
Hod we find the building of forms for force to indwell. So in the Eight of Discs
we find the mind focused on how to overcome problems in the chosen
professional sphere, how to create and develop in a systematic and structured
way and to put one’s knowledge to professional use.
Self-employed will inevitably mean, at some point, discussions with
the bank manager, and with the Eight of Discs banking and financial transactions
are an ongoing concern. This is a card of preparing for the future by putting a
little aside with the prospect that it will one day accumulate into the nest-egg
which comes our way in the Seven or Nine. It is also a card of investing what
little saving we do have in improving our own prospects, self-financing some
course of action. The immediate effect in all cases however is, for a given
period, a need to proceed cautiously as financial reward to begin with remains
small, although fairly steady.
Qabbalistically the Eight of Discs is a card of prudence, gathering in
and considering all factors before formulating a course of action. The special
affinity of light to Mercury and Justice casts it influence over this card as the
light of reason, the power of the intellect and of rational consciousness. Here we
find the analytical powers of Hod expressed through a striving to make sense of,
and in some measure to impose control over, the physical and moral order.
Striving to dispel the darkness of ignorance by categorising the
unknown into knowable structures, the Eight of Discs in Hod denotes an attempt
to understand and actively contribute to the daily politics of being. Becoming
aware of, and where too rigid, sometimes attempting to dismantle the framework
of interaction and reaction imposed by the social construction of reality on our
mode of life, the Eight of Discs is a card of progress and of forward looking
development. It is a card denoting the desire to be among like-minded others,
seeking out those of the same interests in order to share ideas and encourage one
another. It is a card of the expansion of horizons to seek the centre of activity, a
card of personal development through and active involvement in, the world of
form and experience, immersion in the school of life. It is a card, too, of the old
giving way to the new- until the circles once again turn back on themselves and
we find ourselves back where we started.
There are two sides to every story and in the Eight of Discs there is a
need and desire to listen to both sides, to give credit to each party, to learn the
whole truth and view things from all angles. It is a card of debate, of paying
equal attention to the arguments of both prosecution and defence so that we can
reach a sensible and fair solution. With this card there is a desire to learn the
whole truth, to see things from all sides in the hope that we can understand
people better, and understand life better, and ultimately understand all aspects of
ourselves. The Eight of Discs is a card of the Fool embracing his or her journey
to seek in the treasures of the world of experience the gift of knowledge of
ourselves.
 Chapter Nine: Death and the Hermit in Yesod

For a long time I sought you and found myself.

Now I seek myself and find you.
(Ansari)

If the heart could grasp the meaning of life,

In death it would know the mystery of God.
(Omar Khayyam)

With Yesod we reach the heart of the planes of illusion, the very
centre of the moon circle of Tarot. Yesod is the sefirah of the moon. Set between
the sun of Tiferet and the earthly kingdom of Malkuth, Yesod reflects the light of
the sun to the kingdom below. Malkuth is the sole sefirah with no direct access
to Tiferet. Therefore, for Tiferet to reach Malkuth or for Malkuth to reach
Tiferet, they must pass through the door of Yesod and negotiate the deserts of the
moon: the illusive landscapes of the mind. In Tarot, in crossing the forbidding
desert mind-scapes of the moon planes we traverse the territory of the Hermit,
and of Death.
The symbolic associations between Death and the moon stretch back
along way via the crescent shaped sickle or scythe. The scythe is found in
almost, if not all presentations of the Death card, swinging in the hand of
skeleton Death. Yet in some early Tarot packs the scythe is depicted also in the
hands of the Hermit. For Death and the Hermit are intimately related, as in their
shared kinship to the enigmatic figure of Cronus: the devouring master of time,
swallowing that to which he gives life. As Time and Death, Cronus accompanies
both the figure of the skeleton and the old man. The Hermit too can be either,
sometimes holding the hourglass and sometimes, like Death, holding the scythe.
With these two Tarot majors we hear the ticking of the clock: we are firmly
centred in the sands of the desert, the measured sands of the planes of time.
The scythe is the symbol of the moon as well as of Death for it
signifies the gradual fading away, the severing from life, and the powers of
destruction and decay. Yet in ancient times Cronus was god of the harvest, and
the scythe symbolises also the reaping of the harvest which in turn implies the
fulfillment of a cycle, the gathering in of the matured crop and subsequent wait
for rebirth.
 It was Cronus, Father Time, who swallowed all his own children
except for Zeus, and yet each one came to light again. With the symbolic ability
of the moon to be similarly swallowed by darkness, only to re-emerge from the
darkness reborn, it lays claim to the secrets of the planes of illusion. The moon is
both death and regeneration. It is endless change and yet endlessly the same. It is
the ship of death and it is the ship of life.
The symbolic moon is the ark of the sea of night, the vessel
transporting souls on the journey to and through the great round and supporting
them in their ascent and descent. As Yesod is the doorway to and from Malkuth,
so the card of Death in the sefirah of the moon is the doorway to and from the
kingdom, the means of access to and exit from the endless round of the Wheel of
Fortune.
The Hermit, meanwhile, is the moon as the lighted vessel, the great lamp of
light forging a path through the darkness. In its waning period the crescent moon
is the ship of the dead leading the Hermit into the depths of the unknown, the
three days of the underworld or purgatory or hell.
In the mystery traditions the initiate often had to undergo a symbolic
ritual death. Sometimes this involved a period of descent into the ‘underworld’,
in order to emerge from the ordeal reborn. In the ‘underworld’, often a cave, or
space empty but for surrounding darkness, the initiate was left alone with his
greatest enemy: himself. He was confined and confronted with the terrors of his
own mind.
Lunar ruled, both the Hermit and Death are cards of the mind. These
are cards concerned exclusively with mental states and with the exploration of
the psyche. They are not concerned with the external world except as it impinges
on inner states. The Hermit turns his back on the world in order to face himself.
His aim is to shed light on the delusions of his own inner darkness, to conquer
and dispel his fears and projections. In freeing himself from himself the Hermit
aims to reach the level of attunement where he is at peace in the darkness,
knowing that when his mind is empty, the darkness is equally empty.
The word ‘hermit’ comes from the Greek eremites - dwellers in the
desert. As the ninth Tarot major, divided within him both as 126 and 18, the
Hermit has hidden within his own meaning the sum of the major cards of the
sefirah directly above. After the choice of road in the Lovers and with the
Hanged Man concealed in suspension, we make our descent deeper into the
planes of time and become dwellers in the desert. We become solitary Hermits,
seeking and alone. Furthermore, between 126 and 139, the respective numbers of
the majors centred in the sun and moon circles, is a transitional stage of 13 steps.
Both Death and the Hermit indicate the passage of transition between the cyclic
worlds, the period of transformation in the floating corridor between space and
time.
The number nine is assigned to both the Hermit and to Yesod as the
sefirah of the moon. Nine is the number of transformation. It signifies the period
of pregnancy, the period of becoming in the darkness of the womb. Yet it is also
a number of death. For nine is the limit of all numbers, beyond which one can
only go back to a transformed beginning, to one plus nothing: to, on the one
hand, the Magician and Fool united, and on the other to the Wheel of Fortune.
To understand that between them lies only an alteration of perspective is part of
the Hermit’s quest.
Centred in the sefirah of the moon at the heart of the planes of
illusion, the Hermit is firmly entrenched within the playful machinations of the
Magician. Yet it is only by discovering and teaming up with the inner Magician
that the Hermit can catch the sought for glimpse of the Fool treading the great
round: 9 +1 leading to 10 (1+0). As Yesod is the foundation, so together the
Hermit and Death lay the necessary foundation for attaining the understanding of
the journey of the Fool: to ‘become yourselves, passing away.’ [140]
To unveil that which is unchanging within the veils of endless
change, and to seek to be simultaneously at one with both, is the riddle set before
the Hermit. For the Hermit seeks the ever-changing knowledge of death, and the
courage of constant becoming. In other words, shedding his light on the ground,
the Hermit seeks in the sand the footprints of the Fool. Yet time again is a factor
here; for the moon rules the tides and, even if the winds favour him, the Hermit
has only until the tides come in before the clues are swept away and he is forced
to begin his search once more from the beginning.
The Hermit is affiliated with both the Fool and the Magician. As a
wanderer he is the perplexed apprentice to the Fool, although as apprentice he
wanders with serious design and not yet with the Fool’s carefree spirit of joy.
The sandals are among the attributes of Yesod, providing the support to explore
at one’s own pace the various levels of the psyche. In the Hermit we find both
the sandals and the support for our own wandering quest.
Unlike his counterpart, the journeyer of the Chariot, the Hermit has
no horse to transport him because he is concerned not with outer reality but with
the world within. He wanders through the landscapes of the mind, opening the
ways to discover the underlying patterns and thread a path of consciousness
through the mattered maze of the unconscious.
Yesod is the store house of the unconscious. It contains images of
everything existing in Malkuth, and has the power of altering these images. In
Tarot the power of alteration is part of the territory of Death. For alteration
means a passage of death: change from one form to another. Death is
transformation of how one perceives and is perceived. Here we circle the core of
the Hermit and of Death; for both are, fundamentally, cards of transformation.
Encouraged by the enthusiasm of the Magician to wonder ‘how?’,
we find in this transformational heartland underlying surface phenomena the
outer layers stripped back to expose the timings and turnings of the wheel. As
the foundation, Yesod provides the framework for particles of dense matter.
Likewise Death, as skeleton, signifies the bare framework on which the universe
hangs. On a personal level the skeleton body is the foundation on which the
individual robes of ego are hung (for Yesod is the sefirah of the ego), while on
the greater scale the skeleton unveils the structure for the creation of form: the
foundation of physical existence.

The spiritual experience of Yesod is the vision of the machinery of the

universe. In Yesod are performed all operations for testing and amending the
designs of Hod and for correcting the sphere of dense matter. Likewise, wielding
the sickle, Tarot Death continuously prunes and adjusts, operating independently
as a natural force to carry out the decrees ordained by Justice and correct the
imbalances caused by man.

In the illustrations of Tarot Death, the indiscriminate mingling of the strewn

corpses, with crowned heads fallen alongside peasants, is a reminder that in
death all are equal. Stripped of all wealth and finery, and of all the garments of
the ego, the naked soul is led into the halls of Justice with no means of false
disguise to suppress the truth.
Justice is an important influence on the Death card. The Hermit, as
4+5, contains the influence of both the Emperor and Hierophant, the inner light
of Justice and the wily old map reader. Yet, like Merlin represented as a wise old
man wandering with a sickle around his neck, the Hierophant equally plays an
instructive role in relation to Death, but this time in conjunction with the outer
law of the Emperor: Justice herself, 8+5=13. Death leads into the halls of Justice,
while the decrees of Justice call for the pruning transformations of the Death
card under the instructive eye of the Hierophant in his role as High Priest of the
mysteries of the eternal round.
Numbers are very significant with these two cards. By the stage of
the ninth sefirah the cards contain concealed within themselves the multitude of
variations of all that has gone before combining into ever new formations. As all
the higher forces must pass through and be unified in Yesod before reaching
manifestation in Malkuth, so it is through the kaleidoscope of the various
combinations that the upper cards pass through the hallways of the Hermit and
Death to reach the kingdom.
As 13, Death is divisible by only itself and the number 1: the
Magician. As 1 and 3 Death is representative of both the Magician and the
Empress. It is the combination of the creative imagination of the Magician and
the evolving world of the Empress that Death serves, for it is in the card of the
Empress that we first encounter transmutation of form as destruction to give way
to new life. As 9, the Hermit is divisible by itself, the Magician and the Empress.
It is the terrain of the latter that the Hermit explores in an attempt to understand
the play of the Magician.
Through Justice at the base of the pillar of severity and through the
Chariot at the base of the pillar of mercy, the Magician and Strength are able to
meet on the pillar of clemency in the wanderings of the Hermit. The number of
Justice conjoined with her silent partner the Magician gives 1+8=9; the Chariot
conjoined with the underlying force which gives it motion results in 7+11=18
and again 1+8=9. Approaching Yesod from opposite directions therefore, the
two Kether majors enter the foundation from the pillars of force and form and
confront each other as mirror images, the powers of the right and left meeting in
the mind of the Hermit.

By joining his hands together, with both arms stretched above his head to
reach towards Kether, the Hermit symbolically draws the power of the Magician
and Strength down the tree and shows his dedication to raising his own level of
consciousness to a higher level.
Passing, simultaneously and levelly, through the balanced forces of Justice
and of the Chariot, the Hermit makes his mind a passage for the light of spiritual
force descending the tree by becoming in himself a living flame. For ‘the spirit
of man is the candle of the Lord.’ [141]
 As the moon reflects the sun’s light, so the Hermit in Yesod is a
vessel for the divine light of the solar centre in Tiferet. Inspired by Strength as
the driving force guiding the solar circle, the Hermit is encouraged to continue
his solitary quest through the dark plains of the moon cycle. The lion is itself a
symbol of solitude and in his wanderings the Hermit is seeking courage and
strength of mind to prepare for his eventual encounter with the lion within. In
serving Tiferet while yet in the overcoat of the ego, the Hermit seeks, by
subduing the animal nature of the ego, to raise his consciousness to the level of
the Hanged Man, who in turn wrestles from himself the solar fire while hanging
just one step away from Death.
If the numbers attributed to the Hermit and Death are added together
the Hermit disappears: 9 + 1+3 = 13, taking us back to and leaving us solely with
the presence of Death. Swallowed by Death, the Hermit becomes, like the Fool,
nothing. Without Death the Hermit could never attain the level of the Fool. Yet
Death remains just as before, changed, and yet eternally the same, faithful
custodian of the Moon journey.
With the assistance of Death, the Hermit seeks to recognize the
nullity of the ego and the ultimate emptiness of the images of the mind. Not to
be blinded by the light into seeing things which do not exist, he must strive to
become aware of all the demons and fears his own mind projects out onto the
world, learning there is nothing real in them to provoke him but man’s illusions -
and they are very real. Submitting himself in total trust to the love of God, the
Hermit seeks to move one step beyond himself, and thereby take the giant leap
beyond both Tiferet and Yesod into Daath. In so doing he throws himself totally
into the empty void of the mind.
 Exploring the lunar world within, solitary and on foot, the Hermit
traverses the haunting deserts of the mind, passing from mirage to shimmering
mirage. Here he is beset by the ghostly shadows of the unconscious, the illusions
and hallucinations of the lunar realm. Only the tantalizing sliver of light of the
enigmatic, ever teasing moon and his own small lantern helps him to distinguish
truth from delusion.
In the majority of Tarot illustrations the Hermit is shown with a light,
usually a lantern, in his hand. The light represents, on the surface level, his own
wisdom and intelligence. Sometimes, the Hermit’s cloak shields the light from
the glare of the world. Sometimes the cloak protects the world - and the Hermit -
from the blinding brilliance of the light. Sometimes, however, the light is
concealed by the cloak and the Hermit himself is left in darkness, forgetting the
gift of light. Yet the Hermit’s lamp heralds a mystery. It is an oil lamp, and if the
Hermit is to keep the flame burning he must descend to the darkness of Malkuth
to find in the hidden riches of the black earth of the kingdom the means to
illuminate his own soul. If, like the Fool, we are to appreciate the journey, we
need the light of illumination to fulfil the inner quest.
Corresponding to Yesod, the 9th letter of the Hebrew alphabet is teth.
Teth signifies the guardian angels who guide people from birth onwards.
Likewise, as the genie of the lamp within, the spirit of the living flame, the
Hermit is the guiding spirit who accompanies us from birth till death as we try to
make sense of our sojourn on the Wheel of transmigration. He signifies the inner
guide we are aware of and can reach through sleep and meditation, the inner
channel which remains open to the higher self.
At its deepest level the light represents the knowledge the Hermit
retains of his own inner being, and that within him which is immortal. Shining
forth from the divine within, in Tarot the light partakes of the essence of the
Emperor, the being of light, who, along with the Hierophant, encourages and
assists in our inner quest. As the 9th card, the Hermit is assisted on his way by
both ancestors: the 4th and 5th cards, the teacher of the mysteries and the
preserver of the light.
The number 9 symbolizes the journey of self-realization because it is a
number which always returns to itself. When multiplied by any single digit (1-9)
it produces a result which turns back to 9; while the sum of its individual digits
(1+2+3+4+5+6+7+8+9) added together make 45 -the Emperor and the
Hierophant as 4+5 =9. The Hermit then contains within him the guidance of both
the Hierophant and the Emperor and knows thereby that the need to withdraw
from the world in meditation must be balanced with the need to be in and of the
world helping others. Uniting instruction and revelation together on the pillar of
holiness, he passes down the teachings of both in his role as keeper of the flame.
As both Netzach and Hod are equilibrized in Yesod, so revelation
and instruction are transmitted down the respective pillars of force and form to
provide a stable foundation for the mind of the seeker in Yesod. As well as the
guiding angel, teth corresponds also to the serpent. Significantly, both Aaron and
Moses, the respective patriarchs of Hod and Netzach, knew the art of casting
their rods to the ground to become serpents. In the card of the Hermit too a
serpent is often shown either coiling round the staff in his hand or rearing up on
the sand in front of the staff. The serpent represents the inner nature of man. Like
the moon, the serpent too can renew itself by shedding its skin - it retains the
knowledge of immortality which man has lost and which he seeks. The serpent is
the innate store of unconscious wisdom, the silent mentor concealed in the sands
of the desert.
Qabbalistically the deserts of Sinai stretch between Yesod and
Tiferet, while it was on the moon mountains of Sinai that Moses talked with
God. In Hinduism Shiva too is god of yogis and master of the mountains where
sages go to meditate. At the same time, with a serpent entwined around his head
and wearing a necklace of skulls, Shiva is equally the dancing god of death.
Embracing the qualities of both Death and the Hermit Shiva was (and is) the
moon-god of the mountains. For in a world of change the moon is custodian of
the keys to knowledge.
The skull as a symbol of the transitoriness of life and of the vanity of
worldly things is actually an emblem of hermits, who would withdraw into the
desert to contemplate without distraction on the meaning of death. With only the
trusty staff of inner strength and the lamp of inner faith, the Hermit of Tarot
withdraws into the desert, i.e. a place where he can be alone with his thoughts.
Without distraction and undisturbed by the outer world, he courageously faces
what is inside. The Hermit goes to meet and befriend Death. Through his
encounter with Death he seeks to bring light to his conception of life, and to
learn to understand and befriend himself. For Death too is inside all of us. - In
the form of the skeleton this can be taken quite literally, for Death is often
depicted as a cloaked skeleton. Yet not so literally, from birth onwards Death is
within us, making his presence felt through all the transitions from childhood to
adult. For Death is simply the force of change. We are our own Death. When,
stepping out of the body, we meet Death at the doorway between two worlds, we
do not meet a stranger but a long-time caring companion, without whom we’d
never have emerged from the cradle.
The meditation of Hermits and the presence of Death have always
been bed-fellows. In Buddhist meditation halls skeletons were often used as a
reminder of our own mortality and of the impermanence of all things, while the
Buddhist was encouraged to meditate on its message. Similarly, with a timely
reminder of the transience of all form we are, with these two Tarot majors, given
a chance to re-examine our values and release ourselves from the trappings of
the ego. Liberated from the framework of the past we are offered a chance to
develop new strengths, building on that foundation which abides within by
reflecting on the meaning and purpose of our own passage through form. Unless
fear makes us deaf to our needs, we are offered the opportunity to take part in the
ongoing dialogue exchanged between the Hermit and Death.
As a wanderer, the kinship of the Hermit to the Chariot is obvious.
Yet, as the means of traversing the three worlds, the Chariot relates also to
Death. Again both aspects are mythically united in the wandering figure of Odin,
encountered in the Chariot and Hanged Man. Odin too was god of the dead - and
to reach the abodes of death took precisely nine nights of travelling.
As an old man in a cloak and broad-brimmed hat, Odin wandered far
and wide among the psychic levels, visiting the battle plains of life. In the
Chariot we ride out onto the battle plains of illusion to engage in the battle of the
soul. In the depiction of the Death card we find the debris of the ongoing
struggle.
In most illustrations of the Death card, Death is shown (usually as a
skeleton) cloaked, riding a horse or wading energetically through a plethora of
severed heads and scattered limbs. The card of Death represents the
disintegration of the existing structure. As with the Tower In Daath, Death
signifies the face of change and breakdown of a situation. (Indeed, at times of
major upheaval both cards often turn up in a spread together). Death is
concerned with the changes which are engineered within by our responses to
changes in the outer circumstances. It is a card of transformation - of a shift in
perspective throwing new light on the form perceived.
Whereas in the past, safely cocooned in the audience, we may have
been content to look on from a distance as sympathetic observers, when
confronted with the card of Death we find ourselves suddenly on stage,
contributing participants directly affected by and affecting the unravelling
drama. With the loss of the comfort and security of anonymity, the facade which
we had hid behind crumbles away, leaving us stripped of our former disguise.
The old role has irrevocably vanished and with it must be discarded the outdated
trappings of the persona which are no longer appropriate. Our position and our
role in life is no longer the same and we must adjust accordingly.
The strewn limbs on the depictions of the Death card represent the
fragmented self. They are the false personalities scattered by Death. The
skeleton form of Death shows us our essential selves stripped of the layers of the
ego, the masks of persona by which we conceal our true identity. On the tree of
life the lower triad of Netzach, Hod and Yesod, together with Malkuth, form the
personality. At the centre of this quaternity, Yesod is the sefirah of the ego, while
Joseph, the patriarch of Yesod, is the symbol of the ego.
It was Joseph who possessed the coat of many colours, indicating the
various masks of the persona we don as appropriate to our adopted roles. The
persona is the idea we, and others, have formed of ourselves, conditioned by our
understanding and experience of external realities. It is the agglomerate of false
beliefs and perceptions we put on throughout life like layers of extra skin. In
stripping us back to the skeleton, Death peels away our false identities to bring
us back to the true reality which is related to the Self. This is the identity the
Hermit seeks.
Part of the meaning of the Hermit, is, like the moon, to bring light to
our own darkness, to foster acceptance of the transience and vanity of worldly
possessions and position, and to see through the mirage of the ego. As a card of
self-analysis, the Hermit throws light on the darkness of the self to reveal the
dislocated limbs of the psyche scattered throughout the planes of no-man’s land.
In Yesod the avarice of the ego is betrayed in its desire to possess
everything. Combatting this demon the Hermit leaves the art of worldly
accumulation behind. The lesson of Death is the vanity and impermanence of
worldly things, while the Hermit teaches non-attachment. Neither insist on
rejection of worldly belongings, simply recognition and acceptance of their
appropriate place in our value system. Rejection only becomes necessary if we
cannot own without clinging or projecting into the world of objects values which
do not exist. ‘For what shall it profit a man, if he gain the whole world, and lose
his own soul.’ [142]
Renunciation of the desires of the ego is not tantamount to
renunciation of the world. - Indeed in deliberately heading towards Malkuth the
Hermit embraces his wanderings in the world. He simply takes extra care that in
his own enthusiastic search for , he is not deluded into forgetting what he is
searching through .
Because of his brothers’ envy and his own vanity Joseph was sold
into Egypt as a slave. His many coloured coat was dipped in animal blood to
signify his death, while he was dispatched to the lower face of Asiyah. Here,
despite being unjustly imprisoned, he amended his faults, and while remaining a
servant, was able to rise to a position of power and trust as the Pharaoh’s right-
hand man. He had learnt to use the ego in its rightful role as a bridge between the
outer and inner world, Malkuth and Tiferet.
 With his dutiful service to his master, Joseph indicates that the proper
role of the ego is not as master but as loyal servant: we should not be slaves to
the excesses of the ego, the ego should be subservient to the higher self. If, in
obedience to the laws of a higher self the ego has fulfilled its role as dutiful
servant, then we will be already attuned to the mind of the higher self which
exists in a sphere beyond death. For, with the descent of the Hermit through
Yesod, we leave the greater part of ourselves behind, and through the
meditations of the Hermit we strive to recollect the scattered knowledge of the
higher self while still in the body. Through the Hermit’s meditations we are able
to reconnect with and remember that the higher self on the inner planes is the
greater reality, whereas the ego is simply a dress donned for the day and evening
of earth’s banquet. With this knowledge we cease to fear death, knowing that
when we die it is only the ego which passes away, while the body, like a car
having served its purpose, is traded in for the latest model.
In seeking the knowledge of Death, the Hermit seeks the source and
significance of his life. He seeks a reality which can only be perceived by getting
to grips with and stepping through the eclipses wrought by the ego. Our own
ego-centred subjectivity and the prominent position of the ego should not delude
us that it is the central sun around which all revolves. The problem of the ego is
vanity. The Hermit attempts to conquer the vanity of the ego by turning his back
on the ego’s desires, yet the vanity of the ego can waylay him in far more subtle
guise. On the one extreme, the Hermit can vaunt his independence by casting
scorn on anything which cannot be verified by empirical observation. At the
other extreme, he can deny even the efficacy of empirical evidence and, slipping
into the dangers of solipsism, doubt everything but his own self.
Both Death and the Hermit circle around the impossibility of passing
beyond one’s own mental states and perception of reality. Tied down by and
perambulating his own mental equations, the Hermit seeks a way to cross the
lunar seas of Yesod and, moving beyond himself, awake in the lunar dream of
Daath.
It is impossible to see through the mirage of desires without slipping
into the shifting sands of Daath, and in seeking knowledge and knowing that the
answers lie within, the Hermit is constantly dipping into the dunes of Daath
without realising it. As the north and south poles of the bridge of spirit spanning
the descent to matter, Daath and Yesod are uneasy twins. Centred on the pillar of
knowledge on either side of Tiferet, they are balancing opposites. Yet in order to
grapple meaningfully with the Tarot majors in Daath, the Hermit must first come
to grips with Death as the force of flux in Yesod. To seek embrace in Death’s
encompassing cloak of wisdom before confronting the majors of Daath, is to
realize that knowledge and understanding of the meaning of our own Death
opens the way to a transformation which the wandering mind in the subjective
world of illusion should be preparing for.
Death of the ego is rebirth onto a higher plane, -transformation to a
higher self. It is the return of the rivers of consciousness to the source of our
personal dream. For the hours of the moon are the hours of dream. To uncover,
therefore, what lies beyond the persona, the Hermit must learn to speak the
language of the soul; he must learn the language of dream.
Joseph was of course a dreamer of prophetic dreams and a master in
dream interpretation. It was this very ability, while yet in prison, which brought
him to Pharaoh’s notice in the first place. For Joseph interpreted Pharaoh’s
dream of seven lean years preceded by seven years of abundance - in terms of
Qabbalah indicating the swing of the pendulum between seven years of mercy
and seven years of severity.
Cronus too has been lauded as a prophetic dreamer. It is whispered
that even now, sleeping on an island in a golden cave and watched over by
administering spirits, the sleeping Cronus dreams the future. By listening to the
reports brought to him by the tending spirits, Zeus was able to gain in wisdom
from the dreams of Cronus. He had learnt to interpret the language of dream.
Cronus ruled over Elysium, the abode of the blessed, and he ruled
over the world in the golden age, when men lived without toil or sorrow and the
earth yielded harvests of its own accord. To this golden age man has longed
always to return.
Yet to reach the golden age of Cronus before he slept, we must undertake to
pass through the dreams of Cronus sleeping, that is, to pass through the sphere of
Yesod and encounter the Hermit and Death. For the golden age is but a
transformation of mind and return to the golden age but a return of
consciousness to the golden sphere of Tiferet - a return to the state before the
descent through the veil of paroketh into the planes of illusion.
To reach the waking world of Cronus, then, one must pass through
and understand the world of dream. Searching for the means to return to the
inner golden age is to seek deeper awareness of the rounds of death and
dreaming - to understand the living dream state and Death as the inner ferryman
carrying us through the sea of change to attain the waking shore.
In Greek myth Thanatos, the god of death, was represented as a
winged spirit. As such, he resembled completely his twin brother Hypnos, the
god of sleep. Hypnos (sleep) and Thanatos (death) dwelled together in the
underworld with Hypnos’ son Morpheus, god of dream. For death, sleep and
dream are, as Shakespeare well observed, inseparable:
 To die - to sleep: -
To sleep! perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
[Hamlet, Sc.11. Act 111. L.64-66]

In Tarot Death is the guardian of sleep; he is equally the guardian of

the dream from which the Hermit reminds us how to wake. To pass through the
door of Death in the direction of Tiferet is to arise from the state of sleep and
ascend the tree. Contrariwise, through the door of Death in the direction of
Malkuth, the descent to the Wheel of Fortune is a descent into the realm of
hypnos, a fall into the shroud of dream enveiling the nocturnal realm of
darkness. Mesmerized by the hypnotic illusions of the lunar world we fall into
the trance of time. Forgetful of what we came for and oblivious to the greater
part of ourselves left behind, we slip into the dream filled sleep of Death.
The Hermit is unable to awaken completely from the sleep of Death
in life until the moment when the twin selves meet face to face: the moment of
actual death. What he can do is prepare the soil and plant the seeds for those rare
moments of insight - the minor deaths - when the dream becomes lucid. The
Hermit encourages the quest to become aware of who is dreaming and to learn to
interpret the dream. In so doing he readies the mind for the challenge offered at
the transitional phase accompanying actual death so that the opportunity of truly
awakening does not pass us by.
For, if while dreaming, we have not managed to become aware of the
dreamer or the dream, then at the moment of death we remain trapped in the
astral triangle.
Caught in the lunar circle, rising only as far as Hod and unable to pass beyond
the veil of paroketh separating the planes of illusion from Tiferet, we remain
ensnared in a perpetual round of sleep beset by intermittent dreams. The golden
age remains an island floating in the archives of the unconscious unless and until
we can recognize, and remember to lay the table for, the arrival of the thirteenth
guest.

The King of Swords

For the alchemists, as for the ancients, the moon was seen as
responsible for all physical changes within mortal forms. On the one (right)
hand, it contained and offered the gifts of growth and strength, while with the
other (left) hand it unveiled the secrets of weakness and decay. Both aspects are
present too with the King of Swords in Yesod. On the one hand the King of
Swords represents the qualities of fortitude and strength; on the other he is
symbolic of strength gradually waning with the onset of old age.
The order of angels attributed to Yesod are the kerubim: the strong,
while the magical image of Yesod is of a very strong man. In the King of Swords
we find a figure of imposing strength. He is however, no angel, and the sword he
holds, representative of the cutting edge of mortality, indicates a slowing down,
the gradual decline of his powers and diminishing of enthusiasm for the task in
hand.
Recognizing the necessity of doing things we do not want to do is
part and parcel of the enduring reign of the King of Swords. This is a card of
forbearance and of steadfastness in the face of adversity. It is a card of austerity
and of reaching in to the strengths of the Hermit to make a virtue of spartan
conditions and ensure that a little stretches along way.
In the King of Swords we find a warrior encumbered in heavy
armour which he longs too, but cannot take off. For the King of Swords
represents the ancient soul encased in the physical armour of the body and, as
such, the layer of heavy armour is a necessary protection in the continual rise
and descent through the physical plains. The weight of the armour, along with
the pressure of the ongoing battle must be endured, despite the weariness of
persistent engagement in the ongoing struggle. For, though the soul may be old
and weary, the war for the King of Swords is far from over. The battle for the
kingdom begun in the Chariot still has a long way to go before final victory can
be assured and, as the protector of the kingdom, upholding the sword of truth
and justice, the King of Swords is committed to the outcome, come what may.
Like Arthur wielding excaliber, as a young, courageous warrior, this
crusading conqueror set out in the knight to defend the ideals of truth, honour
and justice and to lay the foundation for a peaceful and flourishing kingdom.
Enthused by a spirit of undaunted optimism and emboldened by his own
strength he did not, at the outset, perceive the enormity of his undertaking or the
perpetuity of the struggle once the foundation had been laid. Even though the
laying of the framework for the foundation may have presented an initial victory,
it was by no means the end of the crusade. It was simply a successful passage of
transition into the next stage of the battle, as the knight in his own transition to
aging and battle-weary king would become all too aware. Not realising, in youth,
that he would need to fight the same battles over and over again and win not
once but many times to maintain what had been established, it is only in the
figure of the aging king that awareness has dawned of the magnitude and
importance of the undertaking to which he has pledged his loyalty, body and
soul.
Though a tower of strength, the King of Swords, like Atlas, is borne
down by the weight of the world. Shouldering the burdens and anxieties of
worldly responsibility, he strives to uphold the sword of righteousness and
justice; but the continual effort is taking its inevitable toll. As the ancient stone
throne which forms his seat is worn down by the centuries of lunar ruled tides,
so the battle scarred veteran is worn down by the rigours of countless campaigns.
With the ebb and flow of fortunes, the beacon of light seems to be kindled in one
place only to be imperilled in another and this crusading upholder of the spirit of
humanity must maintain a vigilant watch over his kingdom and engage with the
army of shadows whenever invasion threatens.
Because his strength is waning, the King of Swords at the centre of
the lunar circle needs to use his mental abilities and rely more on strategy to
counter the loss of physical prowess. Making the most of what he has gained
from his wealth of experience and reaching inside, like the Hermit, to benefit
from the accumulated knowledge of the soul’s experience, strength of mind
becomes the King of Swords most potent weapon, enabling him to hold together
his kingdom despite continual creeping encroachment from all sides.
The King of Swords is symbolic of persevering struggle against all
odds and of firm foundations outlasting the tides of change. Reversed, however,
he can warn against the fatigue of battle weariness and, with the fragmentation
of inner faith in oneself, the diminishment of will to continue.
The warning represented by the King of Swords is that, in
recognizing the Sisyphean dimensions of the struggle, there is a serious danger
of sinking into apathy and despair. In looking at the long road of troubles and
difficulties before us it is tempting to throw up our hands and exclaim that the
journey is all too much to cope with. Excusing ourselves on the pretext that the
obstacles are insurmountable, we fall into a lethargic slumber from which, like
staying seated too long in Hades, it becomes a Herculean task to rise.
With the King of Swords, therefore, it is better not to look too far
ahead. We must proceed step by heavy step however downcast we become at the
slow nature of our progress or the lack of visible success.
Although it takes a long time to be recognized, with this card our persistent
efforts are steadily taking effect. We must, however, be careful not to throw it all
away for lack of immediate reimbursement. The King of Swords represents
victory through patient forbearance and through enduring strength within. This is
never an easy card. Yet it can be very rewarding.
The King of Swords is an empire builder, a founding father. Laying
solid foundations for what others would have dismissed as sheer castles in the
air, he motivates and inspires faith in the goal of humanity. With courageous
endurance and steadfastness in the face of fates fluctuating tides, he has built up
and held together his domain through many stormy years. Worn down by many
moons of continuous effort he would like now to be released from the burdens of
responsibility and retire from the front line. But he knows this is not possible.
For the King of Swords is at war with himself and if he retreats there is no one to
take his place. Again and again he must muster his forces for one remaining
battle; again and again he must find within him that last ounce of strength to face
the darkness closing in.

The Nines
It may seem strange to find two of the more obviously pleasant
influences in the Tarot situated at the heart of the plains of darkness and illusion.
Yet with the Nine of Cups and Discs we have just that. For these, like the moon,
are cards of light in darkness.
All the Nines and Tens are cards in a spread which exert powerful
foreseeable influence. They are cards whose effects are very evident. Below the
veil of qesheth in the sefirah of Yesod, and certainly with the Tens in Malkuth,
we approach the levels of reality which we are aware of. While, for example, the
Five of Cups or Discs may bestow blessings on the soul, the only effects we are
usually aware of are the hardships in the immediate environment that we must
pass through. That the soul is gradually ascending through our penetration of
such hardships is something we are not usually fully aware of until much later;
therefore the cards seem simply to offer difficulties rather than disguised
blessings.
With Yesod forming the foundation of the reality of Malkuth, the
blessings of the Nine of Cups and Discs, by contrast, are felt as blessings in the
reality of the here and now, for they bestow light and happiness on this life.
Their effects are not, in fact, any deeper or more lasting than those of the upper
cards, but we feel their power as greater simply because they bestow treasure we
are cognisant of in the present levels of consciousness. For the same reason the
sorrows of the Nine of Swords can seem particularly bad because again the
effects are immediate and usually without any insight of the inner design.
Together the four Nines contribute to a circle of emotion and mental
states. From joy to despair, merging one into the other, they form together a
completed cycle of the gifts of the Empress. Here we have the circle of 36 0
formed of four angles of 9 0 , in which all are found to be equal, and the
experience of all equally necessary.
 Like the King of Swords, the Nine of Wands is a card of enduring
strength. ‘Lord of great strength’ is in fact its qabbalistic title. The Nine of
Wands relates to the strengths gathered from the Hermit’s sojourn in the desert:
the lonely and testing arenas of life. It is a card fueled by the ability of the
Hermit to draw down the power of the Magician and Strength as a living flame.
To life beyond death we pass through fire and it is again the living flame we find
with this card of spiritual strength.
Gabriel, the archangel of Yesod, gives the power of vision. Likewise
the nine wands of the fire suit form together the three enshrining triangles which
protect at their centre the invisible spirit of flame, which is itself the vision of the
burning eye in the water font. The triple triad of the nine wands signify the
feminine yin waters surrounding and protecting the developing yang: the flame
of the sun’s light filtered through the vessel of the moon. In Tarot the Nine of
Wands is itself a lantern of the mysteries. It evocatively expresses the mystery of
the flame which burns in water, which in turn is symbolic of the flame of spirit
burning in the oceans of life.
The triple triad is indicated numerically in the nine itself. This is a
nine of completion, attainment and fulfillment. Following the King of Swords,
the Nine of Wands is similarly a card of victory through steadfastness and
endurance. Here we find secure foundations which cannot be easily overthrown
and which are worth holding on to. The Nine of Wands signifies rights worth
standing up for and visions worth defending in the face of strong opposition. It is
a card of rising to the challenge of overcoming one’s own weaknesses and, in so
doing, discovering the power of the flame within.
The Nine of Wands always brings to my mind the rigours undergone
by a dancer in the course of her training. It is a card of discipline and of
dedication, of repeated and persevering effort, conquering again and again the
pain and exhaustion of the body so that the movement of the soul may flow
harmoniously through the worlds of form. The Nine of Wands is a card of yoga -
of yoking the body to nurture the spirit. It is a card of dedication to a chosen goal
and of voluntary submission to the rigours and austerities that are part and parcel
of the path chosen.
The virtue of Yesod is independence. Influenced by the Hermit, the
Nine of Wands likewise indicates reliance on oneself to improve oneself. With
the burning away of excess, this is a card of leanness and of psychological
muscle. Developing one’s own inner strengths by undergoing the hardships and
self-imposed constraints of a pilgrim dedicated to the pilgrimage, the Nine of
Wands indicates the forging of the character in the furnace and the tried and
tested ability to see things through to their conclusion.
Bearing only that which is necessary for the journey, the Nine of
Wands indicates voluntary exile to the psychological deserts of the Hermit to
undergo a purging of the accumulated layers of ego. As Death’s scythe
constantly strips away the excesses and cuts back to the essential self, so the
Nine of Wands indicates a dedicated honing down to a precise point of
concentration. This ability of concentrated focus can make of the Nine of Wands
a card of immense power. With austerities submitted to for the sake of a greater
goal and with knowledge of the doors of the hidden self rekindled, it is in this
card that we find the rungs of the ladder being assembled to reach from the
Hermit to the Hanged Man.
Exploring, in voluntary exile, the deserts of the mind, the Nine of
Wands invokes the tongues of flame of the desert fathers and the ability to
comprehend and communicate in diverse languages. It is a card reaching across
physical borders to increase awareness that under all differences lies an overall
unity of mind.
With its strengths and dedicated effort the Nine of Wands is a portent
usually of accumulated merit and of positive reinforcement. Where the negative
side is invoked, it stems as always from lack of balance. The negative aspects of
the Nine of Wands result from the overplay of the positive factors: austerities
being taken too far; unswerving focus resulting in factors being ignored which
should have been noted - including sometimes the plight of others. Others can
also become an issue where, through applying one’s own rigid standards to those
who may not be as strong, or who are simply following a different road, their
inadequacies can be reinforced and we do more harm than good. Like the
Hermit, the Nine of Wands, is at heart a card of the independent loner, but the
importance of others on the same road, and the treasure of needing others,
should not be overlooked. Too rigid a stance, lack of adaptability and
unwillingness to listen to others can all be problems of the Nine of Wands. This
is a card in which there is a desire to recognise and value only the treasures of
the soul. Yet with such single-minded intensity on the chosen route there can
also be a tendency to forget that the ladder which leads to the Hanged Man leads
also to the Lovers, and thereby to the shared values so cherished by the Nine of
Cups.

Rising from the still lunar waters of twilight, in the Nine of Cups the
Empress as the goddess of love enriches the beauty of the transient world with
the radiance of her pearl-white smile. Bringing enchantment and delightful
intoxication, we are serenaded in this card with an ocean of love. For the
goddess gives us the gifts of her whole being. The gifts of the goddess are,
however, never straightforward, and the pearls that dazzle with their brightness
conceal a memory of heartbreak and tears. In the Nine of Cups the Empress
herself adorns us with the pearls of the descending goddess which, if we did but
know it, will in time become the pearlised tears of the Nine of Swords.
Gazing from the shores of Yesod to the valleys of Malkuth spread
out below, the vista presented under the golden haze of the Nine of Cups is of a
kingdom rich with opportunity and choice. Deciding which path to follow, which
valley to explore, the world is presented as our banquet. It is simply a question
of from which of the many cups offered should we drink our celebratory toast.
Validating the arduous training and sacrifices submitted to in the
Nine of Wands, the Nine of Cups indicates the satisfactory attainment of the
plateau from which all earlier efforts are, at least briefly, made to seem
worthwhile. Indicating the wished for conclusion to any venture, the Nine of
Cups is a card, on the material plane, of hopes fulfilled and aims realized. For
better or worse, it is, in its own way, a card of dreams come true.
Known commonly as the wish card, the sparkling effulgence from
the nine gleaming goblets promises blessings bestowed in plenty. The blessings
in turn are conducive to growing confidence and self- respect. Feeling well-
pleased with one’s position and prospects in life, the Nine of Cups expresses
comfort, contentment and a sense of self-ease. Embracing the rounded picture of
the personality, with this card we feel ourselves cossetted and protected in a
loving cocoon.
The Nine of the water suit indicates emotional security providing a
sheltered framework for the development of personality. It is a card of stable
loving relationships and of a secure family environment. Young people,
particularly teenagers, hold a special place in relation to this card. For in the
Nine of Cups we meet the spirit of youth stepping forward independently to
place a foot on the first rung of the ladder of adulthood. Daughter of optimism
and imagination, the Nine of Cups joyously fingers the prospects of a rewarding
future with the anticipation of a bride excitedly choosing her trousseau.
The gifts of the moon are the gifts of continual renewal and of light
in darkness. In the Nine of Cups this is expressed as the turning of the page onto
a clean sheet to start again. Offering a second chance when all seemed dead, the
Nine of Cups indicates renewed opportunity, to make of what we will. The
sudden transformation of what seemed undoubted death into an opportunity for
new life brings tears of trembling joy: the mourning at the loss of the caterpillar
is transformed into the jubilation of the butterfly.
 Bearing the gifts of love, marriage, birth, and commitment, the Nine
of Cups is closer in many aspects to Death than to the Hermit. It is from Death
that the attributes of completion and fulfillment are inherited. It is from the
influence of Death on the Nine of Cups that the loving presence of the baby in
the cradle is inferred. It is through Death that the page is turned to reveal a new
blank sheet and the opportunity to start again, to go back to school and relearn
our lessons with out mistakes. It is through Death that the Nine of Cups
celebrates the reaping of a plentiful harvest, and it is through Death that we can
make of ourselves a renewed vessel, to be filled with the loving outpourings of
the Nine of Cups.
The journey through space and time aboard the cruise liner of the
Nine of Cups is, then, in its opening stages, a holiday of discovery. Providing the
comforts and peace of a paradise island, the Nine of Cups indicates calm,
secluded serenity and contentedness, as long as there is something to do or new
avenues to explore.
Surrounded by material comforts, it seems like we have all we need - and
initially we do. Initially too we are very happy with the situation. Yet the success
of the Nine of Cups is an outward success. This a card of material happiness and
material happiness is not an automatic recipe for lasting inner contentment. The
Nine of Cups, as we slowly learn, is not all it seems.
The happiness attained with the Nine of Cups is happiness for
oneself, but not for others, and there, eventually, lies the rub. All is well as long
as we don’t stray too far from the restful cocoon. For once we stray too far we
discover the serpent in the garden: we become aware that there are others
surviving in dire conditions, with none of the comforts of our privileged
situation; others with none of the happiness, or security or love denoted by the
smiling face of the Nine of Cups. With the awakening to knowledge of the
chasms of sadness in humanity, the questions start. A need arises to understand.
The love and pity for the plight of others and identification with the condition of
all humanity arises from within. The Nine of Cups turns to face the lantern of the
Hermit and ask the Hermit’s questions. For in this card of love what is slowly
evolving is a sense of human dignity that cannot turn away from the suffering of
others or enjoy the wealth of abundance by ignoring the abundance of woe.
From the protected comforts of a sheltered haven, there comes in the
Nine of Cups a subtle transition in the state of mind. The comforts are still there,
but they no longer afford the pleasure they once did. Instead the awareness
dawns, that despite the trappings of happiness, each individual is equally caught
without answers on the journey of space and time.
Unable to ignore the plight of others, and in spite of the sense of
one’s own inadequacies to do much to help, the empathizing spirit of humanity
here assures that we put all safety aside to shoulder our part of the burden and
offer the balm of love. Not in sorrow but in love, we turn in the Nine of Cups
from the secured bliss of self-detachment to stand in supportive sympathy with
the sufferings of the quest. Serving the goddess for her gifts by being of service
to others, we find ourselves in this card of the rhythms of the heart, at length
attuned to the Hermit’s pilgrimage to bring light to the loneliest depths.
Responding to the prayers for understanding floating, from the
shores of darkness, like candles on the water, the Nine of Cups strains across the
tides of time to bring to our ears the song of creation. Blending in dazzling
unison the song of upper and lower shores, the Nine of Cups is a symphony
where contrasts complement and differences are reconciled in overall harmony
of composition. In this poignant card we can, if we listen closely, hear the music
of the spheres impress on our hearts the harmony of the whole.
As the sunlight calls to the seed, so with the tender voice of a lover
the Nine of Cups sings to the spirit of humanity a song of islands thought
abandoned beneath the silence of the sea. The song reminds of the promise that
is ourselves to fulfil the potential of all we can be, while still blessed with the
gifts of time. In the answering echo of tremulous yearning we recognise the
melody of our own response as, rising through the darkness to reach the singer,
we struggle from the chrysalis to answer the call.

Seeming more suited to a major role in a horror film, the qabbalistic

title of the Nine of Swords is ‘lord of despair and cruelty.’ Such a title is enough
to stop anyone cold in their tracks. Unfortunately it is also rather apt. For
stopping cold in our tracks is just what the Nine of Swords makes us do. If any
card in a spread can send shivers down the spine, there is none more likely than
the dreaded Nine of Swords.
Signifying much, usually well-founded, anxiety, the Nine of Swords
alerts to the presence of danger. It is a card of ill omen, which more positively
can be viewed as a warning. For the Nine of Swords is a card of looming threat,
and the threat arises usually from something in the past.
The most clear warning issued by the Nine of Swords is to guard the
back door. With this card things thought buried don’t stay buried. They come
creeping up behind us when least expected. The Nine of Swords is a card of
relapse, of the opening of old wounds. While we look forward, focusing on the
future, behind us the rivers of the unconscious flood their banks and issues we
had thought safely locked away and left to slumber behind the walls of the past
float free of their chains. Clambering up the river bank to prowl in the shadows
of the dying present, ghosts of yesteryear come back to haunt us and force us to
recall things we’d rather not face.
With the Nine of Swords we become prisoners of the ego. It is
problems which the ego found incompatible with its own self-image, and
therefore swept under the carpet, which resurface here. For with the Nine of
Swords a given situation has reached its limit - its death - and can be taken no
further. We must accept an end to running and turn to pay the ferryman.
As the swords are themselves the suit relating to mental powers and
perceptions, the Nine of Swords with the Hermit and Death in Yesod is likewise
concerned with states of mind. The states of mind of the Nine of Swords are,
however, triggered by external phenomena. With this card something happens,
totally unexpectedly, to trigger a whole chain of associations, usually linking
back to ways we reacted to events in the past and often giving rise to feelings of
despair and anxiety. The independence of the Hermit can become with the Nine
of Swords in the moon planes, a feeling of isolation, of being cut off from
everybody else by a great gulf of understanding through which nobody is able to
reach us. At the heart of the lunar circle, which is equally the heart of the planes
of delusion, with this foreboding and very testing card, we slip into and feel
completely, the power of the dark side of the moon.
Within this darkness we create, and must exorcise, our own demons.
Adding its signature to the Hermit’s ordeals, with the Nine of Swords we often
find ourselves staring into the craters formed by the Devil and the Moon in
Daath. The deeper into Tarot we go, the harder it becomes to keep the influences
apart. From the dark side of the moon in the Nine of Swords it takes but a few
steps to lose our way and stumble unseeing into the abyss of Daath. Here we are
targeted with weapons we feel, at this stage, completely defenceless against.

With the light of the Hermit cloaked by the cover of night, plunged into a
world without light to guide us, the dream of the psychic plains becomes in the
Nine of Swords a nightmare. The search to understand, and to wake, from the
blinding piteous plight, takes on the nature of desperation. Yet such desperation
clouds reason and the search subsequently is pursued in all the wrong places,
leaving us unable to comprehend what is happening and feeling more
despairingly at a loss than when we started.
In fact the painful break down of what we thought we knew, which
leaves us unsure of everything, is part of the process of Death stripping away the
vaunted conclusions of the ego to make way for a rebirth. It is a stripping away
of illusions to prepare the ground for the deeper insights of personal knowledge.
The Nine of Swords does lead eventually to the birth of the new moon, and to
this birth the darkness is a necessary wombing period; but while in the throes of
the darkness and depression associated with the Nine of Swords, the possibility
of eventual light seems a cruel fairy tale promise of happy endings which have
no foundation in reality.
In the Nine of Swords we undergo the ritual death in the underworld,
where we are left alone to face ourselves. Feeling abandoned and left to fall back
on one’s own resources, with the Nine of Swords the only option left in the
darkness is to come to terms with the situation and make use of what we have to
hand. Accepting what cannot be avoided, we must here come to terms with the
reality of the trials facing us if we are to turn them into positive ordeals of
learning. Getting to grips with the darkness and fighting mind with mind, the
David of consciousness squares up to the Goliath of the unconscious to wrestle
back the right to light. As Jung pointed out: ‘man does not become enlightened
by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.’ [143]
The passage through the dark side of the moon is a necessary
passage and cannot be avoided. We can, however, avoid the worst pitfalls of the
crossing - by seeking out the old man of the river who transports through the
gates of death, and asking to be guided over the river of the sleep of death in the
moon-shaped boat of Charon. In Tarot Charon is the equivalent of the union of
the Hermit with the old guide of Death, and the boat of crossing is the ark of the
moon slipping into darkness to re-emerge as the ark of light. To voluntarily seek
the guidance of ‘Charon’ is to seek to come to grips with the darkness and to
bear our own light into the planes of night. If we have not sought acquaintance
with the old ferryman-hermit, with the dark of the Nine of Swords we may find
ourselves thrown into the river of sleep without a boat; thus we must confront
the dreadful inner battle with our resources divided: one part of the mind trying
valiantly to swim through the waters to reach the shore, while the whole impulse
of the mind trapped in the body is to sink into the slumber of the watery deep
and fall into a lethargy from which it is depressingly difficult to wake.
The depression and lack of energy arises in the Nine of Swords
because the inner self is starved of nourishment. To feed the inner self, therefore,
we must sacrifice a little of the feast of the ego. Like the compromise of
Persephone’s alternating ascent and descent, after the years of plenty of the Nine
of Cups, the ego now must traverse the wastelands of emptiness and submit to
the privations of famine.
In the Nine of Swords the light of the Hermit is eventually increased
through the sorrows and hardships undergone; inner strength is funded from
faced ordeals. Accepting the unpalatable truths of sorrows which cannot be
avoided and submitting to the seeming miscarriages of fate which were in fact
necessary, is part of the lesson of this chilling card. This is a card of the
sufferings of Job, which only seem unfair from the limited view of the ego. The
spirit, penetrating deeper, recognizes the birth pains of a difficult labour, bearing
new meaning into our lives.

The Nine of Discs has been aptly referred to as the High Priestess of
the minor arcana. In this card of restoration we find the lamp of the Hermit
shining in the Aladdin’s cave of the psyche to bring depth and revelation to our
understanding of ourselves. The Nine of Discs is a card of healing; and the
healing here is of the rifts searing the unity of the mind.
Charting the ancient journey of the soul through the womb of time,
the Nine of Discs surveys the landscapes of memory. She is, like the Nine of
Cups, related to the nine muses, daughters of Mnemosyne: Memory.
Remembering what we came for, where we came from, and remembering too the
trials and tribulations of those previous incarnations which laid the framework
for the present, the Nine of Discs is a card of reincarnation. The importance for
meaning, however, lies not in recalling past lives, but in understanding the
impulse for continuous incarnation. What is relevant in this card of
replenishment is the growth and healing of the inner child we are becoming. For
the soul, as old as time, is continuously giving birth to itself through many
incarnations in order to refine, through the distillery of earth, the treasures of the
spirit within.
Qabbalistically the Nine of Discs is a card of material gain. Certainly
the material circumstances surrounding this card are quite secure, and as a card
of the earth suit gathering reserves for the exploration of the kingdom, material
accruements can be plentiful. From large to small, the Nine of Discs can presage
increased income, unexpected windfalls, gifts received to commemorate special
occasions such as anniversaries, and so on. Nevertheless, though timely and
appreciated, the material comforts denoted with this card are usually
accompanied by a balanced sense of perspective. The unexpected income may
be viewed as a pleasing surprise yet it will rarely be overvalued as an end in
itself.
As Joseph enjoyed the wealth and refinement of a respected position
without being unduly dazzled by it all, so the Nine of Discs indicates material
security which forms only a background to, and should never be allowed to
become, the focus of attention.
While appreciating the material comforts which provide much ease
to daily living, the true disciple of the Nine of Discs nevertheless remains, like
the Hermit, unattached. Prepared to give it all up if necessary in order to gain
that which would give inner fulfillment, the seeking pilgrim of this inner card is
well aware that that which is truly important is a long way from being found.
The material advantages of this card are, indeed, often valued solely for the
freedom they provide from the pressing burdens of the material world and the
time bought thereby to pursue in much needed solitude the road which leads
within.
Conducive to evoking the healing landscapes of the mind, the Nine
of Discs indicates work carried out in a tranquil and peaceful environment.
There is with this card something of the aura of a retreat. Culling knowledge
from practical hands on experience and observation, the Nine of Discs applies
earthly common sense while retaining openness of mind. In this therapeutic oasis
on the life journey science and religion, prayer and practicality converge.
Desiring meaning and seeking to understand humanity through
exploring the maze of the human mind, the Nine of Discs can indicate an interest
in psychology and psychologically based subjects. As Yesod is the treasure
house of the unconscious, so the real wealth of the Nine of Discs lies in the
mind. Like Death and the Hermit, the Nine of Discs is similarly concerned with
mental states. Indeed this card often denotes working with or showing an interest
in mental illness and of healing the wounds of the psyche. As such it frequently
overlaps with and steps constructively into the terrain of the Devil in Daath.
Testing, amending, and where necessary restoring the balance, the
Nine of Discs in Yesod carefully monitors the progress through the Kingdom.
Signalling between the High Priestess and Temperance, she watches closely for
signs of derailment in order to set as painlessly and securely as possible back on
course.
Finding in solitude the wings of the spirit, this is a card of the healing
of mental scars. Healing the wounds wrought, through time, by the body in the
physical on the body of the spiritual, the Nine of the earth suit seeks to restore
the finely tuned balance between outer and inner worlds. Providing succour for
both body and spirit this card of compassion draws from sleep its healing
properties while keeping open the channels of memory by which to return to a
waking state.
 Chapter Ten: Temperance and the Wheel of Fortune in Malkuth

Take care not to lose your grip on the thread of wisdom,

since the powers that be themselves are in a spin.
(Omar Khayyam)

The way up and way down are the same.

(Heraclitus)

Complementing, opposing, and providing a counterbalance to the

forces of the Magician and Strength in Kether, we find in Malkuth the fusion of
the coordinated forces of Temperance and the Wheel of Fortune. As the south
pole to Kether’s north the immense creative energy emanating from Kether is
finally contained and returned back up the tree in Malkuth. For Malkuth is
Kether at a lower level. It is Kether turned back to face itself. The force
emanating from Malkuth is equivalent to and balances that of Kether for it is the
same stream turned back on itself. In Tarot this is symbolised in the act of
Temperance, pouring the stream from upper vessel to lower vessel, only to
reverse them and thereby maintain the stream in continuous motion.
While the constant turn and return of energy is represented in
Temperance, the strong, vortiginous forces of Malkuth are signified in Tarot by
the Wheel of Fortune. Conjoined both cards exert a powerful influence. Like two
vortexes pulling us in opposite directions, whereas the attraction from the cards
in Kether draws us up the tree, the attraction from the cards situated in Malkuth
drags us down into the heart of the kingdom.
Malkuth is the kingdom. It is manifestation itself. In the kingdom
made manifest belongs the Tarot symbol of manifest life in all its phases: the
Wheel of Fortune. The Wheel of Fortune has its qabbalistic equivalent in the
Gilgulim, the wheels of transmigration through which the recycling of the
Nefesh or natural soul is carried out. The wheel of transmigration signifies the
continual return of the soul to incarnate existence until that which is designed
and destined is fulfilled.
The spoked wheel as a symbol of the turning world long predates
either Tarot or Qabbalah. The mother of this symbol was probably the swastika:
the equal armed cross of the elements in motion, which in turn correlates with
the square wheel of the Sumerians. In Qabbalah the symbol of the swastika
belongs in Kether while the circle and the equal armed cross belong in Malkuth.
Between Kether and Malkuth, then, is the passage between its symbols. In Tarot
this is the passage between, at the apex of the tree, the Magician and Strength
united in the cosmic dance of creation and at the opposite pole Temperance
pouring force into form at the still centre of the revolving Wheel of Fortune.

The symbol of the equal-armed cross represents figuratively the four

elemental states united into one whole while retaining the equal division into
four. As manifestation itself all four traditional elements of creation have a place
in Malkuth, each being assigned to one of the four quarters. In Tarot the four
quarters are divided by the equal armed cross within the wheel pointing to the
four cardinal directions, north, east, south and west. At each direction, each point
of the equal-armed cross, a figure is attached to the wheel, one above, one below,
one ascending and one descending. Temperance, meanwhile, unites all four
elements in herself as the centre of the equal-armed cross. She is herself the
reconciler of the elements yet she upholds too the unique nature of each. This is
shown both in pictorial form in the card and in the number allocated to
Temperance.
The number of Temperance is fourteen. Made up of the Arabic
numerals one and four, fourteen is unity and quaternity. It is, like the five of the
Hierophant (of which she is the outer face) one of spirit overseeing the four
elements. Yet it shows also the unity and quaternity as two faces of the one
whole.
The one in Temperance appertains to the Magician and the four to
the Emperor, reminding us that in Tarot the Magician and the Emperor are two
faces of the same form, one unmanifest and one manifest. As master of the
elements the Magician was shown with the four elements spread out on the table
before him, his to arrange as he will, while it is in the four of the Emperor that
we first meet the quaternity as a symbol of the path to wholeness, with the
Emperor himself as the reconciliation of the quaternity.
The Emperor’s role as conciliator is repeated at the base of the tree
by Temperance. As the first perception of what can be attained in form the
Emperor is situated in the first sefirah below the abyss while Temperance is
placed in the last, the sphere of manifestation itself. What was but a twinkle in
the Emperor’s eye is, by the stage of Temperance, well on the way to becoming a
reality. Allotting force to form in controlled measure, Temperance reconciles the
various arrangements of the Magician into manifest compositions. The dreams
of the Magician are set in motion by the energy of Strength. Likewise at the
opposite pole, Temperance must exercise great strength control to maintain in
steady equilibrium the lower face of Strength: the driving force of the Wheel of
Fortune. That is, tempering and conciliating all opposites within her,
Temperance must exercise great power over the wholeness of her nature in order
not to lose her balance at the centre of the spinning wheel. Such constant
vigilance demands that she must truly know herself.
Malkuth is situated at the base of the pillar of equilibrium. As such,
if Malkuth is out of balance, then the whole tree is affected. Held in place by
attraction to Kether, Malkuth for its part causes an influx of emanation down the
tree, thereby maintaining the constancy of the two-way flow.
Attracted by Malkuth the spiritual forces descend the tree to seek
fulfillment in form. Malkuth is the turning point. It is the sphere through which
all life must pass before returning wholly to itself. While assimilating the
inflowing forces, Malkuth must nevertheless strive to maintain stability.
Holding the two vessels, Temperance pours the above to the below in a
symbolic act of the role of Malkuth which receives and stabilises the force
pouring into it from above which, being passively received, must in turn be
actively converted into a force light enough to reascend the tree.
In the High Priestess in Chokmah we first encounter Sophia or the
Shekinah setting out to traverse the tree. In Malkuth she has established her
dwelling place. For Malkuth is the home of the spirit in matter. It is the
expression of the spiritual pattern in manifestation.
The titles of Malkuth are all feminine: Daughter, Virgin, Bride,
Inferior mother, Queen. The magical image of Malkuth is of a young woman
veiled, crowned and throned, the daughter or little mother sitting on the throne of
Binah. For Malkuth is the second Chokmah, the lower Sophia. As in Chokmah,
mythically we find here the goddess who descends, such as Kore-Persephone,
the bride and maiden with whose separation the sorrowing Demeter must be
reconciled. Journeying through the titles of Malkuth: virgin, bride, little mother,
Temperance with the Wheel of Fortune in Malkuth brings together the Empress
and the High Priestess as mother and daughter. For in Tarot the great mother
belongs with the Empress in Binah, while the veiled, descending goddess
correlates to the High Priestess in Chokmah. In Malkuth where the maiden-bride
becomes the little mother and the daughter becomes the queen, both pillars of the
feminine are brought together as one: wisdom and compassion, depth and
understanding, High Priestess and Empress are reconciled within Temperance at
the centre of the turning and returning Wheel of Fortune.
For the last sefirah is the daughter in whom the 32 paths are united,
while in Tarot, Temperance, daughter of the balance, is herself the great
reconciler. In this she is both the manifestation of, and points the way to, the 21st
card: the World. For Temperance, as the mediator of the ongoing journey, brings
together the beginning and the end. Like Malkuth, as the lower Sophia she too is
destined ‘to rule and to reign in the lower world,’ [144] - but to do so successfully
she must make the World within manifest in the world without. She must be, as
is Malkuth, the ‘living bearer of the divine reflection in this world.’ [145]
As all influences flow into Malkuth, so Temperance with the aid of
the Wheel of Fortune must be able to bring together in Tarot the three pair of
majors situated on the two side pillars, blending their influences to form the
middle path between them.
Reinforcing the message of the Wheel to observe things from all
angles, Temperance contains and must find a way of communicating, without
bias, all sides of the story. In Temperance inner reality and outer reality, the
spiritual and the physical are conjoined. Giving and receiving with her two
vessels she indicates the cycles of giving and receiving in our lives, the cycles of
sorrows and joys, of blessings flowing in and being given back with thanks,
vitality brimming up and then slowly draining away.
Pouring from above to below, she is the rainbow of Iris, the messenger of the
gods mediating at each level of being. As Iris served as personal handmaiden to
Hera, so, situated in Malkuth as the little mother, Temperance serves the
Empress as the seat of the Great Mother. Reaching, like Iris, from the heights to
the depths, Temperance is the face of the daughter whose descent reconciles the
above with the below. She is the thrice born, child of three mothers: Strength, the
High Priestess and the Empress. In the role of little mother she substitutes for the
Empress as the lower face of the inner guide, preceded in the upper cards by
Strength and the High Priestess.
Situated at the foot of the pillar of equilibrium Temperance is the last
in the series of balance cards which play such an important role in Tarot. As
such, she completes the descent begun in the High Priestess in the first of the
series of balance cards.
The descent has its initial stage of completion with Justice at the base
of the pillar of form. Its final completion, however, is at the base of the central
pillar of equilibrium. Here the laws of Justice are maintained in motion by her
sister card: Temperance, presiding over the revolving wheel. While Justice
measures, Temperance blends. Justices gives the diagnosis, Temperance attempts
the remedy. To redress any imbalance found in the scales of Justice, Temperance
pours from one to the other, blending both sides until they are equal. Living up
to her name, she tempers: regulating, restraining and qualifying. Duly mixing
and blending the elements in measured proportions, she modifies and
ameliorates, and hands out in due season. For ‘to temper’ is allied to ‘tempus’
time, while Temperance reminds us that for everything there is a fitting season
which should not be precipitated by over eagerness on our part - as it can be with
the negative face of Temperance.
Negatively Temperance turns into her own opposite: not tempering
but tampering. Two sides of the same root verb, one is to smooth the edges,
blending and mingling to produce a steady flow; the other, however well-meant
the intentions, is to unduly influence in a biased and misguiding way and to
meddle and interfere in a process we have not fully understood and which, from
short-sightedness, we have misjudged.
One step beyond Temperance, in the fifteenth major card, is the
Devil. In the sphere covered by the Devil belong such mythic figures as Set,
whose misappropriation of power caused the death of Osiris.
In Egyptian myth Set, aptly to Tarot, cut Osiris, into fifteen pieces.
Undoing the damage of Set, in a number equally fitting to Temperance, only
fourteen pieces could be recollected and re-membered.
Time had exacted its price and what was done could not be wholly undone.
Likewise with Temperance and the Wheel of Fortune in Tarot, though divisions
are healed, things can never be quite as they were. That which was cut asunder
may be brought back into the fold but only when compromises are accepted.
Temperance advocates the middle way, emphasizing that nothing is wholly good
or wholly bad but that each contains its opposite and becomes a problem only
when the opposite is not allowed for.
On the Wheel all differences are, in time, levelled out, while in Temperance
are melted together all that was divided. Both cards contain, to use the term of
Heraclitus, a continuous enantidromia – a running into the opposite. In this
ability lies both their salvation, and their danger.

Two souls alas, are housed within my breast,

And each will wrestle for the mastery there.
The one has passion’s craving crude for love,
And hugs a world where sweet the senses rage;
The other longs for pastures fair above,
Leaving the murk for lofty heritage.
[Faust, Part 11, P.67. Wayne trs.]

Sometimes shown with wings on her back to indicate her own lofty heritage,
Temperance denotes the power to transcend the material world and release
oneself in to the higher spheres to communicate with the spiritual aspects of the
self. Yet by the shoulder of Temperance hovers always the fifteenth card of the
Devil, and it is his qualities too, the qualities of the shadow side of ourselves,
that she must be able to accept and moderate, blending together the whole of the
personality into a composite unity as shown in the mandala of the wheel.
Beyond the Devil is the card of the Star, with whose role Temperance
is closely affiliated. Yet the Star performs the act of Temperance in reverse. The
crux of Temperance’s role is in striving to resolve the dilemma that whereas the
opposites need each other to exist, they nevertheless cannot exist without
eliminating the other. Heat dispels cold and cold dispels heat; without light
darkness has no meaning, yet the presence of light eliminates darkness and over-
powering darkness extinguishes light. The star, by pouring the contents of her
vessels away from each other, keeps the opposites juxtaposed but mutually
exclusive, like night and day. Temperance, on the other hand, must strive for the
middle way, merging both without allowing the destruction of either. In
destroying one another the opposites destroy themselves; without each other they
have no meaning.
On the other side of Temperance is the thirteenth card of Death. As
Malkuth cannot be understood without bearing in mind the foundational basis in
Yesod, so the cards in Yesod: Death and the Hermit, must be borne in mind in
interpreting Temperance and the Wheel of Fortune.
Both Temperance and the Wheel of Fortune relate to time. As
Cronus, the figure of father time himself, it is to the 10th card of the Wheel of
Fortune that the Hermit descends to discover in himself the powers of the
Magician and the riddle of the Fool (1+0). Like the maypole which it also
signifies, 10 is symbolically the axis mundi around which the universe revolves.
Pictorially 10 shows itself as the sign of the wheel, with the 1 as the pole or axle
around which the wheel turns, and the nought as the universe itself: - the
universe as the nothing that contains everything and absorbs everything back
into itself, thereby connecting with the Fool who both is, and is not.

Meanwhile, if we may glean from the Hindu pantheon, the Wheel as the
round of existence in time is held in the grips of Mara, the Lord of Death, while
Temperance, who in Tarot follows Death, is, as stated above, herself
etymologically related to tempus, time. Whereas the Wheel symbolizes the
phenomenal world and the spinning of the Wheel symbolizes the round of
phenomenal existence, Temperance appertains to all that is temporary. She is
herself the equilibrium of the temporal world. Coming to be and passing away,
her roots are in the present - in the living moment where the past and future
come together and the one flows into its opposite. Like the turning of the Wheel,
in all illustrations of Temperance the flow of living elixir from one vessel to
another is unceasing and signifies the continued mingling of opposites one into
the other. Temperance herself heralds the in-between moment, the middle way
between the vessels when the water is in neither one nor the other, neither yin
nor yang but yin and yang flowing together on the swirling wheel where
opposites are reconciled.

As reconciler of the elements at a higher level, the Emperor is

affiliated to both Temperance and the Wheel of Fortune. Similarly both
Temperance and the Wheel of Fortune are related to the Hierophant, with
Temperance as the divided face of the Hierophant uniting with her inner aspect
to guide the turnings of the Wheel in the manifest world: 1+4+5=10.
Temperance is the outer aspect of the Hierophant. The Hierophant, in
turn, at the centre of the pillar of form, is himself the visible face of the Emperor
at the centre of the pillar of force. The Emperor, in his turn, is the Magician
made manifest (1+4> 5 <4+1). Thus Temperance in Malkuth reveals paths not
immediately obvious in Tarot. Meeting up with both the Emperor and Magician
as the unification of the four elements at descending levels and with the
Hierophant as inner partner, Temperance in Malkuth is able to bring together in
Tarot the cards centred in the two side pillars with the apex and base of the tree
to form a passion cross stretching from the crown to the foot of the tree. This
passion cross is ‘not the cross of wood’ but is as the ‘cross...which joined all
things unto itself...and then also, being one, streamed forth into all things.’ [146]

The cross unveiled by Temperance forms a background to the turning Wheel

of Fortune and represents an alternative perception of the round of existence.
The passion cross is the cross of the crucifixion, while the circle correlates with
the round dance enacted, in lieu of the last supper, before the crucifixion. With
the ring of disciples circling the Christ centre, the round dance symbolises
synthesis and union. It is the dance of participation in the whole. The
circumambulation of the disciples round the Christ Centre, like the spokes
circling yet conjoined to the hub of the wheel, shows the relationship to the
centre of each point of the periphery.

I would be united, and I would unite. Amen...

A place I have not, and I have places. Amen.
A temple I have not, and I have temples. Amen.
A lamp am I to thee that beholdest me. Amen.
A mirror am I to thee that perceivest me. Amen.
A door am I to thee that knockest at me. Amen.
A way am I to thee a wayfarer. <Amen>.
Now as thou respondest unto my dancing.
Behold thyself in me who speak... [147]

As shown in the myriad spokes, the Wheel displays both the individuality and
uniqueness of each part, and yet at the same time shows that each separate spoke
is part of one overall whole for each is contained in the same centre: the one in
the many and the many in the one. As in the ancient form of cross embodied in
the wheel still found in the Celtic church, the cross emerges out of the tree of life
so that the cross and wheel together symbolize the union of the cosmic round
and the tree of life - a symbolic union which is concealed within, and yet so
important a part of the journey through Tarot.
The passion cross is the cross of sorrow as prayer, and of suffering as
a means to penetrate beyond the veil of tears. ‘Gate of prayer’ and ‘gate of tears’
are among the titles attributed to Malkuth, reminding us of the connection with
Binah. In Binah the spiritual experience is the vision of sorrow while the path to
understand the sorrow of Binah necessitates the passage through Malkuth.
Like the Wheel of Fortune in Tarot, Malkuth is the melting pot. Both
the Wheel of Fortune and Malkuth symbolize the cauldron of becoming, in
which the divine potential is distilled and we are refined and transformed to
fulfil our destiny and experience the divine essence.
The Wheel of Fortune is a celebration of life in all its diversity. It is
the round dance to reach beyond suffering and the dance of the sheer joy of life.
Going nowhere it is the nothing of the Fool, bringing together the Hanged Man,
the Lovers, and ultimately the World in the ballroom of the ever spinning Wheel.
The Wheel in Tarot contains the same message as the wheel of Mahayana
Buddhism. This, on its surface interpretation, is the wheel of sorrows, the wheel
of the perpetual round of birth, old age, death and rebirth; and yet at a deeper
level of awareness, it is itself the wheel of great delight, the golden wheel of
spiritual power with the spokes as the spiritual faculties of the ‘self’ circling the
Self. At this level, where the round of samsara and the stillness of nirvana are
one, nirvana is the still centre of the wheel of samsara: the round of life.
The Wheel of Fortune is allocated the number ten, for ten is the
number of the cosmos. It is the all-inclusive, containing all possibilities, and is
therefore aligned with the card of the cosmic wheel in motion, the Wheel of
Fortune on which all is possible. For the Wheel of Fortune signifies the story of
the cosmos, with the universes and planets turning together, the motions of the
heavens - and the motions of the heavens, and hells within. Containing the
entirety of the blueprint of the individual, from seed to destination, the Wheel is
the round of destiny, the cauldron of becoming. Containing the sum of all
potential, it is the wheel of the kingdom of man himself and of the castle wherein
man learns to rule as master over his own kingdom.
In mythic tradition the inexhaustible cauldron was housed in Caer
Sidi: the revolving castle under the waves. The revolving castle is equally the
revolving wheel and the revolving wheel is equally the turning world of
phenomena.
Thus, in Tarot, on the revolving Wheel of Fortune: the castle of the
phenomenal world turned by the waters of life, is to be discovered the grail
cauldron of inspiration. The cauldron, the all-containing vessel of
transformation, is watched over and maintained at a consistent temperature by
Temperance. Temperance duly mixes and blends, tempering the four elements
from which the three drops of wisdom are to be extracted: the three of spirit
from the four of matter. The three into four is illustrated in some packs by the
triangle within the square worn on the breast of Temperance.
The three and four together form the Seven of the Chariot whom
Temperance guides through the third moon-centred circle of Tarot. As the
Chariot’s double, Temperance encompasses twofold the journey of the Chariot.
As shown in the twin vessels in her hands (sometimes coloured gold and silver),
Temperance unites both the solar and lunar circles, bringing into consciousness
that which was unconscious, and guiding the conscious traveller through the
maze of the unconscious worlds. For Temperance contains also the return
journey. Situated as the fourteenth card in Malkuth, Temperance contains both
the descent and the ascent: three into four and four into three, spirit descending
to matter and matter ascending to spirit.
In the Isis mysteries, so Apuleius [††††] informs us, the initiate stepped
on to the threshold of Proserpine to undertake a journey through the four
elements. So it is with Temperance and the Wheel of Fortune in Malkuth. Here
we are firmly in the territory of the mythic descent. Attracted by the revolving
Wheel/castle we descend the tree to find and drink from the cauldron of wisdom.
Exploring the Wheel in search of the cauldron we need to realise that at the
deepest level of synthesis the Wheel is itself the cauldron. On the Wheel of
Fortune, as in the cauldron, all are thrown together, refined, ‘cooked’ in a
transformative process of becoming. In this process of transubstantiation we
drink the wisdom of the cauldron while actually immersed in the cauldron -
which is to say, on the Wheel of the world itself, and thus it is we ourselves who
are eventually to emerge from the cauldron as the pure drops of wisdom: the
mystic triune sound, the Word made flesh then spirit, the Christ-centre, Aum.
The three drops of wisdom are the gifts of the three mothers in the
supernal triangle: the High Priestess, the Empress and Strength: wisdom,
understanding, and the united crown of the tree of life and knowledge. As the
little mother in Malkuth receiving the downflow of three pillars, the heritage of
Temperance is threefold. Like the three Norns who, in their dwelling at the foot
of the World tree, sealed with their laws the fate of humanity, Temperance as the
daughter of three mothers brings together the three faces of fate on the Wheel of
Fortune: karma, destiny and chance.

Mythically the wheel is the chief symbol of the Roman goddess

Fortuna – Greek Tyche. Tyche was represented blindfold, winged, perched on a
slippery ball, lavishly pouring her gifts from the cornucopia or horn of plenty,
while, liberally bestowing her gifts, Fortuna journeyed through the world
balanced on a revolving wheel.
In Tarot both figures are merged. Here the predicament of the four figures on
the Wheel of Fortune illustrate both the caprice of fortune’s favour and four
different modes of perceiving reality.
The prospering optimist ascending the wheel perceives the world as
an uphill struggle, where improvement comes through personal effort and
endurance, and where rewards are gained by steadfastly hanging on to attain a
plateau worth striving for. With his eyes fixed downwards, the counterpart
focuses more on the sorrow and darkness in the world, emphasizing the negative
points and the inability to really change anything - change if and when it
happens, happening of its own accord. Crushed beneath the wheel’s full weight,
the figure at the bottom experiences the world as incomprehensible suffering to
which he must resign himself in silent trust, while the precarious position of
rulership astride the top rim of the wheel gives the fourth an overall advantage
from which to see the world as offering great, if fleeting, opportunity.
Nevertheless, the wheel’s revolutions indicate that the position of each is liable
to change at any moment. As the cycle evolves and revolves we move from role
to role to experience the mandala as a whole. The Wheel is a reminder of how
rapidly circumstances can change, for better or worse, and how hard it is to
maintain one’s inner equilibrium throughout the changes. In some traditional
packs this is illustrated with the figures accompanied by the wording: Regno,
Regnabo, Regnavi, and Sum Sine Regno: I reign, I shall reign, I have reigned,
and I am without reign - wording which applies both to the journey through life
with ourselves facing each direction in turn, and also to the plateau of
equilibrium attained in life through understanding of the Wheel.
Posing the riddle of life, together the four figures on the wheel are in
attitudes expressive of the powers of the sphinx aligned to the four elements of
the magus: to will, to dare, to know, and to be silent. The figure daring the
descent into the world signifies the descent down the tree, while his counterpart,
having already descended, wills his way back up, signifying the uphill struggle
back to the beginning. Between them the figures at the top and bottom contain
the mystery of the descent and subsequent ascent of the tree: one aligned with
the element of air and the other with the element of earth, together signifying to
know and to be silent (or, I reign and I am without reign).
The figure maintaining stability at the top of the Wheel is, in modern
packs, clearly a winged sphinx. In earlier illustrations the stabilising figure is
often (blindfold) Fortuna herself or a winged creature, somewhat monkey like.
In some earlier illustrations of the Wheel of Fortune a female figure is shown at
the centre of the revolving wheel, maintaining equilibrium between the
surrounding figures on the wheel’s outer edges. Sometimes she is shown
blindfolded to symbolise Fortuna’s impartiality - or caprice.
Yet the blindfold relates also to the impartiality of Justice. Interestingly, John
Ferguson [148] refers to a marble statue (from Palestine, dated AD 210-11) of a
winged griffin seated with one paw on an upright wheel.

The wheel is that of fortune or of fate, but the griffin is associated with
Nemesis: retribution. With a similar winged creature, replete with sword in hand
astride the Wheel in Tarot, the Wheel of blindfolded Fortune has likewise
become merged with the wheel of blindfolded Justice or Nemesis. It has become
the wheel of turning and returning karma.
The archangel of Malkuth is Sandalphon, sometimes called the dark
angel presiding over karmic debt, while Malkuth is itself the sefirah where
karma is usually worked out. Where the Wheel is not that of chance, but that of
karmic debt, then not fortune but Justice underlies its revolutions. Entrusting her
sword in the hand of the winged creature, Justice becomes Nemesis - retribution
presiding over the karmic wheel and ensuring balance is maintained through the
recurring cycles. With the water in the two vessels symbolising adaptability and
passionless judgement, Temperance becomes Justice’s representative at the
Wheel’s centre, alternating with cool impartiality, the yin vessel which passively
receives with the yang vessel which actively pours, while the Wheel becomes
our personal horoscope, showing the path of personal karma which must be
worked through in the world of manifestation.
As the Wheel of both destiny and karma, the spinning Wheel of
Fortune is associated with the spindle - the spinning wheel of the three fates
which bind man with the invisible threads spun on the wheel of life. Of the three
fates, Clotho spins the thread and Atropos, the unavoidable, cuts it, while
Lachesis measures or apportions it, thereby performing the same role as
Temperance. In Latin the Fates become Fata: that which is decreed, or things
spoken. From the Latin fata comes our word for fairy. As in the fairy tale of
sleeping beauty, to the cradle of the new-born come the fairy-fates bestowing
gifts, good and bad, of fate and fortune.
The descent myth becomes in the story of sleeping beauty a classic
fairy-tale. This is the Robe of Glory all over again. Descending to the material
world, the royal child is born into the kingdom where she is blessed by three
fairies. While basking in the delightful gifts of two fairies, the fourth fairy - the
dark side of her nature – is overlooked. In Tarot both Temperance and the Wheel
of Fortune in the Kingdom emphasize the importance of integrating all aspects
of our nature and of maintaining in balance on the wheel all four
faces/elements/worlds within. The fourth aspect, the dark side of the moon, is
ignored at our peril. Likewise in the fairy-tale, because of her neglect of the
fourth fairy, the frightening, forbidding face of her nature, it is prophesied that
the princess will prick her finger on the spindle - the spinning wheel and die.
Death is converted into sleep as the third fairy tries to undo the damage caused
by neglect of the fourth. Comatosed in time, the princess remains however,
asleep on the wheel, oblivious to all that has gone before, and she remains thus
until, as in the Robe of Glory, love comes to awaken her. As the goddess-soul
awakens, the slumbering kingdom awakens with her. In marriage, that which
was divided is reconciled. The wound inflicted by the spinning wheel is healed.
The balance of Justice is restored and the cycle of retribution is complete.
Bringing together at the base of the central pillar the influences of
the Chariot and Justice from the base of the two side pillars, the Wheel in Tarot
is both the karmic Wheel of Fortune and the Chariot Wheel of destiny. The
Chariot provides the impulse of destiny complementing the pulse of karma
exercised by Justice, while chance is the province of the Wheel itself in its
aspect of Fortuna. The fourth face of freewill is exercised by Temperance,
directing with free choice her own contribution to the Wheel. Temperance
juggles on the wheel of time the dictates of freewill with destiny, karma and
chance. The Wheel, meanwhile, itself represents the eternal round of changing
fortunes. On the historical scale of time, the spokes represent successive periods
of history in cyclic manifestation. Hidden beyond this, at the deeper scale of
karma and the migrations of the soul, the spokes signify the series of individual
timespans or incarnations in cyclic manifestation. Deeper still, at the spiritual
level, the spokes represent the alignment of individual destinies within the
overall pattern of the whole.
As the second and eighth majors respectively, the High Priestess and
Justice (the first and last of the two outer pillars) are reconciled in the tenth card:
the Wheel of Fortune. In the opposite direction on the tree of life, the third and
seventh cards, the Empress and the Chariot are likewise reconciled in the tenth
card. Brought together in the ten of the Wheel of Fortune, between them the two
diagonally connected pairs form the Roman numeral for ten: X, which is also the
symbol of completion and of the perfect balance of opposites.

The equal cross, the Roman ten revealed by the Wheel, when hung on
the passion cross unveiled by Temperance, forms a star - the sister-self of
Temperance. The star formed shows the overlap of two diverse conflicts on the
same stage - the conflict of joy and sorrow, of love and sacrifice, of the Lovers
and of the Hanged Man. As the union of the passion cross with the equal-armed
cross, the star shows also that the reconciliation of the paths is a reconciliation of
many levels of opposites: not just within and between the apex and the base of
the tree, but also within and between the two side pillars. For the conflict needs
the reconciliation of all four faces of the tree of life.
 As equilibrium, it is the role of Temperance to maintain the harmony
of the opposites both within us, and, through us, within the world. Where we
have reconciled the divisions of the opposites we become not a slave on the
Wheel but a sovereign. The Wheel of the kingdom becomes the Wheel of the
kingship of man over himself, with man at the centre maintaining not only his
own spiritual, mental and physical well-being but also that of the world around
him. Thus it is that the Shekinah is ‘named tenth sefirah and Malkuth, because
the crown of royalty is upon her head.’ [149]
As the tenth and eleventh majors, the Wheel of Fortune and Strength
are united in the twenty-first major card: the World. The World brings together
the whole of the tree, and it is to this card that the Wheel of Fortune, through
Strength, connects most closely. In the World card as in the Wheel we meet the
four living creatures of the vision of Ezekiel, each with four faces and four
wings: ‘behold one wheel upon the earth by the living creatures, with his four
faces.’ [150] Where the living creatures went the wheels went ‘for the spirit of the
living creatures was in the wheels.’ [151] As the Shekinah dwells in the heart of
Malkuth, so the anima mundi as the world soul revolves with the world wheel.
Yet to realise the anima mundi on the Wheel we must journey from the outside
in, from the circumference towards the experience of the centre. We must leave
Temperance, to find Temperance at a deeper level. We must dare the journey
through Daath to reach, in Tarot, the hub of the World.

The King of Discs.

At the foot of the tree of life we find the fourth and last of the Tarot
kings: the king of the element of earth. The god name of Malkuth is Adonai ha
Aretz - the Lord of Earth, or Adonai Melekh, the Lord who is King. As the king
who is lord over the element of earth, the King of Discs represents dominion
over the kingdom of ourselves: the kingdom of the body and mind, the kingdom
which is the individual holding court in Malkuth.
The King of Discs focuses on the level of the individual. This is a
card appertaining to personal interest and to people and factors exercising a
direct influence on the individual’s personal domain. The king in his kingdom is
here narrowed down to our own little spot on earth: the little island of our own
self, while the horoscope of destiny becomes here our own personal horoscope
encompassing not only the influence of events on us but also our power of
freewill to influence events.
While bringing matters down to a subjective level, there is yet need
with the King of Discs to be able to step back and take a measured and objective
assessment of the situation. In order to gain an overall rounded view which can
keep the wheel balanced and turning, the King of Discs emphasises the need to
consider issues, not just from the light of one’s own point of view, but also from
the individual perspective of surrounding and concerned others. In attempting to
take into account the impressions perceived by others, and to understand why
and how the differences in perspective have arisen, we take a step towards
ameliorating the differences in a working compromise acceptable to all.
Affiliated to the Wheel’s totality, this practically based king bows to
reality and extols the necessity of accepting features not wholly to our liking.
This applies both in the external passage of events and also in ourselves - the
two aspects being with this card inseparably intertwined. The King of Discs
scrutinizes in minute detail the immensity and depth of the self: the microcosmic
parallel of the macrocosm. The disc held by the earth king represents the totality
of the spinning wheel, with its myriad spokes as aspects of ourselves we remain
oblivious to. Yet the earth disc symbolizes, too, the island of ego-consciousness
isolated by the sea of our unconscious selves. Mocking the apparent
impossibility to leave the island except to explore the surrounding waters, the
King of Discs points to the rings we make around ourselves without realising.
Situated in the kingdom, the King of Discs delights in the continual play of the
Magician’s maya and the webs it weaves about the individual. Yet he is
concerned also with the infinite vastness of the kingdom within, larger than
anything we might perceive ‘out there,’ and with the interaction between the
worlds within and without - to our place in and effect on the unfolding of our
own destiny.
Concerned with the practical unfoldment of events and of carving
one’s own niche in the world, the King of Discs is a card of risk taking, of
freeing ourselves from imprisonment in our own narrow island and taking the
plunge into the surrounding waters.
With no idea of where one is going or of what the future holds, the King of
Discs denotes the need to trust to the hand of fortune and take a gamble on the
roulette wheel of life. Ready to make the most of what unfolds and take the
plunge regardless, we will find the world within and without both larger and
smaller than we had imagined, and the expected splash neither so great nor so
insignificant as our anxious fancies had led us to believe.
Corresponding to the King of Discs, the patriarch of Malkuth is King
David, the worldly man beloved of God. David participated fully in the sorrows
and joys of the world Wheel, while, despite his own mistakes, his inner faith
remained unwavering. Whether the odds were for or against him, he did not
retreat from continual involvement in the battles of life. This is exemplified in
his overcoming the Philistine giant Goliath, thereby mastering strength of body
with strength of mind.
As the single significator of the armies of the Philistines, Goliath had
issued his challenge to battle with a single representative of the armies of Israel.
Victory or defeat for the opposing sides would depend on the outcome of the
single combat between the two individuals, with the armies of the losing side
serving the armies of the victors.
For forty consecutive mornings and evenings since issuing his
challenge, Goliath had repeatedly presented himself in combat array.
Confronted, however, with his immense physical presence, none had been brave
enough to challenge him. At this point David enters the camp.
David, at this time, was himself but a young shepherd, yet in his capacity as
shepherd he had already saved the lamb from the lion and the bear. Entering the
camp now with 10 loaves for his brothers and 10 cheeses for the captain of the
1000, all the timely factors are set for David to dare his plunge into his destiny.
Relying only on his staff, a sling and five small stones hastily gathered, David
stepped into the fray. When confronted with the giant body of Goliath David did
not falter, but placed his faith in a strength greater than strength of body. With
his faith itself stronger than the ripples of his own ego personality, David slew
the body of Goliath with the first small stone cast at the forehead.
The stone flung by David was, for his own prospects, a stone of
destiny, changing the pattern of his life and leading him into new pastures, in
fact into the presence of the king whom he was destined to replace. The stone of
destiny which appertains both to Malkuth and to the King of Discs is one of the
four magic treasures of myth, along with the cauldron, sword and spear. From
the stone of destiny the rightful heir to the throne, chosen by divine providence,
could be identified. With the failing faith of Saul God had sought in David ‘a
man after his own heart’, [152] a true representative who would follow the path
chosen and not waver though the prospects of victory seemed bleak.
Concurring with the repeated cycles of the Wheel, David continues
to fight the Philistines many times before the sword of Goliath passes into his
hands - that is before he is strong enough to wield the sword without becoming
inflated by the power of his victories. The problems of kingship emphasized by
the King of Discs is the temptations of power - a problem which David does not
manage to wholly escape.
For in his forty years of reign David does misuse his power. Succumbing to
the passions of the body, he fathers a child on Bathsheba and subsequently
ensures the death of her husband, Uriah the Hittite, in order to be able to wed
Bathsheba himself. Thus David falls into the snares of both violence and desire.
The consequence of this misuse of power and position, as the Wheel turns, finds
its evolution in the warring factors of violence and desire let loose within
David’s own house. Absalom, one of his sons, kills another son, in revenge for
the rape of his sister. In turn, Absalom is killed in battle when he tries to usurp
his father’s throne. Thus David is caught up in the turmoil of the Wheel of
sorrow as it plays out the fruit of his actions. Full of hope and weakness, David
had succumbed to his failings and yet he is aware of his errors, submitting to the
sorrowful outcome of his actions while remaining strong in faith. And thus,
because of his admission of his own guilt, from his marriage with Bathsheba is
born Solomon - the fruit of the Lovers is the child of Tiferet. Wisdom is
purchased at a heavy price but a step forward is taken on the road to the
Messiah, the saviour of the kingdom - who was also to be born from the line of
David.
Like David, then, the King of Discs indicates the temptations which
arise through the power of freewill. Bowing humbly to the guidance of the
higher self even where the advice is bitter to swallow, and recognizing the right
use of power in the world, the King of Discs indicates the need to exercise
kingship over the self and to control the will of the body if we are not to give
reign to the warring factors within.
The paramount problem of the King of Discs, as of the Tens, is a
problem of power. The king of the element of earth represents manifest power in
the kingdom, to be used for good or bad, according to our freewill. As the Devil
in Tarot hovers close by Temperance who must balance the needs of the physical
kingdom with the spiritual kingdom, so the King of Discs points to the need to
differentiate between the earthly kingdom and heavenly kingdom on earth. This
is examplified in the forty days passed by Jesus in the desert where the Devil
tempts him with the power and glory of this world, offering to make him king
over all he surveys. Differentiating the kingdom of illusion from the true
kingdom within, and the power which is but illusion from the true power over
the blind desires and dictates of the self, Jesus turns away, untempted. He has
mastered the appeal to those very desires which keep the wheel turning, and thus
is free of the wheel, while remaining on it. The same path is paralleled in the
journey of Buddha, who, at the foot of the tree of enlightenment is accosted by
the lord of illusion, first in the guise of desire as the delights of this world, and
then as terror, aggressively threatening and provoking fear of death. Buddha
having attained the still hub of the wheel where the opposites come together,
remains unmoved, and thus unaffected by, the dancing panorama of terror and
desire encircling him. Thus, at dawn, while still at the foot of the Bodhi tree, he
attains enlightenment. Enlightened, the Buddha did not immediately depart the
world. He remained within the world, traversing with his body the kingdom of
the Wheel while his mind remained centred at the still emptiness of the hub,
beyond the dizzying powers of illusion.
The path of enlightenment followed by Jesus and Buddha is a
paradigm for the King of Discs, however long it will take most of us to get there.
For most of us, like David, will succumb repeatedly to our failings. With the
King of Discs the prospect of temptation is always close. All is not lost however,
as long as we are prepared to accept responsibility for the outcome of our deeds
and recognize that the cause and effect of our position is ourselves. From the
throne of self-righteousness which does nothing to acknowledge our share of
blame, we need do nothing about those faults which we continually deny we
have. Thus are we caught up in self-perpetuating illusion, which keeps us blindly
turning on the Wheel, whether we will or no. The King of Discs indicates the
path of the self which can help or hinder the journey to the centre, but watered
with the freewill of Temperance, it is up to us which course we take.
The King of Discs is a card of the need to be involved in the world,
yet it is, simultaneously, a card warning of the dangers of involvement in the
world. It is a card of the outer trappings of worldly success, of financial deals,
and economic gambles, of worldly achievement and material advancement. Yet
it is a card, too, of debt and entrapment in possessions, of getting caught up in,
and learning there is no simple way off, the dizzy cycles of the Wheel. The King
of Discs signifies a person in a position of power to help or hinder matters,
though this influence is usually helpful; it indicates also ambition, of aiming
high but also of taking pride in and wanting to do the best one can in a given
sphere, of wanting to know that when the task is done, whatever the deficiencies,
we did the best we could do at the time.
As Malkuth connects closely to Binah, so the King of Discs turns to
the Queen of Discs, placed in Binah, to partake of the wealth of the kingdom
which the Queen so liberally bestows. The King of Discs is the shepherd of the
queen, the custodian of her kingdom. He is the Fool in the guise of earth giant
traversing the mountains and valleys of earth. Yet Malkuth corresponds to the
feet of the divine man who is crowned in Kether. - As long as the feet are guided
by the head the earth giant can tread the kingdom with the merriment of the
Fool; when the head is led a merry dance by the feet, however, then the fool no
longer sees where he is going and ends up travelling in circles. Gripped by the
bug of life, caught on the roulette spins of the turning wheel, addicted to - and
thus controlled by the dizzy unpredictability of gambling fever, we become all
too aware of the maya -the magic, and yet totally oblivious of the Magician, or
of his playful sleights of hand.

The Tens
Cast apart from the preceding sefirot, Malkuth at the base of the tree
is the place of exile. Contrarily it is also the passport to the promised land, the
gateway to the goal. Situated in Malkuth with the Wheel of Fortune, together the
four Tens of Tarot complete the cycle of trial and exile.
We have already seen the relevance of the numbers ten and forty in
relation to the story of David in the King of Discs. In biblical terms the period of
trial and exile is expressed as a period of forty days or years: the forty days and
nights passed by Noah in the ark, awaiting sight and sign of land; the forty days
and nights spent by Jesus in the desert facing the temptations of the devil, and
the subsequent forty days between Easter and Ascension; the forty years, led by
Moses, of the Jews wandering in the wilderness to reach the promised land, and
the forty days and nights within this period that Moses stayed on mount Sinai
conversing with God or lay prostrate before God to atone for the sins of his
people.
The period of forty completes the journey through all four Tens on
the Wheel. It is a complete rotation of the Wheel through all four quarters and all
four elements. United, therefore, the Tarot Tens contain within them all four
levels of the journey: all four worlds of Qabbalah.

Staggering under the weight of the world and borne down by worldly
cares, in the Ten of Wands the spirit is oppressed by the shackles of dense matter.
‘Lord of oppression’ is in fact the qabbalistic title of the Ten of the wands suit,
and yet the Ten of Wands is also the most spiritual of the Tarot Tens.
The oppression of the Ten of Wands, though often experienced
materially has its roots and reason in the spiritual dimension. The Ten of Wands
indicates experiences which, though difficult, are necessary for the soul’s
development, and the heavier the outer burden the stronger the soul within is
becoming while carrying it. The Ten of Wands relates to the passion cross
unveiled by Temperance. Crushed under the weight of the wheel, it indicates the
Wheel as the crown of thorns and the path of suffering as the path to understand
how not to suffer. The sphere of the Ten of Wands encompasses the sufferings of
Ixion, perpetually bound to and revolving with the Wheel in atonement for his
transgressions. It encompasses, too, the spirit of man hung on the cross of matter
in atonement for all transgressions.
The order of angels in Malkuth are the souls of fire. The King of the
fire suit is situated at the head of the tree in Kether. At the foot of the tree in
Malkuth, the Ten of the fire suit has, along the central pillar, a strong direct bond
with the upper pole and plays an important role in bearing the spiritual into the
physical, the divine into the earthly realms.
The Ten of Wands is related closely to the union of Strength and the Wheel of
Fortune, and emphasizes the need of inner strength to maintain the balance of the
Wheel. Numerically the Ten of this card relates to ten as both the monad and the
possibility of infinite expansion, the vast possibility of imagination conjured in
the Magician’s play.
In Malkuth is the will of the body. In the Wands suit is the will of the
spirit. In the Ten of Wands bound to the Wheel of the phenomenal world in
Malkuth, we find the two souls wrestling for mastery within the one breast. Like
two opposing armies challenging each other for supremacy across the battle field
of life, the will of the body and the will of the spirit are here in continual
conflict. The conflict is expressed in the temptations faced and resisted by Christ
in the desert when tempted by the devil with, among other things, the food of the
body in place of food of the spirit and the power of the kingdom of this world in
contrast to the kingdom within.
With the conflict within finding external expression, the Ten of
Wands is a card of man perpetually at war with man. This a card of antagonisms,
of warring factions and of opposing tendencies, expressed both in the outer
world and the inner, for peace here is hard to find.
The influence of Temperance on the Ten of Wands is to keep in
check the feelings of anger and violence, and to level the confrontation so that
the two opposing sides are locked in stalemate. The Ten of Wands indicates
divisions between people which seem at times unbridgeable, yet it indicates also
an ongoing struggle to find a bridge, to rise above the perpetual antagonism and
to find a way out of a difficult situation which is simply moving in circles
without going anywhere at all.
In the Ten of Wands the options before us appear very limited. Often
there may seem to be no alternative at all to the course we must take. Usually
with the Ten of Wands the paths are chosen for us. This is a card aligned with the
Wheel as both karma and destiny. It ties in with the three fates, the Norns: past,
present and future, dwelling at the foot of the tree. It is tied, too, to the paths
followed within by the soul in search of the wisdom of the three sibyls, the
hidden wisdom in the inner recesses of the kingdom. The wisdom revealed by
the inner knowledge of the Ten of Wands is that the paths opened here are paths
the Fool bids we should take - paths necessary to the expansion of the inner self.
Despite the hardship of the Ten of Wands, therefore, with this card we must
place our trust in the path of destiny and accept what is to be, knowing there are
reasons beyond the heights scaled by the conscious mind.
Concerned with the stream of love descending the tree and pouring
into the world of manifestation, the Ten of Cups connects first and foremost with
Temperance. This is one of the most pleasing of influences in a Tarot spread.
Upright or reversed the Ten of Cups is always a favourable augury, well
deserving of its qabbalistic title: lord of perfected success.

Receiving from above and giving to below, the ten vessels correspond to the
ten emanations pouring one into another as the life force flows down the tree,
following the path of the lightning flash from Kether to Malkuth. Like
Temperance, the Ten of Cups reconciles the above with the below, the spirit with
the physical. As the Ten of the element of water it relates to the breath of the
spirit moving upon the face of the waters: the Shekinah or indwelling presence
in the kingdom.
With the Ten of Cups the spirit of the divine is expressed in the daily
life of humanity, a little of heaven is brought to earth. The cups are the twin
vessels of Temperance repeated fivefold. Arranged vertically to form two pillars
of five on either side of Temperance, Temperance herself becomes an expression
of the central pillar of equilibrium, the messenger communing between heaven
and earth. She becomes the counterpart of the Magician, juggling the four
elements and spirit within her own being. Crowned in the above with her feet in
the below, Temperance fulfils the promise of the Ten of Cups by becoming in
herself the pillar of love for the descent and ascent of the Shekinah. She opens
the doors to the light of love streaming from the depths of the heart into the heart
of the kingdom.
The Ten of Cups is a card of the rainbow: both as the bridge of Iris
keeping open the inner paths between the divine and material realms, and as the
seal of the promise made to Noah after the forty days of flood: the reconciliation
of heaven and earth. The sea journey of Noah correlates especially well with the
mood of the Ten of Cups. Although immersed in the element of water, Noah
nevertheless retains trust in God’s guidance, even when confronted with the
overwhelming devastation of the flood. Noah never loses faith that, eventually,
he will reach land; and thus it is that, on the first day of the tenth month, the tops
of the mountains are sighted. Redemption is at hand, the worst is over and Noah,
in his ark for navigating the waters of life, has come through.
Despite the trials that can be present - and always overcome -with
this card, the Ten of Cups unlike the other Tens, exudes not so much a sense of
exile but a sense of presence: of Noah saved in the ark, of Jesus awaiting
ascension after resurrection, of Moses in the cloud communing with God, of the
exiled Jews guided by the Shekinah as a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire
by night to reach the promised land. The Ten of Cups is a card of faith retained,
of knowing where one is going and remaining dedicated to the path chosen
despite the great demands placed on patience and hope by a long period of
waiting. With the Ten of Cups we may still be in deep water but the mountains
are in sight; the port is ever closer and the expected outcome is assured.
The Ten of Cups is a card of faith rewarded and of hopes fulfilled. It
is a card overflowing with the blessedness of life. With a sense of marvel both at
the mysteries of life beyond man’s ken and also at the wonder of human
achievements, the Ten of Cups embraces the joys and sorrows of the Wheel and
recognises the place of both in the symmetry of the whole.
Like the Nine this is a card of the harmony of the spheres, of the harmony of
composition and symmetry within life. The Ten of Cups is a card of
complements rather than of opposites, of married contrasts like sun and shade.
Bringing together as one that which appeared to be many, the Ten of Cups
conjoins in wholeness the fragmented facets of the Self.
Weddings loom largely with the Ten of Cups for here is celebrated
the marriage of Malkuth as bride to Tiferet the bridegroom, the celebration of the
Lovers united on the Wheel of life. Through the Wheel, the Ten of the water suit
is aligned also to the Ace, for the Ace and Ten together are the one as the many
and the many as the one. The Ace is the cauldron, the one all containing vessel
of life, while the Ten equates to the 10,000 things, the myriad of myriads which
is nothing but the wholeness of the universe looked at microscopically.
Mundanely, in meaning the Ace and Ten cover similar territory. Both
are cards of fulfillment and love, of the joy of life and of the Wheel as the
transforming cauldron of generation and regeneration. Like the Ace, the Ten of
Cups is a card of blessings bestowed, of pleasure in companionship, of gifts
exchanged, of engagements and of weddings. It is a card of gatherings to
celebrate a special occasion, a card of shared happiness, shared laughter, shared
lives, a card of the music of Kether played at the wedding of Malkuth.

In contrast to the Ten of Cups, in the Ten of Swords the experience

of exile is at its most profound. Situated at the foot of the tree, in the Ten of
Swords the distance from Kether, the distance from the fountainhead within, is
made to seem immense. The Ten of Swords gives full stretch to the imagination
in magnifying and measuring the impossibility of ever breaching the gap of
understanding or even stepping beyond the seemingly senseless rotations of
man. This is the downward turn of the Wheel. One’s focus here is on the
downward trend of one’s own journey, from which perspective it becomes
impossible to perceive that which still waits above.
Cast adrift from the godhead, facing downward on the Wheel and
descending further into darkness, the Ten of Swords is a card of deep loneliness,
of despair, and of depression. Sinking deeper into morass, descent here seems
easy, and ascent a joke - if one had the energy to laugh. The cup of sorrows is
equal here to the cup of joys of the previous card. As the Jews in the desert
turned back to old ways while Moses was on the mountain, faith here is tested to
its limit - and usually, for a period of time, lost. Feeling abandoned, perhaps
rejected and alone, the Ten of Swords denotes the descent deeper into darkness is
search of the redeeming light within.
Qabbalistically the Ten of Swords is lord of ruin. With the
disintegration of hope, of faith, of belief in oneself and one’s own worth, one is
left here bereft of sense of meaning. The ego is broken down, ruined, in this
necessary stage to rebirth. There can be, with the Ten of Swords, a breakdown of
external circumstances which triggers the depression, but more often than not the
disintegration is trigged by that all-knowing, unknown factor within, while outer
circumstances seem initially, to all intents and purposes, to be much the same as
usual.

The Ten of Swords follows the inner journey through darkness, descending
into oneself and the chasms of the mind. Nevertheless the Wheel is experienced
as the Wheel of suffering, with one’s own suffering identifying with and
intensifying awareness of global suffering. Lethargic, exhausted, crushed by
heaviness of body and mind, everything with the Ten of Swords is made to seem
so much useless effort. The effect is to make the world seem nought but sorrow
and tragedy, even to the extent at times that life seems not worth living.
In the Ten of Swords we are truly tested. Nevertheless despite the
impossibility to see any way out and although we remain totally oblivious of it
while in the darkness, with this card we are climbing onto higher ground.
Dragging ourselves onward inch by sluggish inch, as if seen through eyes full of
tears the future with this card is a blur. Yet the Wheel is never still; it passes
through the Ten of Swords as through everything else; and although our pride
may rise in indignation at the very idea, once passed through the sadness
becomes just a memory, not the great tide it seemed in its heyday, but merely a
wave making its way to the shore.
 Visually represented in the ten discs of the earth suit we find the
glyph of the tree of life in miniature. The microcosmic replica of the ten
emanations formed within the Ten of Discs represents, however, not simply the
glyph of the tree of life, it represents the tree of life as the living body of
humanity. It is the unfoldment of the rich potential of the human being.
In the Ten of Discs the tree is not projected as something ‘out there.’
Instead it is brought closer to home so that we realise that all we project without
is contained within. The glyph of the tree within the Ten of Discs is the chart of
our own personal journey, the journey of our individual descent and ascent
through the worlds of form.
The suit of Discs is concerned with the unfolding in manifestation of
the divine plan. In the Ten this is expressed as the bringing down of the Shekinah
and the raising of the conscious mind. In qabbalistic tradition it is only through
the ten sefirot contained within the individual that mystical union is possible.
Through expressing in the manifestations of the outer life, the inner life of the
individual as a flame of the divine fire, the soul is being gradually prepared to
draw down the Shekinah through the temple of the body. The Shekinah brings
with her down the tree an influx of light which the individual spark, released
from the chains of materiality, rises up to meet.
Malkuth is the spiritual pattern made physically manifest. Likewise,
at the spiritual level of the culminating Ten of the earth suit, that is, at the level
of Atziluth in Malkuth, we find a concern with living out the spiritual truths of
the tree within the individual life time. This is a card concerned, ultimately, with
uniting the king with the kingdom, within the cycles of time.
Paralleling the fingers on each hand, the ten sefirot are said to consist
of five sets of opposites: ‘five opposite five.’ Stability is achieved when the five
opposites are in equilibrium.

In association with Temperance and the Wheel of Fortune, the Ten of Discs
too consists of five sets of opposites which must be maintained in equilibrium as
we progress on the soul’s journey back up the tree, from the heavy weightiness
of the material realm in Malkuth to the increasingly lighter pastures above.
Ascending from the outer face of Temperance to the inner face of the
Hierophant, we climb through the five sets of opposites. Yet all the time the
ladder below us must be stable if we are not to topple as we approach the top. As
we ascend and the rungs of our ladder become increasingly narrow, balance
becomes more precarious. The higher we get, the more difficult the foothold on
the ever narrower rungs. Yet once we have adjusted to our new position, and
learnt to breathe at the new altitudes, we gain increasing insight into ourselves,
and an increase of awareness of the extensive vistas within.
In the lower worlds the climb denoted in the Ten of Discs can take
external reality as the rise to the top of one’s profession. Making light of one’s
burdens and using the full potential of one’s ability, the Ten of Discs charts the
ascent through the hierarchy of the chosen profession to establish oneself in a
position of wealth and security near the top.
For, at the opposite level to Atziluth, at the level of Asiyah, the Ten
of Discs is the material world. Situated in Malkuth, it is the kingdom of the ten
thousand things, symbolizing the whole of material manifestation. As, at the
formative level, Malkuth transforms possibilities into tangible realities, so the
Ten of Discs is concerned with the tangible realities of the material world.
Mundanely the Ten of the earth suit is concerned with the bounty of
the good life on earth. It is a card of property, of wealth, of accumulation, of the
riches of the earth - and the riches of the soul sustained by the wealth of the
earth. It is a card of the home as the outer shell, with all its ramifications. In
relation to the Wheel of Fortune, the Ten of Discs is concerned with the world
itself as the home of humanity; more narrowly, it is the bricks and mortar of our
actual residence as the home sheltering the body; narrower still it is the physical
body as the home of the soul.
Mundanely, in fact, in a Tarot reading, the Ten of Discs frequently
does refer to the home. It can denote a stable or (where ill-placed) unstable home
situation, household finances, or repairs or renovations to the home. With more
than one Ten and an Ace in a spread, it shows a concern with the selling of
property and the establishment of new roots elsewhere as the Wheel moves
round. Where the Ten of Discs does denote the selling of property, it is for
specific reasons in accordance with the new direction the future is taking us into.
For example, a new job may necessitate movement, or a new relationship, or
changes within the family.
The influence of the family is an important factor in interpreting the
Ten of Discs. As the replica of the tree of life brings together the family of
sefirot on the tree, so the Ten of Discs represents the family as a whole: the
family tree with all its immediate and more distant branches.
The Ten of Discs concurs with the family as a unity and with the place of the
individual as one spoke within the family circle. It is a card of the compromises
and considerations for others which are a necessary part of fitting into a larger
whole. Yet the card indicates too the gains and benefits brought by inclusiveness
in a larger circle.
Following the branches of the family tree, the Ten of Discs can refer
to relatives and to gatherings of the whole family group. This card of the earth
suit can relate, too, to things passed down through the family: to the benefits and
problems of continuity. In relation to the King of Discs, for example, it can refer
to problems finding fruition and solution in future generations. With the constant
turning of the Wheel of Fortune, the Ten of Discs can be both positive and
negative, indicating the storing up of wealth or the storing up of problems for the
future. Finally, the Ten of Discs can sometimes indicate inheritance.
Alternatively, with appropriate cards such as the turning Wheel of Fortune and
the Five of Cups to signify the letting go, the Ten of Discs can indicate
retirement, with the position passing down, usually within the family.
While on the mountain for forty days, Moses was given the tablets of
the Ten Commandments. The Ten Commandments, which also associate with
the ten sefirot on the tree, formed principles of law and social order to be handed
down from generation to generation in unbroken continuity. The Decalogue
formed part of an inherited traditional code to hold together the cohesive
structure of a society through the passing of generations. In this we can see their
relevance to the ten sefirot within the Ten of Discs, not only as tradition and
continuity, but also as bricks upholding the moral fabric of society.
Structure is in fact the underlying theme of the Ten of Discs. Be it,
for example, the structure of the body, the structure of the house or the structure
upholding the social order within a given society, the Ten of Discs relates to how
things are ordered and arranged, and with attempting to order and arrange in
such a way as to maintain peaceful continuity. As Malkuth seeks and needs to
maintain stability, so the Ten of Discs seeks to establish and stabilize in order to
provide secure conditions in which to bring out the potential best, be it
individually or collectively. Like the Two of Pentacles with which it is closely
aligned, the Ten of the earth suit indicates the continuity of tradition through
generations. It indicates continuity, too, through the cycles of rebirth on the
Wheel. The Ten of Discs is pledged to maintain the equilibrium exemplified in
Temperance through the continuous revolutions of the Wheel of Fortune.
Part Two - Daath: the Inner
Sanctum

The pain will be born from that look cast inside yourself,
and this pain will make you go beyond the veil.
(Mathnawi 11, L.2517)

O great divine beloved Soul,

Who is in the mysterious abyss,
Come to me.
(Hymn to Nut)
 Chapter Eleven: The Devil
Murky as a troubled stream -
Which of you can assume such murkiness,
to become in the end still and clear?
(Tao Teh Ching.)

Leading to the vision across the abyss, the mystical sefirah of Daath
is set at the heart of the abyss separating the supernal triangle from the rest of the
tree. It is the journey across the abyss on the path of Daath, or knowledge, that
we must undertake with the seven Tarot majors concentrated here. This is the
journey of Inanna or Ishtar through the seven gates of the underworld, the
journey through the seven underworld halls of Osiris. Or, as a counterpart to the
seven sefirot below the abyss, it is the journey through the seven levels or aeons
through which Sophia must pass on her way back to the eighth house, the
Pleroma, or light source, from which she came.
The journey through darkness and light begins in Daath with Tarot
card fifteen: the Devil. At the first of the seven gates opening into the chambers
of Daath, the Devil hovers at the threshold of the unconscious, beyond which
both vices and virtues lie concealed. ‘The darkness which clings to every
personality is the door into the ‘unconscious’ writes Jung. With the Devil card
we step through the door of darkness and dare the plunge into the depths of the
abyss.
The first encounter in the card of the Devil is with the shadow. As
Daath is closely associated with, yet forms a counterbalance to Yesod, so the
qualities of the shadow we meet in the Devil card form a counterbalance to the
qualities of the persona we meet in the cards of the Hermit and Death. The
shadow is the negative attributes of the ego personality. Whereas the persona is
invested with all those socially desirable traits that we like to think we have and
which make us acceptable to others, the shadow is invested with all the
undesirable traits: those we prefer to disown and disassociate from, denying they
are qualities we could ever possess.
Disassociated from the conscious viewpoint, the suppressed aspects
do not thereby cease to exist. Instead they from the shadow which, like some
sinister secret detective, trails the light of the ego, ready to spring forward on
unsuspecting occasions, to remind us of those hidden ‘demons’ we guiltily
conceal from the light of day.
When these demons do trespass into consciousness, they leave in
their wake feelings of guilt and shame, tied to the fear of rejection should our
hidden skeletons be exposed.
Yet the qualities of the shadow are by no means all unworthy. The
shadow may consist of natural instincts and impulses which are frowned on in a
given time and place and which are therefore denied expression. However,
qualities which in themselves are amoral, when distorted through constant
suppression may become immoral. Further, when relegated to the shadow, such
otherwise amoral responses lend their ambiguous support to provide the darker,
more painful aspects of the psyche with a respectable facade.
When the Tarot Devil initially crops up he frequently does have a
respectable facade. We see nothing wrong with the situation presented by this
card, or with the opportunities that will be heralded. Indeed, there is nothing
wrong with the situation, or the opportunities - which we, in any case, have no
intention of turning our backs on. Aren’t they just what we’ve been waiting for?
It is true that such, or similar, situations may be known in the past to have had
hidden snares; other people may have got caught up in them. But then, we are
not other people. No disrespect intended, but we do not have their weaknesses
and are not therefore likely to get caught up in the same way. So we blithely
protest, precisely as our predecessors did before us. It is not until we have
jumped in with both feet, as we will do, that we find ourselves with more on our
hands than we had bargained for.
It is part of the Tarot Devil’s ambiguity that on the surface all will be
just as anticipated. Particularly when aligned with the Nine of Cups, the external
form initially fulfils all it promised to fulfil. We do receive what we had wished
for, and have no real cause for complaint. The flaws lie not in the external
circumstances of the situation, but in ourselves - in what the situation brings out
in us.
The problems we never foresee with the Devil card are those evoked
by our own emotional responses to the situation. We do not foresee the appeal to
the lower aspects of the personality as we become enmeshed in the unfoldment
of ourselves. Nor do we foresee the effects of possession by our own emotions.
As the shadow side of the Magician, the Devil in Tarot signifies the dark face of
the becoming expressed in the card of the Magician. With changes so subtle that
we do not even realise we are changing - though others around us do - the
shadow surreptitiously lengthens its reach at day light’s expense, while we
become that which we still deny we could ever be.
 One of the immediate problems posed by the Devil card is blindness
to our own folly. Many of the card illustrations show two small human figures
who, though barely, if at all, aware of it, are bound by some form of leash. The
leash is held by the Devil who is able thereby to lead them any which way he
chooses. Yet the hands of the figures themselves are free to untie the leash
whenever they care to. That they do not is because they choose to ignore the fact
that they are so tied, ignorance being the easiest path.
The leash in the Devil’s hand illustrates our servitude to our own
personal demons, and the extent to which we are, ignorantly, entangled in webs
of our own devising. Like Othello, who allows his jealousy to rule and ruin his
life while remaining ignorant of the extent of his own blame for the downturn of
events, so with the Devil card we become enmeshed in the tangled webs of our
own self-deception, blaming others for our own mistakes and, yet worse, causing
suffering to others through ignoring our own faults.
At its most abject, when aligned for example with the Nine or Five
of Swords, the Devil is a card of pitiable sadness. Unwilling to face up to the
disturbing implications of owning our own shadow, we deny the abhorrent
impulses in ourselves and unconsciously project them onto others, thereby
preserving our own halo of innocence for none of the blame lies at our door. The
object of shadow projection becomes the scapegoat, the innocent victim forced
to suffer for our own shortcomings.
No longer able to discern the reality of the human being we have
smothered under the blanket of our own darkness, we see only the features of
our own shadow projected without, and are as disgusted and repelled as we ever
could be when the shadow was repressed within. Only now our disgust and
abhorrence are visited on the poor scapegoat whom we have cloaked in the
shadow and in whom we therefore discern all the qualities we find no scruples in
disowning, or actively harming.
At the core of the shadow is the archetype of the enemy: the evil and
dangerous intruder who bodes us ill. Throughout nature wariness of that which is
alien and potentially dangerous is an amoral and necessary survival strategy.
Only in the human can it become, over time, distorted through association with
the shadow. With the necessary wariness of the strange and unknown are
preserved the socially undesirable and therefore repressed qualities which make
up the shadow. The result is that we are then unconsciously able to project onto
that which is different and strange as well as on to the potential enemy, all our
own shadow qualities. Again a natural and occasionally warranted response of
caution and wariness is entangled with the projected shadow so that we are no
longer able to differentiate or properly evaluate the real threat from the
imaginary. Furthermore, the emotional colouring projected with the shadow is so
dominating that even reason is subdued into silent compliance. The irrational
wins the day; the light of consciousness is overcast by shadow.
Yet in continuously mistaking our enemy and projecting our devils
without, we ignore the real adversary: the potential for evil within. Satan is a
Hebrew word for adversary, and in the Devil card we encounter that which is
adverse to our accepted idea of ourselves. Challenging and opposing our
preconceptions, in the shadow accompanying the sun we meet our alter-ego, the
opposing element who advocates the other side of the story.
The role of adverse opponent in Egyptian mythology falls on the
shoulders of Set. Set is the Egyptian Satan. In the early Jewish and Christian
tradition, Satan was the elder brother of Christ. Likewise, in Egyptian myth Set
is the jealous and hostile brother of Osiris (Osiris being the sacrificed god).
Where Osiris is the fecundating Nile, Set is the parching desert; where Osiris is
moisture, Set is drought; where Osiris is beneficial and creative, Set is harmful
and destructive. Placed in perpetual opposition to the spirit of all that is good
represented in Osiris, Set came in time to signify the spirit of evil.
Yet this was not always so. Set, an ancient god, as god of the south
was originally placed in harmonious opposition to Horus, god of the north. Set’s
role was accepted as necessary. He was friend to the dead and even assisted
Osiris to reach heaven by means of a ladder. The opposites, therefore, were not
always in conflict. Only later, as Set became worshipped by and associated with
foreigners: alien people, was he demoted to a devil and an enemy of the gods -
and consequently imbued with all the spirit of evil. Set became, in short, a
scapegoat, bearing the burden of responsibility for the sacrifice of Osiris.
As the alter-ego or other self of Osiris, Set too played the role of
sacrificial victim; but he appeared as the alternative face of the sacrificial
identity, the face we scorn and reject: the face of the scapegoat carrying the
burden of guilt. Such is the paradox of the idea of devil. Inheriting the
characteristics of the goat-god Pan, the Western devil, including the Devil in
Tarot, is frequently depicted with the feet, horns and beard of a goat. For the
devil image is itself a scapegoat - a means of avoiding facing up to the evil
within ourselves. Used as an abstraction on which to hang our own shadow
qualities, both individually and collectively, the idea of a magnified, objective
devil responsible for and orchestrating all evil in the world, allows us full
abnegation of responsibility and enables us to ignore the divided nature of
ourselves.
Without light, there is no shadow. This is part of the moral
conundrum posed by the Devil card. Emphasized especially alongside the card
of Judgement, in the Devil card we are constantly being posed with moral
problems to which there are no simple solutions. The arguments both for and
against seem equally persuasive; virtues and vices seem to merge one into
another, right and wrong change places as we blink. In recognising that we do
not know the right course, the Devil is a card of coming to terms with how much
we do not know, and have yet to learn about ourselves, and of how much we
must learn about human nature and the human journey if we are ever to solve
those moral conundrums.
The Devil is the first of the major Tarot we must encounter in Daath,
for Daath is the sphere of knowledge, and the first, indispensable step to any
self-knowledge is to recognize the shadow within. The first steps on the road to
realization of the Self is a coming to terms with the dark aspects of one’s own
personality and one’s own potential for evil. The shadow must be brought to
consciousness so that we withdraw the projection that passes the blame to others
and accept full moral responsibility for ourselves. Yet owning and drawing one’s
shadow back to oneself is both painful and frightening, evoking responses of
guilt and self-recrimination which are difficult to swallow.
It may seem that the Devil at the threshold of Daath not only guards
the door of Daath, but actively blocks it. For without coming to terms with the
reprehensible, and the evil, within, we can make no progress on the road to self-
knowledge. Yet the apprehension, the pain, the panic, and the devilish confusion
are such that the whole process meets with considerable resistance.
Acknowledging that shadow and light belong together, and that therefore the
shadow cannot be simply disclaimed but rather the ego must learn to accept full
responsibility for it, is but a beginning. To possess the shadow without being
possessed by it we need to suffer the tension between good and evil in full
consciousness in order to transcend both. As the Gospel of Philip clarifies:
Light and the darkness, life and death, right and the left, are brothers of one
another. They are inseparable. Because of this neither are the good good, nor
the evil evil...
Recognition and acceptance of the depth and true nature of the
darkness within is a moral problem which, scorning simple answers, cannot be
resolved in completeness in the card of the Devil. For the influence of the Devil
card resounds throughout the deeper levels of Daath, particularly in relation to
the Moon. Yet the resolution of the problem of the personal shadow must be
begun here if we are ever to bear safely the light of consciousness across the
chasms of the abyss.
When we approach the numinosity of the inner sanctum which is
Daath, we approach danger. For in Daath there is a dark side relating to the
subconscious aspect of the divine nature. In Tarot we tremble on the precipice of
the dark side of Daath when we explore the terrain of the Devil card for, as the
old magical motto reminds us: ‘Demon est Deus inversus.’
In the inner traditions of the East, the union of opposites in one god
is quite clearly expressed. Such, for example, is sublime Shiva, terrible and
beneficial, god of creation and destruction, god of devas and of demons. Shiva
unveils the shared roots of good and evil and points to the same principle ruling
over both. Western tradition has the same premise. In Isaiah the Lord says: ‘I
form the light, and create darkness: I make peace and create evil: I the Lord do
all these things.’ The implications of this are, however, too uncomfortable for the
Western stomach to digest and so are largely ignored. Not, however, in Tarot. As
the message of the Devil in Daath makes clear, with Tarot what we would rather
ignore must be confronted if we are ever to understand ourselves. No longer able
to turn back from what fills us with dread, we must follow the guidance of the
High Priestess through the dual pillars of light and dark.
The same underlying premise was, however, acknowledged on the
inner paths of the ancient mystery traditions: divine Zeus was also Zeus
Katachthonious, ‘subterranean Zeus,’ or in other words was identified with
Hades, lord of the subterranean realms.
Hades, the dark counterpart of bright Zeus, was god of mystery and
terror. Lord of the underworld, itself the House of Hades, Hades was the face of
the inexorable and the unknown. Daath is the invisible sefirah, while Hades
actually means ‘the invisible’ or ‘the invisibility.’ Centred in the invisible sefirah
of Daath, in Tarot the third of the Chariot’s journeys is the journey of the Chariot
of Hades or the Chariot of the mysteries. The Chariot of the mysteries leads
through the darkness of the unknown, through the sublime, terrifying,
subterranean worlds within, to arrive at last at the hidden translucence of the
pearls of wisdom.
Hades was also venerated under the title of Pluto, from the word for
riches. As Pluto, Hades was the wealthy or the wealth giving. He was the
custodian of buried treasure. Similarly, Set, too, was worshipped under the
alternative title of Nebty, meaning ‘he of the gold town.’ On the bank of the Nile,
Set’s cult centre was at Nebet: the gold town.
As the dark counterpart to the light brother, what both Hades and Set
relate to are ‘the treasures of darkness and the hidden riches of secret places.’
They point to the concealed treasure which can only be discovered by exploring
the mysteries of the subterranean realms and by uncovering the secrets of the
shadow cast on the earth.
‘By knowledge shall the chambers be filled with all precious and
pleasant riches,’ we read in Proverbs. As the doorkeeper to knowledge, the Devil
in Tarot is likewise custodian of riches and the wealth giving. Ironically, this can
in fact be a card appertaining to actual wealth, if wealth is the inducement likely
to bring out our hidden weaknesses.
The Devil is a card of temptation, and what we are tempted by is the
specific danger to which we are most likely to succumb - the enticement which
is, so to speak, our own particular ‘devil.’
The Devil in Tarot, it must be remembered, is related to the Lovers,
and through the Lovers to the road to birth of the luminous light within. Like the
Lovers, the number of the Devil card too is six, though in the case of the Devil
the six is divided into one and five, for the sixth sense, the crowning sense of the
inner world, is yet divided from the five senses of the outer world. Like the
Lovers, the Devil too is imbued with the mystic of Eros. For it is Eros, god of
love, who brings together heaven and hell, harmony and chaos, creation and
destruction.
Hatched in the womb of darkness from a silver egg, Eros is both the
divine and daemonic face of love. It is the latter, however, that we meet in the
Devil card. Like Shiva, Eros was worshipped in the phallic symbol of desire. For
Eros too was god of desire. Yet the desire indicated is by no means simply
physical desire. It is desire in any and all forms. In its demonic face, it is,
paramountly, desire to possess.
Dipped in the murky pool of the neglected shadow, the tainted
arrows from the bow of dark Eros are precisely aimed, in the Devil card, at our
own Achilles heel. In the grip of a fever of emotion which is inflamed by the
arrows of desire, the desire to possess itself possesses us. From the initial reeling
raptures and ecstatic intoxication of divine madness, it is but a few dizzy spins
on the downward spiral to demonic madness and possession. From the heights of
the Tower or the House of God, we fall into the depths of the Devil. The Devil
offers the ambrosia of the heavens - prepared in the kitchens of hell. He offers
the rose of Eros, but so taken are we with the flower, that we fail to take note of
the thorns.
The inducement of the Devil card is set before us in a most
appetising and disarming way, totally lowering our defences. For the Devil does
not bind with chains but with ribbons. He does not force, he entices. Countering
the Magician, the Devil indicates the golden thread of fascination with which the
voice of the inner daemon draws us into the labyrinth. As Set, promising
ownership to whoever it would fit, enticed Osiris to climb into the magnificent
chest where he was promptly trapped, so, knowing we will ignorantly walk into
the trap of our own freewill, the Devil merely spreads out the nets and leaves our
own folly to do the rest.
Yet our folly is not so false as we may suppose. For this is the Fool’s
journey. In learning through our mistakes, it is our folly which will open the way
to wisdom.
Stumbling, we may take a downfall, yet the very net laid out to trap
us, can also catch us and save our lives. The Devil indicates a part of the journey
where the road is precarious and full of pitfalls. Yet this is a wily old Devil,
connected with the cunning and wily face of the Magician and the Hierophant.
As with the latter, with the Devil nothing is ever quite all it seems. Evil is not
truly evil, nor good truly good. Helpful hands may hinder, hindrances may be of
help. Obstacles may not obstruct us, whereas intentions well-meant can bode ill.
In the Devil card the shafts of Eros may be tipped with poison, yet a touch of
fever may be the means of immunisation against total conflagration. In the
words of Professor Jung:

‘If we do not partially succumb, nothing of this apparent evil enters into us,
and no regeneration or healing can take place....If we succumb completely, then
the contents expressed by the inner voice act as so many devils, and a
catastrophe ensues. But if we succumb only in part, and if by self assertion the
ego can save itself from being completely swallowed, then it can assimilate the
voice, and we realize that the evil was, after all, only a semblance of evil, but in
reality a bringer of healing and illumination...a ‘Lucifer’ in the strictest and
most unequivocal sense of the word ...’

The Devil in Tarot, too, is a Lucifer, a light bringer, who, if we are

prepared to accept the challenge of moral responsibility, can offer both healing
and illumination.
Satan and Lucifer have long been equated through the identification,
in the early Christian writings, of the verses in Isaiah : ‘How art thou fallen from
heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning!’ with the Gospel of Luke: ‘I behold Satan
as lightning fall from heaven.’ As the son of the morning, Lucifer is connected,
too, with Venus, planet of wishes and desires. For, uniting heaven and hell,
Lucifer is an Eros figure, bringing light into darkness and darkness into light.
Meaning ‘light bearer,’ Lucifer is in fact the Latin translation of the Hebrew
‘heilel,’ meaning ‘shining one’ or ‘spreading brightness.’ Yet the light of Lucifer,
prince of darkness, is the light of the silver egg in which love is cocooned,
glowing in the womb of darkness. It is the fire of life burning at the heart of the
labyrinth which entices us into the maze of our unfolding to reach the heart of
the awakening Self.
 Opening the Pandora’s box of wishes and thereby unleashing havoc
in the world through our own wants and desires, we explore the temptations of
the labyrinth of the Devil in search of discovering and pronouncing the three
grail wishes which will unlock the mysteries of the three worlds of Tarot: the
mysteries of the three suns: the light which is in darkness, the light which is in
light, and the light which, being invisible, is neither light nor dark.
The spreading brightness in the crown of Lucifer is itself a grail
stone. It is the key we seek, the lost treasure around which the pieces of the
puzzle will fit together. Yet the light can never be truly ours until we are
prepared to accept, too, the darkness. All the cards in Daath carry within them
their own opposite. In this, the Devil is no exception.
With our eyes mesmerized by the jewels of light, we ignore the
darkness and neglect the shadow - at our cost. This is the message of the Tarot
Devil. For here Lucifer and Satan, the spreading light and its adversary, the
prince of darkness, are one and the same. Satan is the deceiver. Yet it is the light
of Lucifer which blinds us to the truth. It is the light which dazzles with its
brilliance and makes us forget the wisdom of the black: the knowledge of our
origins and destination. The key of light fits the door of darkness and unless we
are prepared to open the door and enter into ourselves, the meaning and potential
of the light is wasted. Like Lucifer, following the path of lightning we may fall
from the house of God. Yet, prepared to learn why we fell, the fall need not
herald the end of a journey but a beginning: it is the beginning of the Fool’s
journey into knowledge.
 Chapter Twelve: The Lightning Struck Tower
When the candle calls at the moment of illumination,
the soul of the moth does not shrink from burning.
(Rumi, Mathnawi Bk 1V, L.3808.)

With the cards laid out before us, it is but a flick of the wrist from the
Devil to the House of God. The sixteenth Tarot major has been called by various
names such as the Tower, the Tower of Destruction, the Lightning-struck Tower,
or the House of God. The titles differ in their emphasis, yet each is appropriate in
bringing out a different layer of meaning as the message of the Tower unfolds.
Be it with love, hate, jealousy, rage, desire, anger, or a mixture of all
these things, in the Devil card is unleashed a tidal wave of emotion which
completely overwhelms us. Taking over and turning our lives upside down, the
wave of emotion pours into every crevice of our lives so that nothing is left
unaffected after the flood has passed.
In the card of the Tower, it is on the crest of this very tidal wave,
unleashed in the Devil, that we are elevated to giddy heights, raised up beyond
ourselves, beyond the mundane, only to be tossed down again abruptly when the
tide of emotion is spent.
In the meanwhile, much alteration and destruction has been wrought
about us. The debris of the past lies scattered and irreparably broken. Salvaging
the little we can, we must build up again a new life. This is the encounter with
the Tower in its early stages. It is card sixteen as the Tower of Destruction.
The Tower of Destruction corresponds with the tower of Babel, the
symbol of prematurely reaching beyond where we are ready to go. The effect of
our ill-judged actions is to bring chaos and confusion tumbling down around us.
That which was solid and stable - and seemed formidably permanent, begins to
fall apart.
Correlating to the story of Lucifer, the tower of Babel was built to
storm the heavens. It was mankind’s ill-conceived attempt to wrest the secrets of
the above and gain power through knowledge. Qabbalistically, the Tower
belongs in the non-sefirah of Knowledge, deep at the heart of the pillar of
knowledge. Seeking to raise oneself above the present position through the
acquisition of knowledge is, therefore, very much a part of the Tower’s meaning.
Yet, although the knowledge can be used for both good and bad, at this stage the
crucial point is that knowledge is seen not as an end in itself, but as a means to
an end. It is tied up with the temptations of the Devil card and the idea of gain.
The desire, here, is to possess something to serve our own ends. If it
should also serve others, that is merely incidental. This is knowledge sought as a
tool to serve ambition and power. It is knowledge as a means to riches.
Serving ambition and the will to power, knowledge without wisdom
or understanding can be a dangerous tool. In the episode of Babel, as in the
nuclear advancement of today, the technology to build the tower was not lacking,
but understanding was. Initially making constructive use of human potential and
the will to achieve, a giant advance upward was taken. With the raising of the
temple, vistas opened out; everything seemed possible. For all were working as
one mind, for one shared purpose. With this spirit of mutual tolerance and
cooperation nothing would have been ‘restrained from them which they have
imagined to do.’ Yet the temple was not completed. Crossing the abyss of Daath
to Binah proved too difficult an objective.
Unity of purpose was beset by quarrelling and confusion as, dazzled
by the heights reached, each lapsed into speaking the language of their own
needs and desires. With nobody paying heed to or taking time to understand the
needs of others, the result was not creation and understanding, but confusion and
destruction.
The Tower of Destruction, or Knowledge, which corresponds with
the tower of Babel, has its parent image in the tree of knowledge of good and
evil. Claiming its role in the scene of the expulsion from Eden, the temptation
dangling from the branches of the tree of knowledge was again to storm the
heavens and wrest the knowledge of the gods. ‘In the day ye eat thereof,’ enticed
the serpent - or the temptation of the Devil card, ‘then your eyes shall be opened,
and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil. And when the woman saw that
the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be
desired to make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat.’
As forewarned, though not by the serpent, the result was death: not
physical death, but the death of innocence. Knowledge was gained, but with it
came the moral responsibility and culpability attached to increased knowledge of
good and evil. With it, too, came the expulsion from the paradise of childhood or
a child-like state of innocence to a state where the plea of ignorance and
justification of knowing no better no longer held sway. Being truthful with his
promise of knowledge, the wily serpent had in fact enticed the seeking Eve into
confronting the problem met in the Devil card: the problem of facing up to and
taking responsibility for the evil, as well as the good, within.
In Tarot, the Devil and the Tower overlap at every turn. Yet Death
too is a frequent companion. The Devil lays bare the shadow; Death strips away
the persona. Both come together in the Tower, for the Tower contains all that we
are. Although, like the Devil, the Tower can appear both threatening and
frightening, we are frightened of the card only to the extent that we are afraid of
ourselves and of the process of change within ourselves.
Though never implying physical death, the Tower and Death
together do indicate a decisive and major change in a situation and an
accompanying inner death. There is, too, a loss of innocence as our ideals and
beliefs topple from the pedestals of purity and the castles built in the air come
crashing to the ground. One by one the scales drop from our eyes and force us to
face reality as it is. Beginning again from humbler, but wiser foundations, we
must rebuild our lives.
Thrown into the paths of new friendships, new beliefs, new dreams,
we are plunged into a world of experience which will indeed continually
confront us with the moral dilemmas of the knowledge of good and evil and
challenge our outlook on life. For we are plunged into the reality of the world of
the Empress: this is the Tower as ‘the House of God.’

In building again the pieces scattered by the Tower of Destruction we

are led to the discovery of the Tower as the House of God. In the Tower there are
always two: the upper Sophia and the lower Sophia, one guiding and one guided,
one ascending and one watching on from above. The purpose of the Tower is to
bring together the three dimensions of the Empress: the heights and the depths,
the soul as bird and the soul as fish. Here the sojourner of the airy heights and
the sojourner of the watery deeps are united in the middle kingdom: the Tower as
the earthly representative of the House of God.
As he emerged through the baptismal waters, on Jesus, the fisher of
men, the spirit descended like a dove. In this, his second birth, Jesus was reborn
from water and spirit. He became his own father and mother, giving divine
expression to himself: as his true Self. This is the meaning of the Tower as the
House of God. The Tower is the means by which the two halves can be
reconciled in the third: the child which is the living expression of this inner
union.
The Tower is ourselves and its role is to unite the three worlds within
ourselves. It is the path to realization of the Empress within, carrying the seeds
of divinity. The Tower is the passage to bring forth in the body of earth the child
of the spirit. But the child of the spirit is the offspring of the sacred marriage,
and the sacred marriage can only be celebrated at the peak of the Tower. At the
highest point of ascent, (where, when humanity has attained to the heights of its
potential, the body of earth is illumined by the fertilizing spirit,) we are struck by
the illuminating shaft of lightning: not with death, but into life.

Rising from the sea of the unconscious, in the Tower are to be

discovered the layers of all one’s memories, both conscious and unconscious,
personal and collective, memories of this life, memories of other lives. The
Tower indicates a chain of events which will only be fully understood with
hindsight, when, looking back, we are able to discern their hidden connections
and recognize the stages that were important in the growing process. The Tower
is a card of self honesty. It breaks down the persona and the shadow to lead us
back up the ladder of memory to remembrance of the Self.
The Tower and ladder share much of the same symbolism. Both
indicate the journey of ascending consciousness through the levels of being. Like
the rungs of the ladder, the ascent and descent within the Tower represent the
progressive passage through the rungs of initiation - through knowledge to
knowledge, from the base of the pillar of darkness to release through the pillar of
light.
In the paradaisic garden of innocence, before the fall had cast its
shadow, the ladder was the means of unhindered passage, in either direction,
between heaven and earth. It was the vertical road to heaven and the means by
which descending divinity and ascending humanity could meet. It was by a
ladder placed on the mountain peak that Set assisted Osiris to ascend to the
heavens and the gods. The meeting place of heaven and earth was paralleled in
the heights of the sacred mountain, and both mountain and ladder symbolism
were carried over and combined in the stepped ziggurat, leading to the life-
generating place of union.
The ziggurat was a storied temple tower by which the gods could
descend and humans ascend, not with pride and force, but in humility and peace.
Although the story had clearly fallen into steep decline by the time it was edited
for the bible, the tower of Babel had for its original inspiration the ziggurat of
Babylon, built, not to storm the heavens, but to celebrate the sacred marriage at
the meeting place of the human and the divine. The ziggurat was, like Jacob’s
ladder, a ladder to unity, uniting the above with the below. At the summit of the
tower, where heaven and earth came together, the male god of the sky as
lightning or thunder descended and united with the earth goddess as the
mountain or tower.
For the Tower, like the Empress, is the universal body in which all is
contained. Sharing the symbolism of the ziggurat and world mountain, the Tower
overlaps with the tree of life both as the cosmic axis bringing together heaven
and earth, and as the body of the mother goddess bearing the joys and sufferings
of her offspring through the womb of darkness to birth into light.
Among the symbols of Daath is the sacred mountain. As the peak of
the mountain, in Daath the above and below of the abyss come together, the
supernal triangle unites with the lower tree. The ziggurat likewise, to give it its
title at Nippur, was ‘the house of the mountain.’ For the ziggurat substituted for
the sacred mountain, on whose peak the sacred marriage was originally enacted.
The sacred mountain, however, was itself the body of the goddess and dwelling
place of divinity. That the symbolism of the body of the goddess was still
retained throughout the many transitional changes from mountain to storied
temple tower, to spiralled temple, to round tower is evidenced by the titles of
‘Tower of David’ and ‘Tower of Ivory’ attributed in Christianity to Mary. For,
long after the ziggurat of Babylon had fallen, Mary, as the Christian mother of
the divine child, inherited the symbolism of the temple and the round tower.
Thus, though unacknowledged, Mary retained the significance of the earth body
of the mother goddess through which the divine child is brought to birth.
Signifying the body of the threefold goddess, the design of the
ziggurat was divided into three tiers to represent the three dimensions of heaven,
earth and underworld: the three dimensions of the Empress as mother goddess in
Tarot. For in the temple-tower is accomplished the journey through the three
worlds. As a counterpart to the Wheel of Fortune which relates to the Empress as
the manifest journey through the spinning world, the Tower represents the
simultaneous inner journey, the ascent and descent of the soul. For in the Tower
is all that appertains to the body of earth and the ascent through the body of earth
to bring about the liberation of the kingdom on the revolving Wheel. As the
vessel of the Empress, in the Tower are embraced all the trials of life though
which we must pass on the path to enlightenment. But here, on the journey to
penetrate through illusion to the place of truth, it is the inner face of the trials
that we see; the trials not of the self but of the soul. For in the Tower is the
journey to reconcile the manifold divisions within the Self. Here is the ascent
and descent which is the means to heal the rift between the above and the below.

The Tower as the House of God leads to the finest, and final, stage of
the Tower: the Tower of the mystics and of Daath; the Tower of the mystical
vision: the Lightning-Struck Tower.
In all Tarot designs the Tower is shown struck by lightning. On the
mystical path lightning strikes at the crown of the Tower of knowledge not as
destruction, but as the destruction of ignorance. For lightning signifies divine
rapture, revelation, and illumination. It is the bolt of enlightenment and the
penetrating power of truth.
 As illustrated in the path of the lightning flash, lightning denotes the
descent of power. When the Ten Commandments were revealed to Moses at the
peak of Mount Sinai, it was the thundering and lightning that testified to the
presence of divinity. Exodus tells us that ‘the Lord descended...in fire’ on the
mount, ‘and the Lord called Moses up to the top of the mount; and Moses went
up...’ For only when Moses had ascended, and the divine power had descended,
to that sacred place where divinity and humanity could commune, was revelation
able to take place.
In ascending the mount for his code of laws, Moses was not unique
but merely following tradition: Hammurabi had received his laws in the same
way from Shamash (the Sun), who descended to the top of the mountain with
flames emerging from his shoulders. For the mountain peak, like the apex of the
pillar, is the place of revelation and of enlightenment. It is the place of break
through into light.
In most illustrations the Tower is depicted as a crenellated pillar,
with the lightning struck crown usually spouting flames. A pillar crowned with
burning flames is itself witness to the presence of divinity, while the crowned
pillar is the most direct way to enlightenment. It is, like the middle pillar of
Qabbalah, the mystical path of ascent.

Ten sefirot of Nothingness:

Their vision is like the ‘appearance of lightning.’
Their limit has no end
And his Word in them is running and returning.

The vision here denoted in the Sefer Yetzirah is a mystical vision, of

the same nature as Ezekiel’s vision of the divine chariot. The term used for
vision (tzafiyah) denotes in both cases the visionary peaks of mystical
experience. From its root word (Tzafah), so Kaplan explains, the nature of this
same visionary experience infers that one is looking down from on high, into the
depths. Yet to reach this high place where the mystical vision can be attained,
one must devote oneself to Chokmah and the yoke of wisdom. One must follow
the torturous ways of Sophia: the ways of the High Priestess. Through the Tower
as the House of God we discover finally the means of access to the Lightning-
struck Tower as the Tower of the High Priestess: the Tower of Enlightening
Wisdom.
The mystical experience is bound up in Tarot with the Third of the
Chariot Journeys. The journey centred in the invisible sefirah of Daath is the
mystical journey. It is the journey to the mystical union and the realization of
truth. As Wisdom, or Sophia, the High Priestess guides through the non-sefirah
of knowledge and through the ring of eternity centred in knowledge. For the
High Priestess is the inner path and the path of knowledge. She is herself the
union of, and the middle way between, the two pillars. The Chariot of the
mysteries is the Chariot of the High Priestess as the road through gnosis. It is the
Chariot of dark Hades which becomes, at marriage, the Chariot of bright
Persephone, queen over the realms of mystery.

Following the paths of Sophia, the path of the lightning flash is the
way of descent while the most direct route of ascent is through the central pillar.
As the House of God, the Tower encompasses the three pillars of the tree of life.
In the transformation to Tower of Enlightenment, the focus narrows on to the
central pillar: the pillar of equilibrium and of knowledge. The Lightning-struck
Tower as the Tower of Enlightenment is the central pillar of the House of God.
The way of ascent through the mystical or central pillar is the way of
staying centred in ourselves. It is the inner path of unity and as such requires that
we hold fast to its directions without deviating. For once attracted or distracted
to veer too near either side, we fall into duality. Once away from the centre we
are no longer on the middle path of the High Priestess leading directly to our
destination. We have drifted from the inner path of being centred in ourselves to
the dizziness of the outer path, spiralling the centre.
The vertical column of light within the Lightning-Struck Tower is
surrounded by walls of darkness. The walls of darkness are themselves the
protective barriers of the inner Tower. Guided by the High Priestess, the journey
through the mystic Tower is a journey through light, but through light closed in
by, and whose only relief is, darkness.
The path of Sophia is, then, even at this late stage, still a lonely,
arduous, and seemingly endless journey where the darkness of ourselves is the
only scenery. With no end in sight and no conception of how or when it will all
end, we are constantly tempted to leave the inner Tower before we have reached
the summit, and re-enter the greater expanse of the Tower of the Empress as the
House of God. Although the immediate effect is illusory, with the vast vistas of
the Tower of the Empress there appear to be no encroaching walls of darkness.
The outer Tower, therefore, appears more attractive and seems to offer a richer
arena of opportunity.
Yet only through the narrow turret of the Tower of the High Priestess
can we reach the summit of the mountain and the entrance to the heavens. The
greater Tower of the Empress leads up to the Tower of the High Priestess, and
down to the Tower of Destruction. Yet the final path through Daath to reach the
end of the journey is that of Sophia; only through the ways of Sophia can we
reach the Star.
Nevertheless, when the Star seems too far off, weary of the hardships
of holding fast to the truths of the inner self and tempted by the apparent
freedom lying without, we may allow ourselves to be lured out of the monotony
of the inner Tower and the path of the Self, into the glittering world of self.
Caught once again in the playful, appealing world of samsara, the world that
plays so valid a part in the descent but not in the ascent, we are tempted further
and further from the centre. When what began as light begins to turn subtly dark
and we decide it’s time to turn back again and resume our inner journey, we
discover in astonishment that we’ve somehow lost our way. At best we find
ourselves outside of, yet unable to find the door into, the Lightning-struck
Tower.
If, however, we have followed the chosen path through all the
weariness and misgivings, just when we were convinced that we can really go no
further, we feel the trembling impact of the Lightning-struck Tower. There is a
startling and unforeseen break through; all of a sudden everything changes. For
staying centred on the difficult path of Self does lead eventually to the Tower’s
summit and the emergence from the walls of darkness. Here, on the Tower’s
peak, we can survey all the outer kingdom from the pinnacle of the inner
kingdom. We have reached the point where the inner and outer world are united
and we are simultaneously centred in both. As the magical image of Daath is a
head with two faces looking both ways, so at the pinnacle of the inner Tower
surveying the outer world, we have realised the High Priestess as the inner face
of the Empress, and having united the inner and outer, are able simultaneously to
look both ways. No longer do we do lose our way in the outer world. In a
powerful flash of enlightenment on the summit of the Tower of gnosis we have
experienced the unity of wisdom and understanding: we have united the wings of
the spirit with the body of earth.

Moments of enlightenment are, like lightning, penetrating, but

passing. While the effects of the vision may be lasting, the vision itself is not.
Nor, though we may try at our peril, can it be forcibly held on to or induced to
return. To reach the summit of the Tower is a fulfilling and rewarding
experience; but while it is indeed an end of a journey, it is not yet the end of the
journey. Much has been attained, but what we do and where we go from here is
up to us.
The summit of the Tower, like the peak of the mountain, opens out
onto the heavens. Above us are the Star, the Moon, and Sun: the succeeding
cards of Tarot. With the gift of the wings of the spirit we can survive the
trembling heights of the Tower, and turn towards the heavenly night sky to
explore the realm of the Star. We can open ourselves to the gift offered, not to
lord it over the Tower, but to continue the path of Sophia: become an
insignificant and humble wanderer exploring the lonely paths of the Star.
By contrast, made dizzy by the light and the heights, and inflated by
pride, we can follow the lightning fall of Satan. Too weighed down with self-
importance to be held up by the wings of spirit, we tumble from the shaky Tower
and find ourselves thrown back down to explore the depths. The burning,
crenallated crown of the Tower falling to the earth below becomes as the fallen
light from the crown of Lucifer. We may have brought down power, but we have
not ascended.
With self-inflation obstructing the journey to the heights, the Tower
has become once more the Tower of Destruction. Once again the cycle is
repeated. Through the Tower of Destruction begins the journey to find the House
of God, and through the House of God we set out to discover the concealed door
to the Lightning-struck Tower. This, in turn, will lead again to the opportunity of
the heights, where again we may rise, or fall and transform enlightenment into
destruction as the cycles continually recur, ‘running and returning.’ The
Lightning-struck Tower contains the concepts of both enlightenment and
destruction, and can so easily turn from one into the other. From the summit of
the Tower we can, like Lucifer, either fall or ascend. The choice is up to us.
Which direction we choose, however, will determine whether we enter Card 17
on the path of the rising or of the falling Star.
 Chapter Thirteen: The Star
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home...

(Wordsworth: Intimations of Immortality)

In a book such as this, of necessity the cards of Tarot must each be

considered on an individual basis, one by one. They are, however, by no means
as independent of each other as such dealing would imply. Separately the cards
are each a single leaf of one book. Only when the leaves are placed together can
the characters and scenes reveal themselves and the multi-layered story unfold.
It is a story, furthermore, which starts at the end and leads back to the
beginning so that the end becomes the beginning and the beginning becomes the
end. As we roll back the vistas of memory, it is a story in which we remember
where we are going by remembering where we came from; we rediscover the
road home by rediscovering where home is.
In the Star it is the light glimmering from a far distant past which
recalls us home to ourselves. Awakening visions of another time and another
place, with the Star we return to the past in order to open up the future. We turn
our backs on the present and return to what we were in order to discover who we
are.
Returning to what we were is, however, no simple step back in time.
It is, on the contrary, a deep and purging transformation leading to a step
forward. As the seventeenth card the Star is closely aligned to Justice. The eight
pointed Star is the eye in the crown of Justice. It is the path of insight constantly
shining in the darkness and revealing the truths of the heart with such
penetrating candour that we can no longer deny them to ourselves. In a process
of inner cleansing, the Star is a card of clearing away the debris left over after
the upheaval of the Tower has severed the karmic chains. After the disintegration
of the immediate past, it is a card of returning to foundations and rediscovering
in the dreams and plans of a more remote past the source of hope for the future.
 In the traditional illustrations the Star figure is depicted pouring
water from two vessels in two different directions. The scene is very expressive
of the Star’s meaning. While the role of her sister card in Temperance is to unite
the rivers of life into one wide sea, the Star must differentiate between the sea
and its many branches. The Star expresses the many facets of unity and illumines
the many individual paths, each leading by various twists and turns to the one
source. The Star is concerned not so much with the sea and its vastness but with
the paths of the rivers winding their way homeward. For the aim of the Star is to
bring the light of illumination to each individual’s personal journey home.
The story of the Star is inseparable from that of the Tower and of the
Devil. As Lucifer the Devil is the Star, fallen from the towering heights of glory
to the earthly depths below.
The lament of Lucifer is echoed in the Gnostic tale of Sophia. While
yet in the heights, among the invisibles, Sophia looks still higher and is
enraptured by the light emanating from the region of the First Mystery. Ceasing
to perform the mystery of her own aeon, from that visionary moment Sophia
longs only to reach up to the higher region and has no thought but for the light
above. When, looking down into the depths, she sees the lion-faced light-power
far below, she immediately assumes it has come from above. Therefore, leaving
her twin behind, Sophia decides to descend into the lower part in order to take
that light into herself and fashion thereby a ladder to the heights.
All, however, does not go as planned. For Sophia has misunderstood
- and underestimated the lion-faced light power. Instead of devouring the lion-
faced light power as she had intended, the lion-faced light power devours all the
light power in Sophia. Trapped in the darkness and chaos Sophia sadly laments:
‘I have forgotten my mystery which heretofore I was wont to accomplish .... I
am become as a demon apart who dwelleth in matter and light is not in him.’
In terms of Tarot, Sophia’s story begins with the High Priestess in
Chokmah, the aeon of wisdom. Looking up beyond herself, the High Priestess as
Sophia is dazzled by the effulgence of light emanating from Strength: the
dancing flames of creative energy in the eternal fire. Struck, as if by lightning,
by this revelatory illumination, the High Priestess wishes to return, to be
consciously reembraced in the effulgence of Light. But she cannot. She cannot
simply deny the effect of separation and retrace her steps. The only way back is
the way forward: following the path of the lightning illumination emanating
from the source of all mystery.
Still caught up in the vision of divine fire in the goddess and the lion
of Strength, High Priestess Sophia looks down through the various emantions of
light which form the tree. Far below, at the culminating point of the path of light,
she glimpses again the lion-faced light power - the fiery vortex of energy at the
centre of the turning world: the sun at the hub of the spinning Wheel of Fortune.
Recognising this as the means of return to the region of the First
Mystery, the High Priestess Sophia descends to the Wheel in order to gather the
light into herself and thereby become the conscious expression of the dance of
life symbolised by the female and lion in harmony. Yet, like Sophia, the
descending soul in the High Priestess underestimates the lion face of the light
power. Consequently, when she descends with full intention to devour, she
instead finds herself devoured: she has confronted the lion and lost. Trapped by
the hidden snares of the spinning Wheel, caught in the unceasing cycles circling
the light power, the descended priestess is caught up in the dizzy cycles of time
where memories of other lives and other worlds fade and die, and where the
descended soul, like Sophia, must agonise, ‘my power is filled up with darkness,
and my light hath gone down into the chaos. I am become as a material body,
which hath no one in the height who will save it.’
At the lowest point of the card of the Star, the final point of descent,
there seems indeed total darkness. We do feel completely alone and abandoned.
The sense of despair may even result in illness. Yet all is by no means lost. For
watching over the Wheel’s revolutions is Temperance, sister card to the Star. The
sense of failure and abandonment, which are all part of the downturned Star
when aligned with the down-turned Wheel, are gradually reversed as
Temperance steps in to redress the balance. From the despair and blinding pain
of the Star unseen, time’s healing touch gently persuades us to lift our spirits.
With the mediating influence of Temperance our eyes are turned first towards the
five-pointed Star - the Star of love and empathy and shared oneness with the
universal pain of humanity. Slowly, through the influence of Temperance, with
eyes upraised we become again aware of the tender guidance within the Star far
above and once again, as once long ago, our hearts are filled with longing for the
love of that First Mystery which still guides the human soul. With the longing
arises too, a vague remembrance and the glimmering beginnings of
understanding. It is too early to remember what we have lost: it is enough to
experience the painful, yet healing sense of loss of something far greater than
anything we can now know. ‘Let thy light come upon me,’ cries Sophia, ‘for ... I
am in pain on account of the Light from the time when I was emanated.’
Turning a key in our hearts, the message of light from a life-long
since gone awakens a knowledge of a sense of purpose. We know there was a
reason for the descent, and a reason for the loss, and that the reason is tied up
with the mystery of the ascent to the source. With the Star comes a remembrance
of a quest, and a dawning recognition that all was not pointless, nor have we
been abandoned: the Star is always there although, particularly when
overpowered by the ‘devouring’ sun, we cannot always see it.
In the Pistis Sophia, with faith retained in darkness, despite the pain
and fear, Sophia can reason with new-found understanding: ‘Thy commandment
came upon me, and the terrors, which thou didst decree for me, have brought me
into delusion.’ Likewise with the Star there comes a recognition that each stage
is there because it is necessary to the journey. As Sophia, the High Priestess
longed to attain the inner mystery of Strength: to be able harmoniously to dance
in the divine flame without burning. Therefore she was shown the means to do
so: the path of descent and ascent. For the united harmony of Strength is attained
through facing and overcoming the terrors symbolised by the lion, and the
journey of descent and ascent is in itself that same profound confrontation with
our lion-faced terrors.

While yet caught on the turmoil of the spinning Wheel, with our
souls touched by the mercy of the faraway Star, we realise our failure to conquer
and befriend the lion. In time we realise too, however, that there is a saviour in
the heights and that we have not been abandoned. With this knowledge comes
new strength, and renewed hope. True, we have not been victorious, but nor have
we been vanquished. And, under the balanced sway of Temperance, (herself, too,
a five-pointed star), this equilibrium between loss and gain is in fact the most we
can hope for at the end of the path of descent. Only when loss and gain are
accepted in equal measure can the ascent begin: the ascent which leads us
through and then divides us from the unity of Temperance and the five-rayed
Star to continue on the path of the Star of eight rays.
In harmony with the role of the King of Cups, Temperance offers a
united draught to embrace us in the World’s loving unity. In harmony with the
Queen of Cups, the Star offers separate draughts and differentiates between the
waters of forgetfulness and the waters of remembrance. It is the latter which will
lead us back to the High Priestess.
The Star in Tarot is given traditionally the number seventeen. One +
seven = eight, and eight is the number of return, both with regard to Justice and
the lemniscate of eternity, and in regard to the cycles of the Star. The eight
pointed Star and the number eight were the attributes of Venus as the morning
and evening Star, for eight was the number of years it took for the planet to
return to the same point of the zodiac while at greatest brilliancy thus finding
itself, after eight years, back where it started.
In the Gnostic traditions of Sophia there are sometimes seven
repentances or, to use Mead’s translation: ‘turnings of the mind’ to reach beyond
to the eighth, or thirteen such turnings to lead back to where we started.
Journeying through the Tarot on the tree of life, both numbers are equally
appropriate to designate the route and stages of the journey.
With the knowledge of a mystery greater than our small lives comes
the first turning point, the first repentance of all our ignorant mistakes. With this
first turning comes the first separation to begin the ascent back up the tree. As
Venus is both evening and morning star, forerunner of the moon and the sun,
both Venus and Lucifer, so the need to separate and differentiate between that
which in reality is one, is a crucial part of the Star’s meaning. This is symbolised
in the dual directions of the pouring streams. One winds back to the source, the
point from which the waters of life stream into the sea of phenomenality. The
other leads to the shore of the phenomenal world with its carnival of emotions,
its ferris wheel of highs and lows, its joys and sorrows alternating like the
incoming and outflowing of the tides. On the one shore Temperance and the Star
are as one, and we do not remember enough to be able to differentiate between
them. We know there is something more but, being very vague about what, find
ourselves turning and turning through the phenomenal world, constantly seeking
the light above in the glare of the light below. In the other direction Temperance
and the Star are separate pages and we must be able to see through the trappings
and delusions of the phenomenal shore to read the message of undimmed
brightness calling us back to ourselves.
The Star is, first and foremost, a card of separation. Emerging from
the birthing struggles in the Tower, we leave behind the familiar walls which
have provided shelter for so long to become lonely wanderers under the vast
night sky. Rising through the darkness with our eyes fixed firmly on the beacon
of guiding light, we turn our thoughts towards the canopy of the heavens and set
out to rediscover the kingdom of the heavenly psyche.
The Star lies at the gateway to the heavens; it is the gateway to the
higher self. Yet to pass through the gateway we must become adepts in the use of
the wings of spirit so that we do not fall but can fly from the pinnacles of the
Tower. And for this we must strip away the weighty load which keeps our
thoughts earthbound.
Differentiating between what is essential and what is not essential,
what is truly important and what is simply self-esteem, we begin the stripping
away of the cataracts which mar our vision. As Inanna, on her journey through
the seven levels of the underworld, shed at each level a layer of her outer
trappings until she stood at the seventh level naked of all worldly possessions,
naked of all but her own truth, so in the Star, we must discard that which, though
still dear, would hold us back. We must turn our eyes away from the stars of
worldly ambition to pursue the light which is constant: ‘Seek ye all the Light,
that the power of the stars which is in you may live’ urges Sophia.
Yet the mystery of the Star can only be recognised by raising our
eyes to the light while we ourselves are enveloped in darkness. As part of the
night sky, the Star can only be seen in and is always surrounded by, darkness.
Just as a canopy of misfortune flew out of Pandora’s Box along with hope, so the
Star of hope is discovered amidst, and is the means of persevering through,
misfortune.
Through the balance emphasised in the alignment with Justice, loss
and gain in the Star are in equal measure. Illumined at night yet invisible by day,
the Star gives on one shore what she takes back on the other. Although the cost
at times may seem steep, the outer loss is the price of the inner gain. Similarly,
any outer gain heralded by this card will have been paid for in advance by much
painful inner searching. In the Star the cost always comes first and the gain
second - so that, especially while still in the shadow of the Tower, it may seem
that outwardly we are losing everything and we can see no benefit. For, as with
Inanna, only when everything has been discarded has the final point of descent
been reached, leading to transformation and ascent.
The Star shines over the Tower at the moment of breakthrough for, in
the language of symbolism, the Star is itself the herald of rebirth: Venus ushering
in the dawn; Sirius marking for the Egyptians the New Year, the birthday of the
goddess and the regeneration of the land through the annual flooding of the Nile.
Proclaiming the imminent inundation of the Nile, Sirius was a
portent of salvation: of the land and all who lived there on. It marked a return to
the beginning: a new year, a new start, a rebirth. It was a sign that the cup of life,
almost drained, would be replenished and thus would return to the fullness of its
earlier state. It was a sign that life would continue.
Sirius, the brightest of the fixed stars, is in fact the mundane chakra
of Daath, while both Sirius and Venus jointly share the role of the eight rayed
star of the star crowned queens of heaven. As Aphrodite was Venus, so Isis was
Sirius, while both Sirius and Venus were sacred to both Ishtar and Inanna.
On a cylinder seal from Mesopotamia (circa 2334-2154 BC) Inanna
is shown in stately pose as a winged mother goddess with the eight rayed star
shining upon her. A crown composed of three tiers of crescent horns enclosing
an image of the sacred mountain is on her head while one foot rests sedately on
the back of a roaring lion, whose jaws she seems effortlessly to hold open with
some form of staff or branch.
Here, in this seal many of the symbols of the goddess which have
found their way into Tarot are united: the wings of Temperance enabling
unhindered ascent and descent, the sacred mountain which is both the Tower and
the body of the Empress, the crescent horns of the High Priestess in three tiers
which again signify the union between the High Priestess and the threefold
nature of the Empress, the eight rayed star itself and of course the roaring lion of
Strength.
Celebrated by the auspicious presence of the Star, Inanna has
fulfilled her journey to become a ‘completed soul.’ She has survived the journey
into the lower realms to reascend as the ‘Lone Star,’ who ‘looks in sweet wonder
from heaven.’ Imbued by the power of her eight rayed star light, after her return
from the depths, Inanna is ‘the lady of the evening,’ the lady of the morning,’
and, in her most awesome epiphany, ‘the lady who ascends into the heavens.’
She has realised the triple nature of the goddess within herself and united the
light power of the three worlds. Thus she herself has become the vision of light:
the star showing the way.
Yet without the help of Enki, the great magician, Inanna could never
have survived her ordeals. At the darkest hour, when Inanna, having come as far
as she could alone, had reached the seventh gate only to be hung on the hook of
death, it was Enki (whose symbol is two vessels of flowing water), who sent the
means of salvation to restore her to life. In Greek myth the role of Enki is taken
by Hermes, who descends in person into the underworld to lead Persephone back
to light, though only after she has tasted the seven pomegranate seeds. Similarly,
in the tale of Sophia, it is only after Sophia has uttered her seven, or thirteen
repentances that the guiding saviour, who has watched compassionately yet
unseen throughout, is able to intervene to lead Sophia back to her origins.
At the decisive point, therefore, while completely in the clutches of
darkness, each had restored in them the light of the star: the light of navigation
and promise of salvation. This is the symbolic significance of the Star. The Star
provides that much needed glimmer of hope in the darkness, the promise of
eventual salvation and enlightenment, after the times of trial.
The cycles of the Star in Tarot begin by showering light into the
jagged, empty chasms of our lives and showing us that we have travelled as far
as we can in a given direction. It is time to change course and renavigate our
route. Turning voluntarily through separation and loss we stumble blindly
through the veiling mists of hopelessness until, when we can travel no further
alone, the mist is lifted from our eyes. Like a shepherd come in search of a stray
lamb, the Star of hope reappears before us to promise an eventual end to our
troubles and to steer us through the most difficult stage of the journey.

The ascent back up the tree from Malkuth is a journey through the
seven aeons to reach the eighth: the invisible sefirah of Daath. Yet, within the
path of Tarot, even within each sefirah is a journey through seven turnings of the
mind to reach beyond. For in each sefirah there is a miniature Tower of seven
levels, emergence from which leads to rebirth or entry into the next aeon and the
next Tower. From the perspective of the Magician or of the twin-self left in the
High Priestess, the seven levels of the Tower descend back to the source; while
from the shore of the Wheel they seem to ascend back to source. It is a journey,
then, both of coming home, and of going home. Through the Tower journey
which is simultaneously descent and ascent we travel en-route to the higher light
as the three wise men travelled to the place of nativity by following the guiding
star. Within each Tower we pass through a journey of seven levels to reach the
point of death and rebirth. And each time we do so we are undertaking the
journey of Inanna or of Sophia, to confront and pass through our terrors, and
emerge reborn from our own darkness into daylight. Each time it is the Star of
hope shining above the Tower that reminds us of our destination and keeps us
going.
Through the seven sefirot below the abyss we pass through seven
such inner Towers to reach Daath. Yet 7 x 7 = 49, and 4+9 = 13. The same
passage therefore which, from one perspective is a repeated journey through 7
stages to reach beyond to the 8th, is seen, from the completed perspective of the
Emperor, as a journey through 13 turnings of the mind to reach Daath. Even on
reaching Daath, however, the ultimate destination still beckons. For in Daath too
there are 7 steps leading to the 8th. Only the journey through the final seven
veils of knowledge takes us beyond the non-sefirah of Daath to the nothingness
of the Fool.

On the cylinder seal Inanna has the star at her head and the lion at
her feet. In Tarot, however, although the outer gate of the Star has been reached,
the mystery of the lion, and with it the ascent to the heavens has not yet been
fully assimilated. It is the full potency of the lion face of the light power which
we first set out to confront, and thus with it the third face of the goddess, the face
of Strength, which now draws us like a lodestar to realize the true potential that
lies within.
For in reaching Daath the journey is by no means over. Emerging
from the mystical Tower in Daath into the illuminating presence of the Star
celebrates the reunion of the worlds of the Empress and of the High Priestess.
Yet shining high over the Tower to steer us further is the Star of 17 as 3+2+11+1
= 17. This is the Star uniting the Empress and the High Priestess with Strength
and the Magician. It is the counterpart of the Star by which Inanna, with Enki’s
assistance, was able to ascend to the heavens. It is the Star which, as the union of
the Magician and the threefold nature of the goddess is the equal of the Moon.
As such, it is the means of navigating and surviving the Moon’s mysteries.
Following the light of this higher Star we need still to go beyond
ourselves - as, in the High Priestess, we originally set out to do. In travelling
further we travel now under the guidance of the eight (1+7) pointed Star which is
the union of the passion cross and the cross of equilibrium as the tree of life.
This is the eight-pointed Star which unites all points of the tree, from Kether to
Malkuth. It is the double cross which reunites the Star in Tarot once again with
Temperance. Through her own luminous wisdom, Temperance maintains the
light of the above in the below. Contrariwise, the Star must hold on to the light
of wisdom wrestled from the lower world. The Star preserves the memory of all
we have learnt through our arduous journey. For it is in the ‘fetters of Wisdom’
that we find our strongest defence against the onslaught of the upper plains.
Guided by the higher epiphany of the 17th Star we approach the
most difficult stage of the journey. For that which lies ahead is, in intensity,
equal to that which has gone before. The cards of Tarot yet to pass through after
the Star total in themselves seventy-eight (18+19+20+21+0), which is the
number of cards in the whole Tarot cycle. In the last stage of the journey of 78,
or 7 to 8, we meet, in concentrated measure, everything we have met before.
Preserved in the memory of the Star we do now have, to sustain us, the vision of
the Tower of Enlightenment. It is sustenance we will need as once more we are
drawn into the rhythms of the Moon.
 Chapter Fourteen: The Moon
Know that the world is eating and eaten.
(Rumi, Mathnawi, Bk 3. L.30)

In the four phases of the Moon are brought together in Tarot the four
expressions of the supernal triangle: the Magician and the goddesses three. The
Moon is the symbolic hearth of the Magician’s Maya, expressed through the
goddesses three. It is the heartland of deceptive illusion. Yet it is, too, the
heartland of underlying truth.
The Empress who ensnares us in the playful world of samsara, only
to ferry us across the seas of knowledge to the shores of wisdom, has her own
temple in the Moon. The High Priestess, who in herself is the light of darkness
and the silence of the inner reaches balanced between the twin pillars of light
and dark, likewise has her Moon temple. Fiery Strength, who gives to the Tarot
Moon her own light and her own devouring darkness, has here too a temple. And
the temple of each is one and the same.
For the Moon is the temple in which the mysteries of the Magician as
the lord of the Moon and the mysteries of the three-fold goddess as Moon
mistress merge into one. It is the temple of the evolution of myth, and the
custodian of meaning. In the Tarot Moon are to be found all the pulses and
rhythms which together create the patterns of the unconscious both personal and
collective - the same patterns which underlie and give meaning to the cycles of
our lives.
There can be no understanding of our own meaning without
understanding of our own personal myth, and there can be no understanding of
our own myth without understanding of our inner Moon. Whoever seeks to
understand the mind-journey of the human must go beyond what is human into
the non-human reaches of the Moon. The Moon is the gateway to worlds other
than the human. It is the borderland where all planes meet and where the skin of
humanity, which we adopt for a human world, can no longer be the only skin.
Passing through the gates of the Moon takes us deep into ourselves where
humanity is left behind. It is a dangerous venture. The dogs howl in warning.
The deceptively still crab waits by the drowning water’s edge, ready to grasp us
and drag us under when we fail. Yet, if like the dogs, we stay howling on this
side of the gates, afraid to enter, we have already failed. It is a precarious
predicament. Not for nothing has the Moon, for so long, been associated with
madness.
In meaning, the Moon in Tarot is most closely affiliated with the
Devil card. It is the same chains of the mind which bind us in both, the same
creeping shadow lurking through both, the same mystery of light and dark which
dazzles in both. As in the Devil, the dangers of not getting to grips with the
influence of the inner Moon can be seen the world over. We need only to pick up
a newspaper to see not just individuals, but groups collectively caught up in
projected delusions. Moon madness belongs not just in the mental hospitals.
Moon madness pervades our lives. Yet the Moon path is also the means to free
us from our madness, if we can withstand the freedom.
If, in Tarot, there can be said to be an area approximating hell, then
that area is the twilight area of the Moon in connection with the Devil. Any hell
here designated is, however, forged and maintained in the furnaces of the mind
and by the cruelty of the human which borders on the non-human. Sovereign
over the earthly, nocturnal realms, the Moon presides over a reign of darkness
and mortal suffering. To this darkness she brings the promise of the Sun’s light
and the prophecy that in the eventual rays of morning the deeds of darkness will
be unmitigatingly exposed. Yet the Moon herself partakes of this darkness. She
could not maintain rule and order in her kingdom of night if she did not
understand it, and to understand it she must accept and understand the role of her
own darkness. Hers is both the darkness of peace and the darkness of pain, the
darkness which is empty of all illusion and the darkness which is filled with the
nightmares of the imagination. It is the darkness which devours the weakened
crescent, yet it is the darkness too in which awakens new life. For this darkness
which can destroy, can destroy also delusion; by contrast, the very brightness of
the Moon which can bring healing to the dark can also dazzle into the madness
of maya. The slippery Moon partakes as much of heaven as it partakes of hell,
for the gates of the Moon are where the one passes into the other. Home of the
threefold mother, the Moon can be, and frequently is, a beneficial and protective
card, often shielding us from our own responses to delusion. Yet its qualities are,
always, borderline.
For example, in shifting through the unreal to the real, the Moon can
give rise to a healthy sense of suspicion. In beginning to realise that all is not as
it seems, the Moon can make us mistrustful of appearances. We begin to
question what we see. However, we are then faced with the problem of the
wavering borderline of knowing when to take something on trust and when we
need to be wary. Taken to extremes, the suspicion denoted by the Moon card can,
far from dispelling delusion, leave us more deluded than when we started. We
may begin to cast doubt on perfectly innocent acts and impute false motives
which have no more basis in reality than the original delusion we sought to
dispel. With the Moon card, care always needs to be taken that the destruction of
one delusion does not give rise to another as we swing like a pendulum between
extremes. The only safe path with the Moon is the middle way of the High
Priestess between the two pillars of light and dark, the path which forms the
horizon between the hidden and the revealed.
The Moon is the gateway through which light passes into darkness
and darkness into light. It is the gateway between the Magician and his magic,
the ephemeral and the eternal, the imagination and truth. Neither wholly
daemonic nor wholly divine but nevertheless containing both, the Moon is the
gateway too, to psychic wholeness. Yet to make whole means, firstly, to
sacrifice.
Sacrifice is crucial to the symbolic moon; its reference, however, is
not to any external reality but to the psychic cycles of the soul’s journey. It is the
psychic expression of the sacrificial gods we first encountered in the Magician
become Emperor, such as Dionysos and Osiris, which are important also to the
Moon. The four of the Emperor as the symbolic number of the search for
wholeness through self-giving is reflected in the four quarters of the Moon. In
passing through its own wholeness, the Moon passes through and integrates the
four quarters, from light to dark, and back to light, in the process sacrificing
itself to itself in order to retain itself in entirety through unconditional self-
giving.
In the matriarchal stream of myth which has imbued the Moon with
the symbolism and association of the triple goddess, the fourth complementary
and completing face of the Moon was the Moon as lord of woman. Yet the Moon
as lord of woman was also the Moon as son/lover or sacrificed king who was
torn to pieces. Such was Dionysos, torn limb from limb and the pieces thrown
into a cauldron then subsequently restored, and such too was Osiris. Both were
gods who passed to the symbolism of the sun while retaining the symbolism of
the moon, thereby uniting both within themselves.
The Osiris myth abounds in moon associations. Whereas Set was the
god of night and darkness, Osiris was the light giving moon whose reign was
brought to an end in its twenty-eighth year. It was while out hunting by the light
of a full moon that Set rediscovered the chest containing the corpse of Osiris and
this time dismembered the corpse into fourteen or fifteen pieces, signifying the
waning of the Moon in the second half of the lunar month. The burial chest in
which Osiris finally approached the Sun was crescent shaped.
Osiris, like Dionysos, and like Jesus subsequently, signified the life
which is destroyed and yet is resurrected. Osiris was called the ‘eternal and
everlasting.’ Dionysos, like Jesus, was the everlasting life. All three pointed to
the mysteries of resurrection, to life after death and to the immortality of the
soul. This is their relevance to the Moon.
The connection of the Moon with the soul goes back to ancient
times. The Moon as a symbol of death and resurrection relates to that which is
immortal within us. Aligned with the threefold goddess however, the Moon
presides too over the cycles of time. In alchemy the realm of the perishable is
said to begin with the moon. As the passage, therefore, between the earthly and
the eternal, the Moon is concerned more particularly with how that which is
immortal interacts with the cycles of time.
The illusive powers of maya associated with the Moon are a key
factor in binding the soul to the spinning cycles of the Wheel of Fortune, the
cycles of the waxing and waning of a physical body turning through a physical
world. In the language of symbolism, through the gateway of the mythical Moon
the soul enters into and becomes subject to the laws of time, and when the cycle
of time is completed, according to Plutarch, the Moon received in turn the souls
of the dead.
The two creatures which are associated in a great many cultures with
the Moon are the crab and the hare. Astrologically connected with Cancer, the
house of the Moon, the crab has found its way into many traditional Tarot
illustrations. Shedding its shell only to don a new one, the crab became a natural
emblem for the resurrection of the dead. Yet, because of its backward and
sideways movement the crab could symbolise, too, the negative aspects of the
Moon. As such it was associated with the dwindling of the moon and the
devouring face of the Mother. Pointing to the foreboding, almost heartbreaking
strife which can be associated with the Moon path, the crab foretold of ill and
misfortune as a necessary encounter on the road to resurrection.
Resurrection and immortality are likewise symbolic attributes of the
hare. In Chinese folklore the elixir of immortality is mixed by a hare in the
moon. It has been said the word Tao, the Way or road, originally referred to the
phases of the moon. Pursuing the secrets of immortality, the early Taoists sought
for the secret of the moon’s ability to renew itself, and to search for the Tao
therefore was to search for the secrets of the moon.
In the west the hare was an attribute of Eostre, who gave her name to
Easter, the time when mortality gives way to the immortal. As the Easter bunny
who brings the Easter egg - the resurrected moon - the hare has retained its place
in Christianity alongside the Easter festival of the three Marys and the
resurrected Christ (which is celebrated still on the Sunday following the first full
moon after the vernal equinox). Yet the resurrection of Christ only occurs after
the crucifixion. Comparatively, Indian folklore furnishes the typical tale of how
once a hare, who was teaching charity, contentment and self-sacrifice, was
visited by a disguised god. The hare, having nothing to offer in the way of food,
cleansed himself and threw himself on the flames to feed the hungry guest. The
hare, however, did not burn, for the flames became cold. The hare had achieved
immortality. He had attained to the mysteries of the moon. Hence the moon is
known as Shashi, from Shasha, the word for hare.
The significant Moon element in the hare story is the sacrifice of the
life force in the mortal frame in order to sustain life in the immortal. It is this
feeding of the flames of immortality with the bread of the temporal world which
has led to so much cruel misunderstanding, as, for example in the ancient,
universal practice of human sacrifice.
The reality of the Moon card is psychic reality. It is the same reality
which is expressed through myths, and it is the same reality pervading the whole
of Tarot. As with myth, Tarot is not to be interpreted literally. It is a symbolic
system, and even the elucidation of the meanings of Tarot must remain couched
in symbolic language. For Tarot’s mother tongue is the syntax and imagery of
dream and of myth. Hence my own continuous use of mythic figures to elucidate
the meanings of Tarot. When, for example, I speak of Hermes or the goddesses
three, I do not mean to imply the existence of some religious deity which needs
to be worshipped at a roadside shrine. The reality of the mythic figures, as myth
came to realise, is a psychic reality within us. They represent aspects of our own
psyche. Their stories belong to the healing imagery of the psyche, guiding us on
the path to wholeness - the same path which is the path of the Fool in Tarot.
This may seem obvious enough, yet in any attempt to understand
Tarot it cannot be emphasized enough that what is offered as symbolism should
not be misread as being literal. In the Moon card this emphasis becomes
imperative. For so involved is the Moon card with our psychic selves, that what
it postulates seems only too real - and so it is - but it’s truth is symbolic and not
literal. As with the ancient, enacted custom of sacrifice, the greatest dangers of
the Moon card are posed when the symbols of psychic reality are projected onto
an external stage and people try to enact in literal fashion what appertains only to
the realm of inner truth. Today this finds expression still in the cruelty,
bloodshed and scapegoating we see all around us. Yet we can never attain to the
truth of the revelations of the inner Moon as long as its influence is channelled
into enacted events. Instead we fall victim to our own delusions. We become
another casualty of Moon blindness.
The Moon is concerned with the mysteries of the eternal in the
temporal, of the reality of that which gives breath to the mortal frame and which
survives the demise of the mortal. It is concerned with the passage from mortal
to immortal, from body to soul, and from soul to Spirit. Yet, at each turn, the
next stage of the journey can only be reached by relinquishing our attachment to
the former. Transmuting the mortal into the immortal, the Moon designates the
surrender of temporal needs to the needs of the immortal soul, and the surrender
in turn of the needs of the soul to the eternal life of the spirit.
Burning away the mortal coil in the icy flames of eternal life, in the
Moon it is death itself which is killed, mortality that is sacrificed to immortality.
But with the surrendering of the mortal ego we must be prepared to surrender all
the participating ties of life that bind us to a mortal world - and which can be so
very hard to relinquish.
The cutting away of attachment to the temporal is where the Moon in
Tarot directly overlaps with the cards of Death and the Hermit. The latter are the
two majors placed in Yesod, the Moon sefirah of Qabbalah, leading to the
kingdom. Yesod is also called Chai, which has a numerical value of eighteen, the
number of the Tarot Moon. The Moon designates, albeit at a higher level, the
same mysteries as Death and the Hermit in Yesod, with the difference that here
the central focus has moved deep within. Whereas the Hermit must look both
ways, keeping one foot in the outer world and one in the inner, the Moon
demands that we turn our full attention to the inner world to solve the riddle of
ourselves. With the Moon we must look not through the two eyes of the physical
but through the central third eye: the eye opening onto the psychic life: the eye
of the Moon wombing the fiery iris of the Sun.
The third eye is the door into the concealed planes of the psychic
world, the invisible underlay to the world we see. Only through the third eye can
we penetrate to the underlying reality which gives shape and meaning to the
patterns of our lives. Only through the third eye can we find that inner truth
which the Hermit, on his voyage to release the Hanged Man, seeks to uncover.
The third eye, in the Indian pantheon, is the gift of Shiva. It is the
central point of Shiva’s trident. When the two eyes of the physical are blinded by
the delusions of the world, leaving only a world in darkness, then the saving
light of the third eye is opened to restore sight to the world. Into the darkness the
single light of the Moon returns to bestow its protective wisdom.
Lord of the Moon, and of the goddesses three, protector of the
cosmos with the illuminating moon of wisdom in his matted hair, Shiva protects
against inundation by the waters of the unconscious, which is always a danger
when opening the door into the psychic world.
Because of the ever-constant threat of being mesmerized by and
misinterpreting the contents thrown up by the Moon card and projecting them
onto the external stage, the Moon denotes a need to passively stand back, for a
period, from active involvement in worldly affairs and to set time aside for
meditation in order to monitor what is happening within and to exercise constant
scrutiny and self-control over the inner evolution. The restrictions associated
with the Moon path are, with the Moon card, frequently imposed by external
conditions. Where this is not so, voluntary limitation may be in order.
Concerned with sustaining the soul, the Moon path usually
necessitates the austere path of the Hermit to the Hanged Man. In Christian
asceticism the darkness of the moon when nearest to the sun was interpreted as
an allegory that the nearer we come to fulfilling the journey to the Christ centre,
or creative soul centre, the more the trappings of the external world fall away
and the outward self is destroyed.
The matted hair of Shiva is likewise a sign of asceticism. For, as lord
of the Moon, Shiva too is concerned with the path of austerities, withdrawing
into the mountains of meditation for long periods while his threefold consort
completes the symbolism of the Moon journey. Following the trials of fire and
water, Parvati throws herself in the sacrificial flames and is reborn as the Mother,
Uma, the ‘bright one.’ Uma, in reality the goddess Devi, continues the tradition
of austerity by standing for several centuries in a river, with the water reaching
as far as her middle but no further. Her austerities fulfilled - having proven that
she is able to immerse herself in the waters of life for long periods without being
totally submerged, Uma-Devi is able to convince her husband Shiva that it is
time to return to the manifest world of creation and desire. Thus Shiva, the great
ascetic who is himself god of desire and longing, returns after long austerity to
the Mahamaya, the great magical manifest world of his goddess consort, Devi-
Kali.
As the moon alternates with the sun as bestower of light, so Shiva
alternates between meditation and creativity, between withdrawal from the world
and involvement in it. He alternates, in other words, between the roles
symbolised in the Moon and the Sun, or between the cards of the Lovers and the
Hanged Man in Tiferet.
With the inner searching of the Hermit and the periodic cycles of
change presaged in the card of Death, the relationship between the Moon card in
Tarot and the cards situated in the Moon sefirah of Yesod is self-evident. Yet,
just as Daath is the concealed mystery of both Tiferet and Yesod, so the cards of
both Sun and Moon in Daath participate in the mystery of all three circles of
Tarot. Like Strength and the Magician in Kether, together the Moon and Sun in
Daath form the united partnership of yin and yang rolling through all thing.
Mythically the moon and sun are inseparable. They are the twin
fruits of the world tree, or themselves the two trees of paradise offering the food
of life and death. Balancing one another in the rhythms of life, they complement,
contain and oppose one another, as do the quaternity of the Hanged Man, the
Lovers, the Hermit and Death, all of which are influenced by the night of the
Tarot Moon with its quaternity of meditation, creation, relinquishing and
withdrawal. When the Moon card relates to protecting and nourishing, the Sun is
concerned with surrendering and destroying. When the Moon relates to
relinquishing and withdrawal through meditation, the Sun is concerned with
creating and sustaining. As one is active the other is passive. As one appears the
other withdraws.
On the outer planes, the Moon reflects the Sun’s light. On the inner
planes the Sun is wombed and nourished by the Moon. In the waters of the
Moon, says alchemy, Sol is hidden like a fire yet the flames of Sol hidden in the
Moon are no ordinary flames. These are the flames of life which, although they
can and will destroy, can also inure against the weapons of the mortal world.
Containing their own totality, both Sun and Moon are creation and
destruction. Uniting the opposites within them, both are androgynous. On the
one hand the Moon is the Magician. Early Yahweh, Shiva, Thoth, Osiris, all are
or were Moon gods, as is Hermes who, according to Plutarch sits in and goes
round with the moon. On the other hand, the Moon in its feminine aspect is the
threefold Mother. In fact, just as the hare is an attribute of Hermes, Aphrodite,
and their son Eros, so the symbolism of the Moon contains the trinity of father,
mother and child. The Moon is the unconscious night which is sacrificed, or
sacrifices itself, to give life, as both father and mother, to conscious day. It is the
receptacle and resting place of the illuminating spirit, the container and nourisher
of the flames of life.
As the four of the Emperor opens to reveal the two triads formed by
the Lovers and the Hanged Man in Tiferet, so, encompassing the Emperor, the
Tarot Moon opens to reveal the Sun of the Love card which, having ascended to
the dizzy peaks of its noon-day until it can climb no further, must then relinquish
its glories and follow the path of descent where the Love card crosses over into
the Hanged Man.
In one of its aspects the Hanged Man can be related to the traitor
who, like Judas, turns and gives up to death that which he once did support.
Similarly, having carried and borne through darkness the light of the flame of
life, the inner Moon in its final stage turns in devouring attack on the Sun. This,
psychologically, is the moment of eclipse when the spreading blackness of the
Moon’s sphere ‘swallows’ the golden disc of the Sun and, suddenly, darkness
reigns.
 The eclipse, occurring incidentally every eighteen years, was
regarded in earlier times, and thereby found its way into myth, as a moment of
grave crisis. Set blinded the sun child Horus, god was attacking god; the forces
of chaos had spread beyond control and threatened to envelope the world. Light
and life were suspended in the balance and the outcome was uncertain. Even
when the outcome proved favourable, that is, when the danger had passed and
the light returned, the eclipse itself was still seen as an ominous portent, a
warning to restore the strength of the inner light against the forces of darkness,
for the hour of revelation was nigh.
With the cyclic darkness of the Moon and its symbolic culmination
in the blackness of the eclipse, we are confronted in Tarot directly with the third
face of the goddess: black Isis as the third face of threefold Isis, the dark face of
Diana with her baying hounds, black Kali, the dark face in the Shiva pantheon,
who, with her dark pupils enlarged in her blood red eyes, mirrors the moment of
eclipse when the black ball of the moon is haloed by the blazing red corona of
the sun.
Kali-Ma, the black Mother, concludes a trinity with Parvati and
Devi, maiden and mother, just as Hecate does with Persephone and Demeter.
All: Isis, Diana, Kali, Hecate, are sovereign of the night road and keepers of the
gates to the world of the dead. Accompanied by their swarms of spirits and
demons, all hover invisibly around the Lovers and the Hanged man, for all are
guardians of the crossroads where hangings took place and where the dead await
direction. Hecate and Diana both are accorded the title ‘trivia,’ of the three ways,
in reference to their patrol of the crossroads - a post Hecate shares with Hermes,
god of imagination and likewise psychopomp of the dead.
This aspect of ghosts and spectres is important to the Moon card. For
the imaginative Moon relates to the borderland where one reality crosses over
into another. The Moon is concerned with opening the doors of the mind to make
us aware of other planes of vision that are accessible through the psychic senses.
As such, its influence can lead us in many directions. The Moon card can relate
to clairvoyance, telepathy, all forms of ESP and psychic experience. It can refer
to mediumship and spiritualism, to ghostly apparitions and strange encounters. It
can refer to the study of parapsychology or to occult areas of interest. More
negatively, it can refer to the misuse of drugs.
All repetitive patterns of behaviour appertain to the Moon card. This
becomes singularly emphasized in the area of addiction. The especial temptation
with the Moon path is drug addiction. In seeking to unlock the closed gates of
the mind, drugs may seem to offer a golden, and readily obtainable, key. Yet to
subscribe to this view is to completely underestimate, and undervalue the depths
of the mysteries of the Moon, i.e. the depths of the mysteries of the mind.
With drugs we do not pass through the Moon cycle, we become
caught up in it and find ourselves unable to leave. With dreams seeping into
reality and reality into nightmare, we find ourselves enclosed within the Moons
of our own minds, locked within the circle of our own worlds, only now there is
no ‘golden key’ to get out. Trapped in the world of night we have become
prisoners to the darkness of the dark of the Moon.
Misuse of drugs may be an obvious example of the meaning invested
in the sphere of the Moon, but the Moon’s terrain is by no means so curtailed, or
so precise. The Moon is in fact concerned with any form of intoxication which
can blind and bind us to an illusive and elusive world. Giving rise to so much
confusion and loss of way, in the Moon path is hidden the recipe for the elixir of
immortality, mixed by the hare in the Moon. The ambrosia of the gods is served
in the cup of the Moon, while Soma, symbolising the mysterious beverage which
ensures victory after death, became the personification of the Moon itself.
As a plant soma was given an integral part in the ancient sacrificial
offerings, and thus began its identification with the moon. As the extraction of
the juice became symbolic of the ambrosia which bestows immortality, soma
rose through the ranks, from sacrificial offering, to intoxicating - and
hallucinogenic - beverage, to finally, the god of the intoxicating beverage: the
waters of life. In this Soma compares to Dionysos, god of intoxicating wine who
himself represented the elixir in life. Dionysos was ‘the liquid fire in the grape,
the sap thrusting in a young tree, the blood pounding in the veins of a young
animal, all the mysterious and uncontrollable tides that ebb and flow in the life
of Nature.’
Dionysos, like Soma was the mystery of the cycle of life itself. Yet,
as such, along with the inebriation of participation in life, both identified another
aspect of the Moon story. Periodically inflicted with leprosy, Soma becomes
representative of the devastating illnesses and afflictions of the body which have
long been filed in the Moon’s sphere of meaning. Dionysos, meanwhile, was
frequently accompanied by madness.
In adulthood Dionysos was himself driven mad by the great goddess
Hera. When, however, as a child, Dionysos was hidden from Hera’s wrath in the
house of the King of Orchmenus, the unfortunate king became so demented that
he mistook his own son for a stag and killed him while out hunting.
This latter is a typical moon motif. It reappears in the myth of
Acteon. While out hunting, Acteon stumbles across the moon goddess bathing
and is so mesmerized by his discovery that he stares in rapt wonder. Enraged,
Diana transforms the imprudent intruder into a stag, in which form he is torn
limb from limb by his own hounds.
Carelessly intruding where he was not yet ready to enter, seeing what
he was not yet able to understand, Acteon was torn to pieces, and unlike
Dionysos and Osiris, was not restored. He had not conquered the Moon
mysteries. He had succumbed to them. He had fallen into the savage hands of the
Moon goddess as mistress of the hunt and had no power of his own to withstand
hers.
Had Acteon been properly prepared, rather than turning on him, his
own hounds would have been his guides and protectors on the Moon path. Hence
the need, signified by Shiva and Devi, of mastering oneself by staying close to
the narrow path of self- control when wandering through the Moon zone.
Wander off the path and our fate is that of Acteon - the soul is torn to pieces by
the savageness of our own uncontrolled nature. Stay on the path and the
protective Moon will herself guide us through the recurrent cycles of life until
the long night is over and the Moon gates reopen in the east for the dawning of
day.
The Moon is, concurrently, guardian of the hunt and protectress of all
life. The sacrificial hare is frequently shown in the hands of hunters. Shiva,
protector of the cosmos, is both god of hunters and protector of animals. Shiva is
the hunting god who, with his threefold wife, dances the dance of life which is
simultaneously the dance of death. Killing to preserve life through the food
chain, without death-giving Kali, the devouring face of the Mother releasing the
spirit into ever new forms, the cycle of life could not continue.
There is no inconsistency in this. Nor is there a lack of respect for
life. But there is a need for balance. Of such a need our Paleolithic ancestors, in
tune with the moon’s rituals, were far more aware than we. Accepting what was,
for them, a very real need to kill in order to survive, they nevertheless respected
the life they took and took only what they needed. In this way, though killing,
they hoped simultaneously to contribute to the pattern of preservation of life.
Only we, who with our great progressive leaps forward have learnt to destroy the
balance in nature, are carelessly set, like Acteon, on destroying ourselves.
Sovereign of the life cycle, the Moon relates to the natural ebb and
flow of the life of the body. But the body, be it human or animal, must eat to stay
alive. And life to one can often mean death to another. In the cycles of the Moon
of eating and eaten, we devour time, until time devours us. We devour life, until
life devours us. In our cruelty we even feed on one another’s pain, hoping
thereby to anesthetise our own.
There is no denying the pain necessitated in the Moon cycle as we
are faced with overcoming our own cruelty. Nor is there any denying the
potential for beauty as we are faced with the challenge of nourishing the divine
within. The Moon brings light to the dark night sky, and through sacrificing
herself to herself, shows us how to enter our own darkness to rescue our own
light. The Moon reveals how the path of self-giving is the path to restore
wholeness, and how the path of giving birth to our own light is the only way of
overcoming, and being released through our own darkness.
None of us, in this life, can recognise the full extent of the pain and
salvation touched on in the Moon card. It is far beyond our mortal
understanding. To grasp it we must understand our own mortality, and our own
immortality. We must, like Chiron, be prepared to relinquish our immortality for
mortality, and then relinquish our mortal coil to feed the eternal flame. For only
when we are prepared to die in the fires of the Moon are we ready to withstand
the blazing energy of the Sun.
The complex of myths associated with the Moon originate in the
primordial layers of the psyche. So deep are they that, like the Paleolithic cave
paintings, their mystery can only be experienced by opening ourselves to our
own depths and voluntarily venturing into the remote reaches of the mind.
Closed off from the cares of the modern age, we carefully make our way to the
creative borders where the streams of mortal consciousness flow from and wind
their way back to the immortal source. Here, in the crater of creation, we risk
being devoured by our own inner power. Yet only here, in the cradle of creation,
by sacrificing our own power, can we be resurrected as our own Sun.
 Chapter Fifteen: The Sun
The face of the Real
Is covered with a golden disk.
Open it, O sun,
That we may see the nature of the Real.
(Brihadaranyaka Upanishad)

The Moon card in Tarot denotes a precipitous passage within the life
journey where, in danger of losing ourselves through succumbing to the
delusions of the kingdom of night, we must, like the Moon, remain within yet
apart from the darkness. Contained within ourselves, we must remain a part of,
yet detached from our surroundings. Where the night-passage ends we leave
behind the restrictions of the Moon card to emerge through the gates of the east
on the triumphant chariot of the rising Sun.
With the soft red glow of sunrise dispelling the chill of darkness, we
enter with the Sun into a glowing arena of light and joyful life. Complement and
opposite of the Moon, the Tarot Sun is all that the Moon is, and all that the Moon
is not. As with the Moon, the Sun is not without its dangers. The dangers here,
however, stem from an excess of the Sun’s beneficence, are by no means
inevitable and never without warning. Heralding the radiance of inner fulfilment,
the Sun is in fact, usually one of the most favourable of portents within Tarot.
Where it precedes the Moon, the Star is the guiding oracle
announcing that only the journey through the kingdom of night can open the way
to the desired treasure. It is Venus as the evening star, pregnant with a promise
whose fulfilment lies as yet on a distant horizon which will only be reached after
much travail. By contrast, in relation to the rising Sun the Star becomes Venus as
the morning star heralding the dawn. It is the voice of the prophet proclaiming
the imminent arrival of the life-blessing Sun. The Star here is still Venus as the
chalice of hope and desires, but the hopes and desires given voice in the Star are,
with the appearance of the Sun, about to be fulfilled.
It is to Venus, ‘the shining goddess’ that the gold-red sun of alchemy
owes its red lustre. Red is the colour of rosy-hued Aphrodite, the blushing rose
of morning rising newly born from the fathomless depths. Red is the colour of
life, of vitality and of the living pulse. It is also the colour which leads in Tarot to
the red-gold region of fire - the region of Strength with goddess and lion. As that
most ‘powerful procreative energy that ensures the survival of the race’ and ‘the
love that begets life,’ Aphrodite is at one with Strength. For it is Strength which
maintains the beating heart within the Tarot Sun. Through Venus as Aphrodite,
the goddess of Love, Strength and the Star are reunited in the burning palace of
the illuminating Sun.
In terms of Tarot, it is the dazzling vision of the light-power in
Strength above that sends the soul, High Priestess Sophia, on her journey down
the tree of knowledge-through-life in search of wisdom. This is the journey
navigated by the Star. Only when the soul has reached the Star in Daath has she
returned to what she was. In addition, with the wisdom gained through her
travails she has attained, too, to an expansion of consciousness which brings her
nearer to an understanding of the light power. To approach nearer still she needs
to understand the landscapes of the Moon. She needs to untangle the magical
webs wrought by Moon-consciousness which blind and bind with silk to the
spinning wheel.
When, through the mindscapes of the Moon, we have learnt to
nourish and sustain our own light through a world in darkness, we are ready
once more to discard the fetters necessary to the Moon card and re-enter the
arena of the Sun. We are ready to meet again on the Wheel of Life the challenge
of the fiery Sun-lion.
The Sun is our source of energy. It is the living flame at the heart of
our being, the pure force of the Self which streams into the forms of the
phenomenal self we adopt for participation in a phenomenal world. Extending its
tentacle-like rays, in the Sun we find the sheer, unstoppable force of libido
reaching out in all directions. The burning Sun represents both the will and
desire for participation in life. After the isolation of the Moon card, the Sun is a
card of involvement. It is a card of relationship, both to oneself and to the living
whole which is the world of the Self. In the Sun we find Shiva in the embrace of
Shakti, the creator in the embrace of the vital energy which gives life to the
creation, the Magician in the embrace of Strength giving rise to the creative fire
of the dance of life.
After centuries of standing in a river up to her middle while her
husband Shiva meditated, Uma (the ‘bright One’) eventually asked Kama, the
god of love and desire, to restore her husband to her. Disturbed by Kama’s
unexpected approach, Shiva opened his third eye and in the sudden blaze of
radiation Kama’s body was burnt to ashes. Nevertheless, the love god had
fulfilled his mission: Shiva was reconciled with his wife and, in their reunion,
Kama was again given form as the world filled with love. Thus Hindu myth
expresses the sense of joy in the world’s loving embrace. After the coldness of
the Moon sphere, it is this same experience of all embracing love and fulfilment
which finds expression in the Tarot Sun.
The Sun embraces all life. At the hub of our existence, it sustains our
awareness of our unity with the whole. With the Sun there is a sense of being
part of the great life drama, participating and contributing to the continual
enactment of life’s ongoing mystery - which is simultaneously the mystery of
ourselves.
With the freshness of each new day offering a clean slate, the Sun is
a card rich in opportunity and optimism. With its nurturing rays contributing to
our well-being, the Sun denotes a mood of joie de vivre.
In Tarot the Sun is given the number nineteen, and 1+9=10, the
number of the Wheel of Fortune. The Tarot Sun is the sun at the centre of the
Wheel of Life. While the Wheel of Fortune expresses the soul’s journey through
the daily round, the sun is the daily round and the invisible heart of the Wheel.
The Sun is the creative power of the soul sustaining and providing the raison
d’être for the journey.
In Qabbalah, Malkuth is the bride and Tiferet, the Sun, is the
bridegroom. Beyond, yet influencing both, is Daath, the invisible sun. In Tarot
the Lovers and the Hanged Man together portray the joy and suffering which
make up life on the Wheel and which Temperance as the mediator of the Sun and
Moon must reconcile. Yet, pulsing through all of these is the night and day of
our unfolding: the influence of the Sun and Moon in Daath.
From the Sun through the Lovers to the Wheel of Fortune flows the
stream of relationship and involvement. The emphasis from the Sun through the
Hanged Man to the Wheel of Fortune is on the healing qualities inherent in our
relationships with others and their role in restoring the relationship to oneself.
Drawing together the World and the Wheel, the Sun as an envoy of
Strength becomes the central point of fusion at which the mortal and divine
world are one and the same. The Sun is the visible symbol of the divine within:
the inner Sun being the creative heart of the spiritual life which gives meaning to
our earthly frame. From red sun to red earth the Sun brings together the heavenly
twins, the mortal and immortal and unfolds their mystery as inseparable
companions upon the world stage.
Nineteen is the number related to the sun through the luni-solar
calendar or metonic cycle. The luni-solar calendar is based on a cycle of
nineteen solar years, equaling a period of 235 lunar months (6940 days). At the
end of the nineteen year period the sun and moon occupy almost the same place
in the zodiac as they did at the commencement of the period. This in the West
has become known as the metonic cycle after its discovery by Meton in
approximately 430 BC and its subsequent adoption by the Athenians. The
Babylonians however, had made the discovery long before and based their own
calendar on the cycle of nineteen solar years.
In the White Goddess, Graves relates how every nineteen years, with
the concurrence of solar and lunar time, the sun god Apollo was newly married
at the spring solstice. He goes on to point out how, at Stonehenge the number
nineteen is commemorated in a semi-circle of nineteen socket holes, (a god was
said to visit Britain every nineteen years), while the association of the number
nineteen to the Sun was reinforced by a find in Majorca of two royal brooches or
‘kings wheels,’ dated from about 1500 BC. One brooch shows a nineteen rayed
sun. The other shows a twenty-one rayed sun bordered by nineteen semi-circles.
As the numbers of the Sun and World respectively, both nineteen and
twenty-one are relevant to Tarot, and here too they belong together. Reinforcing
one another’s meaning, the Sun and World together are a clear portent of
attainment and fulfilment. Together, they indicate the joyful arrival at the desired
goal, and the opening of entirely new prospects as we turn the page of our
destiny and enter a brighter world.
The Sun alone is a card of happiness and success. With the World the
cause for celebration is intensified with the attainment of something long wanted
and awaited. In turn, the World underlines the marriage aspect of the Sun and
Wheel, bringing out the qualities of harmony and unity in a world of diversity.
The marriage of the Sun is, however, no ordinary marriage. This is
the wedding which crowns the sun-king. It is as the wedding of Apollo every
nineteen years, or the wedding of Solomon, the wise one blessed by the sun, who
at his wedding feast on the day of the joy of his heart, was crowned by his
mother with the atara. The wedding of Sol, the Sun, is the wedding with life, and
the sun crown which is the wedding gift of the mother of life, is the crown which
gives light to all. It is the crown which coronates the return of Sophia to her
immortal self. It is the atara of atarot, the one which is many. It is, quite simply,
the crown of wisdom.
As worn in the crown of Isis between two moon horns, and as
sometimes shown in the illustrations of the High Priestess, the sun-crown is the
sun disc itself. Like the High Priestess and the Empress, Isis and her twin sister
Nephthys were said to be in the two crowns with which the king was crowned.
Isis was the mother of the sun child, Horus. She was also the mother
of Rat, the female divinity of the sun, and the eye of Ra, or the eye of the Sun. In
the Graeco-Egyptian mystery traditions of Isis, Isis was the initiator and revealer
of mysteries which culminated with the crowning of the initiand as the Sun. To
Lucius, the initiand in the Golden Ass, she says: ‘through my providence shall
the sun of your salvation arise.’ Lucius, after the long journey through darkness,
finally emerges from his ordeals reborn, as the rising sun.
‘I showed the path of the stars. I ordered the course of the sun and
moon. I am in the rays of the sun,’ Isis says of herself, much as Inanna/Ishtar
partook of the triad of sun, moon and Venus, or as the Empress is frequently
represented in Tarot as the woman clothed in the sun, with the moon under her
feet and crowned with the stars. For in Tarot as in the mystery traditions, the gift
of the crown of light is offered only to the questor who has made the descent
through the Moon spheres and, placing enough trust in the guiding memory of
the Star, has followed the course of the night journey to its conclusion to re-
emerge victorious into the illuminating presence of the Sun.
As Osiris travelled through the Moon sphere in his sun bark to
receive the atf crown of illumination, so the purified soul, on reaching the
territory of illumination, was said to have achieved ‘the passage of the Sun.’ The
mind was opened to the mystery of the celestial spheres and was able to receive
the zodiacal crown of glory. In the same way was the seeker of the pearl, the
questing soul in the Sophia tradition, arrayed once more in the vestments of
glory on returning to their true abode. And in the same way in Tarot, the High
Priestess guides us on the descent and re-ascent of the tree of life, through the
three interlocked rings of destiny which chart the course of the Chariot through
the atarot, or crowns of tarot, to lead us to the crown of illumination, the wisdom
crown of the way.
In the mysteries of Isis, as Isis was the eye of Ra, so the magician
guide Thoth was the tongue of Ra. Together they provided the power of reason
and the all-seeing wisdom which led to the crown of illumination. Similarly,
with the union of the Magician and Strength, one expresses the mental and
reasoning powers which allows for the exercise of freewill and the choice of the
path, while the other provides the power of vision to share in the play of the
unleashed imagination. It is this union which finds expression in the Sun. For the
Sun represents the dynamic fusion of the forces of the Magician and Strength:
the fire of psychic energy controlled by the conscious will.
As the burning core of continuous energy the Sun represents the life
force in all its gradations. Here we find the autonomous survival instincts rooted
in our animal nature. Yet here we find too the opening of human consciousness
to an appreciation of the beauty in life which makes us want to hold on. Here we
find the lavic streams of libido smouldering in the craters of the unconscious,
ready to inflame into conflagration any eruption of emotion from the heights of
love to the depths of hate. Yet here too is the psychic energy which sustains us
through all the tumultuous tempests of emotion until we finally reach the calm
shores at the centre of the Wheel. And here too, crowning all, is the burning will.
From the will to survive, through the will to be, to the will to become, the Sun
impels us to accept the challenge of the adventure. This is the gift of Strength:
the coronet of the newly crowned sun hero, who, through taming and making an
ally of the fiery sun lion, has learnt to channel the direction and flow of the light
power within.
The Sun is the burning countenance of rta, and rta is that which
ordains the course of the world. Rta is the way of destiny, the way of truth. The
sun mounts to the heavens in obedience to rta and the charioteer of rta is Agni:
fire. Agni harnesses the two red mares of rta and directs them in the course to be
followed, just as Apollo harnesses the energy of the sun horses and guides the
sun chariot across the sky, through the rising and the setting of its continual
round. The horses of the sun are fire and light, but their power is contained
within the fire and light of the charioteer who controls their course by overriding
their will with his own burning will. This is important to Tarot, for the dynamism
of the Sun card is freewill partnered by the raging inferno of the life force. If the
one is not tempered by the other, then, as in the myth of Phaëton, the plunge into
self-destruction may follow rapidly.
The Phaëton myth expresses both the exhilarating dangers of freewill
and the danger of under-estimating the attraction of the life force. Both are
relevant to the Sun’ s connection with the Wheel of Fortune. For, running side by
side with Judgement, the Sun bears its own justice within. The choices we make
here, and their vibrations, will be manifested in the life patterns spun on the
Wheel. The Sun offers the crown of life, but with it comes the onus of taking our
own decisions and accepting responsibility for our own lives in a world shared
with others. Life under the Sun offers the gift of freedom to realise our true
potential, but it is a gift we must learn fully to understand if we are to avoid the
pitfalls of the scorching red Sun path.
The greatest danger of the Sun lies deep in the heart of the card. In
the Sun we find the final tributary of temptation steaming backwards to the
Devil. Here, at its most unrelenting is the vociferous swirling energy of the life-
force of the unconscious which, given free reign, can blaze through us with the
vehemence of a forest fire until its rage is spent.
Yet the responsibility for any such outbreak lies ultimately at our
own door. For this is a fire we ignite ourselves. Thinking to have our wishes
granted, it is we who let our own genie out of the bottle without fully
considering the effect of giving free reign to our desires or realising the nature of
the power unleashed. Basking too long in the noon day heat, we are caught up in
the divine illusion of ourselves and blinded to everything but the immediate
satisfaction of our own pleasure. In the brightness of the Sun we meet the
Luciferian challenge at its most deceptive. Here awaits the challenge of one who
has attained to the heights and, burning with fierce pride and dazzled by their
own power, is in a position to unleash the dictates of freewill with the apparent
immunity of a merciless sun.
This in the Sun is the pivotal point of danger. In this precipitous,
dazzling moment before descent, we risk falling into the many arms of the Lord
of the flame: Shiva coursing with the rays not of Shakti but of Shakti-Kali,
violent, consuming and crushingly inhuman. Here, rolling through the merciless
Sun is the deepest strata of the river of Daath. For here awaits the challenge of
transforming the blind autonomous energy of the unconscious into the conscious
unfoldment of ourselves.
As a higher manifestation of Tiferet, Daath is the spiritual sun. As
the lower manifestation of Kether, it is the spiritual heart of the Tree. Daath is
the doorway through which the transcendent is transformed into the immanent
and the immanent retains its roots with the transcendent. Daath is the sword of
flame with which the Shekinah bridges the abyss to illuminate with wisdom the
worlds of form.
The flames of the Sun are the sapiential flames of wisdom. The fire
of the Sun is the fire of the holy-ghost. In the Sun is represented the Shekinah as
the divine immanence, waiting to bestow the crown of golden understanding: the
all-seeing eye of the enlightened seer.
One step beyond the Luciferian challenge is the door through
sunlight into that which is eternal. As we relinquish our hold on the heights and
stare not at but through the burning disc, we learn to see beyond the dazzling
surface of this world to worlds beyond. Moving from the periphery of the circle
of the Sun into the central point, we step from the borders of ego into the reality
of being.
The tunnel of light to which the Sun is the doorway is a tunnel
experienced by many people near death, yet it is a tunnel which, however briefly,
can also be approached by the living. The Sun is the passage through time into
timelessness and immortality. It is the door into the illuminating presence that
dwells within the heart. Eventually the Sun is the door, too, into the halls of
Judgement.
Reconciling the divisions between illusion and reality, the Sun
symbolizes the alliance between the immortal soul and the mortal round of
existence. Forging a partnership between destiny and freewill, with the
illumination of the Sun we are offered the opportunity to enjoy the journey while
remaining centred in ourselves. In the playground of our becoming the Sun-child
is the Fool, following the round of the Sun through the rising and the setting of
the journey.
 Chapter Sixteen: Judgement
The real journey is when the world’s dimensions are rolled away from you,
so that you see the hereafter closer to you than yourself.
(Ibn Ata’Illah. The Book of Wisdom)

With the blowing of the Shophar or ram’s horn to mark this as ‘a day
of sounding’, the Day of Judgement in the Hebrew calendar (Rosh Ha-Shanah)
begins the ten day period of penitence which ends with the Day of Atonement.
Likewise, depending on its placement within a spread, the card of Judgement in
Tarot falls within the same three phases: judgement, penitence, atonement.
Initiating a time of self-examination and self-reflection, the opening
period of Judgement is one in which we are called to account. It is, so to speak, a
karmic auditing. Bringing accounts up to date, Judgement denotes a time for
taking stock, of assessing where and why we have failed and where we have
succeeded. It is a period of examining what we have become.
Commemorating the day on which the world was conceived, the
judgement of Rosh Ha-Shanah is universal. It is the day in which all creation
passes before its creator. This traditional sense of the universal scope of
judgement and of its links with the passage of time has crossed over into Tarot,
but here it has taken its own form.
Retaining the same links with origins and evolution, Judgement
reaches both backwards and forwards, from the original conception finding
expression in the Magician to its fulfilment beyond the Magician in the
journeying of the Fool. Judgement is a card concerned with the evolution of the
life journey and with the story of the soul over time. Indeed, in some respects
time and Judgement are synonymous. Time is the book-keeper of Judgement,
reckoning each moment to account. Working through time, Judgement relates to
the passage of the soul over many life cycles.
The justice of Daath is the cosmic adjudicator, presiding over the
total expression of the cosmos, from microcosm to macrocosm, revealing the
symbiotic relationship of one and all. The same role in Tarot appertains to
Judgement. Yet Judgement within Tarot ranges far beyond this life, to lives long
past and lives to come. It ranges beyond life on the earth plane to the reality of
other lives on other planes of being. Paving the way for the kingdom, Judgement
is concerned with the destiny of this world as one world among many, and to the
destiny of life on this planet as one among many.
 In its Justice aspect, the extension through time links Judgement
steadfastly to the chains of karma, while its universal scope makes of this not
simply a reference to individual karma, but to karmic reverberations affecting
people as a group, be it as family, society, nation, or as a world.
Facing the past, then, Judgement relates to karma and thereby to
Justice, redressing the balance after past mistakes to urge us back to where we
should be. Similarly, but in the opposite direction, in facing the future Judgement
is concerned with what we most need to learn at a given stage to help us progress
on our journey. Balancing past and future in the here and now, Judgement
reconciles karma and destiny as parallel lines delineating the path of freewill.
The relationship between these different faces of Judgement is as the relationship
between Maat and Thoth on either side of Ra in the boat of the sun.
Glowing with the freedom of his own creativity, Ra is the creative
sun itself. Without the creative freedom of Ra the journey of the sun boat would
be meaningless, for without freewill there can be no evolution of the soul. Yet
without the laws of necessity represented by Thoth and Maat bordering freewill,
the journey would be impossible. Rising above the primeval waters, all three are
necessary and complementary companions in the boat of the sun.
Maat, the feminine counterpart of Thoth, represents truth and divine
justice. In Tarot she appertains more precisely to the card of Justice, but Justice
and Judgement are in Tarot closely bound. As Thoth, the recording angel and
judge of the dead, records and weighs all words, so Judgement records the
sentence which Justice carries out. Justice is, so to speak, Judgement on the
march. Justice is the short stretch of a path which originates from, and which, if
continued, will eventually lead back to Judgement.
Nevertheless Justice and Judgement are not the same. In Justice the
law of karma continually and automatically turns and returns on itself. Situated
at the base of the pillar of severity, mercy is inapplicable to Justice for Justice,
like Maat, represents the divine law of equilibrium. Justice cannot altar those
laws for she is herself the enactment of those laws. To alter sentence we must
appeal beyond Justice, to Judgement. We must reach beyond the closed senses of
this world to open the floodgates to the divine mercy within.
Situated within Daath on the central pillar, Judgement unites both
severity and mercy. Both are taken into account in Judgement. For Judgement
follows the Sun and takes into account the creative striving of the Sun. Here is
not simply Maat but Thoth, the inner reason of all things. In Judgement is
balanced not simply what has been and therefore what must be, but what was
with what could have been, and what is with what can be.
With its universal scope, Judgement emphasizes the cost of locking
ourselves solely within the framework of this world and cutting ourselves off
from the reality of lives beyond. As we dare to open our minds to the depths of
the underlying truths: the spiritual truths which provide the inner reason for our
outer realities, then begins the dawning of understanding of the true vastness of
the arena of our existence. Then begins the dawning too, of the true cost of
imprisoning ourselves in the mausoleum of our misendeavours.
The condemned cell and the empty room are both symbols of Daath.
For with Daath, as with Judgement, we are forced to face up to the truth of what
we have become. In the empty room, empty but of oneself, there is no escaping
from all that we are and all that we have brought forth within. Whether the
empty room becomes the condemned cell depends on the account we can give of
ourselves - not in terms of how much money we have made or how high we have
reached in the echelons of society, none of which will hold any relevance when
we leave this world. Judgement is concerned only with the spiritual realities,
with that which we will carry with us from world to world. Judgement is
concerned with cleansing the wounds inflicted by our mortal selves on our
immortal souls.
While the sword of Justice is hung in suspension during this period
of inner trial, with Judgement we are given the opportunity to make amends.
Judgement offers the encouragement that, through our own freewill we can
positively affect our karma. Through our willingness to face up to and accept
liability for our past, we can alter the pattern of our future. Judgement is a card
acknowledging the redemptive properties of repentance and penitence. It may
necessitate a period of private suffering as we confront painful truths, but the
painful confrontation has the purging quality of a sincere confession, exposing
the heart on the altar of forgiveness to the redeeming rain of grace.
The rain of grace in Tarot appertains to the spiritual attributes
invested in the meaning of the Emperor. For, on the pillar of equilibrium,
Judgement pours the qualities of both mercy and severity in a measure
appropriate to the unburdening of the soul. As the twentieth Tarot major
Judgement connects the many faces of the High Priest and the Emperor
(5x4/4x5). Judgement consolidates the relationship of the confessor and keeper
of the temple to the spirit which dwells within. It is through the Hierophant
presiding over the throne of Judgement that we gain admittance to that personal
temple which is our private spiritual sanctuary.
Despite the catholic overtones, the confessor figure of the
Hierophant need not refer to any specific religion or outer religious activity. The
confessor here refers to the Hierophant within, and to the redeeming power
flowing through our own soul. Whether we look outside ourselves is a matter of
personal religious preference. - There are many roads leading home; we each
take that which suits our present sojourn here. But no matter what the outer
forms of the passage, Tarot represents the inner journey. It is concerned with the
transformations happening within the soul. Judgement, in any case, indicates a
subtle alteration and strengthening of our beliefs, no matter what they have been.
It indicates too a subsequent shift in our priorities as our eyes are opened to
spiritual considerations we cannot afford to ignore.
The angel presiding over Judgement is the angel of Death.
Judgement does not, however, denote physical death. On the contrary,
Judgement is offered while there is still time to be effective. Judgement is
Death’s messenger, reminding us that there is life beyond death and
remonstrating with us to consider all that that implies for our lives here.
In Greek mythology, dividing the world of the living from the world
of the dead is the river Styx - the sacred river of truth by which the gods swore
their most sacred oaths. It is the river of truth between two different modes of
living that we must cross in Judgement, as we undergo an inner death. In
crossing the river of truth, it is the lies to ourselves which pull us under; only
self-honesty can keep us afloat. With Judgement all must, eventually, be brought
to light.
Reminding us of what is genuinely important in our lives, with
Judgement we are given a chance to rethink our values. There may well be a
sudden shock, a bolt out of the blue which will shake us from our complacency
and force us to reappraise our life up to date. Judgement indicates a testing
period of simultaneous trial and atonement, which together can bring about a
complete transformation in how we see ourselves. Judgement is a watershed.
Devastated by the battle for supremacy between the blindly warring factions in
our nature, with Judgement we pass through and beyond an inner wasteland to
answer the summons to a spiritual resurrection.
In eschatological lore the Day of Judgement is associated with the
resurrection of the dead and the establishment of a new heaven and new earth. It
is Michael, the celestial high priest and keeper of the heavenly keys, who first
sounds the trumpet to call the angels to hear the judgement passed on Adam at
the time of exile from Eden. And it is Michael, prince and harbinger of peace,
who at the end of the journey again sounds the trumpet to call the dead to
resurrection and to announce to the angels the imminent arrival of the kingdom.
In Tarot, following Judgement is the World, with its message of
union and fulfilment. In passing through the watershed of Judgement we give
birth to the new world which is our future: a world rich in possibility and
potential. With the resurrection of the awareness of ties between the spiritual and
the earthly, Judgement paves the way for a new heaven and a new earth - new
precisely because of the revived awareness of the intimate relationship between
the two which brings about a renaissance in our lives.
When, falling asleep at the place of God, Jacob dreamt of the ladder
reaching from heaven to earth, he saw angels ascending and descending. Among
those ascending were those angels who had accompanied him on his journey:
they were hastening to announce on high that Jacob had laid his head to rest on
the stone of his destiny. He had arrived at the place of atonement.
Just so, in its final aspect, the clarion call of Judgement announces
our own arrival at the place of atonement, where the ladder of lights unrolls
before us and where the angels, the spiritual messengers, ascend and descend the
tree, guiding the soul simultaneously through the universe within and without.
With Judgement the opportunity of repentance and atonement is always offered,
because Judgement reminds us of the ladder of lights - the way of ascent and
descent on the tree of life. With the ladder of atonement bridging the divide
between heaven and earth, this world and others, the spiritual and physical
realms, Judgement unlocks the paths of the tree of life to make accessible the
vast vistas of our being. Through the revelation of Judgement we are made
aware of the worlds within worlds which are open to the journeying of the soul.
 Chapter Seventeen: The World
The Centre is within me and its wonder
Lies as a circle everywhere about me...
I am the merchant and the pearl at once.
Lo, Time and Space lie crouching at my feet.
Joy! joy! when I would revel in a rapture,
I plunge into myself and all things know.
(‘Attar. from the Jawhar al-Dhat)

The central figure of the World card is Sophia as the Anima Mundi -
the World Soul or Spirit of the World. The Anima Mundi is the guide and
destination of human wholeness. She is the Shekinah, the divine life immanent
in the kingdom of creation. She is the holy-spirit whose breath stirs the waters of
life to awaken us to wisdom.
The Fool’s journey is the journey from folly to wisdom. It is a
journey of self-realization or, in Jungian terms, of ‘individuation’: the realization
of our individual destiny and destination. It is this realization of the self in
wholeness which finds expression in the ancient symbol of the mandala. In Tarot
the card of the World is a mandala.
Mandalas are circles of completion. They are symbols of wholeness,
specifically the wholeness of the self. Mandalas represent the life centre, the
heart of the psyche where the totality of the self merges into the total unity of the
divine. They are symbols and reminders of the living altar, where the divinity of
man recognizes itself and becomes a part of, the divinity of God.
Mandalas are often attributed, too, with a quaternity, the quaternity
representing the four parts that make up the whole. For the mandala of the self
contains all within its four quarters. It is, like the World in Tarot, the world of the
self, totality, all that is, has been, and will be. A mandala, in the words of
Professor Jung, ‘symbolizes, by its central point, the ultimate unity of all
archetypes as well as of the multiplicity of the phenomenal world, and is
therefore the empirical equivalent of the metaphysical concept of a unus
mundus.’ In Tarot, the mandala of the World card reminds us that in the
wholeness of the living psyche is to be found the kingdom of heaven on earth.
Contemporary with Tarot’s most plausible origins, in the early
Middle Ages mandalas or mandala-like scenes were depicted frequently.
Usually, as in the south portal of Chartres Cathedral, they showed Christ as the
axis mundi surrounded by the four evangelists, with Luke, Mark and John in
their theriomorphic forms of bull, lion and eagle respectively, and Matthew in
the form of a (sometimes winged) man.
The theriomorphic forms of the four evangelists have, quite aptly,
found their way into most traditional World illustrations. The forms themselves
are derived from the four cardinal signs of the Chaldean zodiac, whence,
presumably, they infiltrated Ezekiel’s vision. However, exactly how old this
quaternity of symbols actually is, remains an open question. A Sumerian plaque
of circa 2500 BC shows a lion-headed eagle on the back of a human-headed bull.
It should not really be surprising, then, that this same archetypal quaternity has
been spontaneously associated with the mandala of the essential self or holy
spirit, (whether, as in the Revelation of St. John, Christ is placed at the centre, or
whether, as in Tarot, the centre belongs to Wisdom).
The repetition in Tarot of the archetypal quaternity within the
traditional designs of the World card serves to emphasize the mutual overlap
between the beginning and end of each journey. With the World as the last in the
Daath series we reach again over the abyss to the Supernal triangle and thereby
to the four supernal majors already associated with this same archetypal
quaternity (as discussed in Part 1).
Depicted often on the Empress’ shield, the eagle denotes the
protectress, the eagle-vulture of life and death which is the supreme glyph of the
cycles of the Empress. The bull since early times has been associated with the
moon, both through the identification of crescent moons with bull’s horns, and
through the conception of a life to be periodically sacrificed for its own
regeneration. The bull, therefore, is among the earliest of the symbolical
sacrificial animals associated with the descent myths. These in Tarot begin with
the High Priestess and the journey to Wisdom: the Fool’s journey of sacrificial
descent into darkness to re-emerge into self-illumination. The lion with its
ancient alignment to the majestic forces of cosmic energy equates naturally to
Strength; while the (winged) man, though the power of thought and the spoken
word, leads us finally back to the Magician. In the World the four initiating
powers are finally restored to a completed unity, thereby fulfilling the promise of
wholeness made at the outset of the journey.
Daath, the mystical sefirah, denotes the deepest levels of awareness
attainable to the human mind. Daath states encompass those profound moments
of realisation: the sense of suffusion in the Numinous, the experience of the
unity of All, the uttermost experience of divinity the soul can sustain at a given
time. It is at these deepest levels that Daath and the World become virtually
synonymous. Both represent supreme realisation, and supreme wisdom.
 In contrast to the depiction, in early mediaeval mandalas, of Christ as
lord of life, Tarot adheres to the alternative tradition of the mother of life. At the
centre of the World mandala, wholeness or the heavenly kingdom is symbolized
not by the masculine Logos, but by feminine Wisdom. In this Tarot shows its
affiliation to the broad array of early mediaeval movements united by the spirit
of gnosis: the search for inner wisdom. Such was the spirit inspiring, for
example, the Grail legends, the troubadours, the Templars, alchemy, the Cathars,
and of course, Qabbalah. All were concerned with the spiritual quest, a quest
which finds its abiding expression in Tarot with the road of the spiritual pilgrim:
the journey of the Fool.
Important to the spiritual quest, whether in Tarot or its sister
movements, was the holy-spirit. For the ‘Cathar Church of the Holy Spirit’, the
coming of Christ was a stage prefiguring the coming of the Holy Spirit. For the
prophet Joachim de Fiore and his followers, this new age of the Holy Spirit
could even be precisely dated. It was to begin in 1260.
To the spiritual pilgrims 1260 was of mystical significance because
of the passage (12:6) in Revelations declaring that the mother of the divine child
would be in the wilderness for 1260 days.
The numbers 126 and 1260 are of mystical significance in Tarot too.
They indicate the ending, the fulfilment, the central mystery, and the new
beginning of the Tarot journey. 126 is the sum of the numbers of the Tarot
majors in Daath. With the 21 of the World card added to the 105 of the previous
majors, 126 announces the triumphant end of the days of trial and exile. The
heavy burden of lonely days wandering through life’s wilderness here falls away,
leaving an illumined lightness: the gift of the knowledge of belonging to a
greater Whole. Following the end is the pure potential of the new beginning. The
completion of 126 is followed by the 0 of the Fool to give 1260. In Tarot too,
therefore, 1260 heralds a new age of enlightened consciousness; not however in
the world at large, for Tarot is concerned with each individual pilgrim on their
journey of self- discovery. In Tarot 1260 heralds a new age not in the world
without, but in the world within. It marks, too, a reaffirmation of the spirit of the
journey; for the journey of the Fool is here realised as a journey through the joy
of being.
The World signifies the end of a cycle, and with it the end of exile.
This is a card of victory, of arrival at a desired destination, of attainment of a
goal. The World marks the steps which will lead to fulfillment and to a sense of
completion. It celebrates a transformative encounter in which we come face to
face with and, most importantly, recognise our own individual destiny as part of
the greater Whole.
 With the World the third Chariot cycle, the cycle centred in Daath, is
completed. With the triumphant realisation of the triumvirate, ending in the
sphere of knowledge, wisdom is attained. The ‘thrice unknown Darkness’, as the
Egyptians characterized Wisdom, has been brought to light.
The World celebrates the triumph of the innermost soul at the centre
of the mandala, the creative and creating self. It celebrates the reunion of the
greater and lesser mother, the ascended and descended Sophia, the immanent and
transcendent Spirit of Wisdom.
Through the story of her separation, descent and subsequent reunion,
Sophia becomes the supreme symbol of the wanderings of the soul, its
separation from and reunion with Spirit. She becomes too, the supreme symbol
of the journey to individuation. As such, she is taken up by Tarot and enshrined
in the World as the spirit of cosmic and individual life permeating and uniting all
as one. For Wisdom ‘spans the world in power from end to end...She is but one,
yet can do all things; herself unchanging, she makes all things new.’
Anchored in the heart of Daath, the World celebrates the presence of
the Shekinah in the temple, the revelation of God within. Protected in the holy of
holies at the deepest seat of the self is the radiance of the pearl of great price, the
radiant pearl representing the immanence in the human soul of the holy-spirit.
It is here, in the World card, at the altar of the holy of holies, that
blessing is poured on the mystical marriage between soul and spirit. Once again
126 is significant. For the 126 formed by the communion of the Hanged Man
and Love in Tiferet, receives its spiritual confirmation in the sacred marriage of
the World. It is the one wedding, central to the tree, between Solomon and
Wisdom, the wedding between Tiferet and Malkuth, which is celebrated at its
mystical core with the World in Daath. Here, at the altar of gnosis is the meeting
place of the tree of life with the tree of knowledge.
The relationship between the Tarot majors in Daath and those in
Tiferet mirrors the relationship between the two sefirot. Tiferet gives voice to the
silence of Daath. Daath is the concealed treasure of Tiferet. Both signify the
wholeness of the self. In Tiferet all roads meet. In Daath all roads end.
Likewise, in Tarot, whereas the Hanged Man and Love are bound
together as two sides, the yin and yang of a single whole, the World is that single
whole. The World is the concealed mystery of himself, sought by the Hanged
Man. Yet the World, too, is the union of the Lovers. Uniting each part of the tree
with every other part of the tree, as the spiritual face of Love the World brings all
together as one. From Strength and the Magician, to Temperance and the Wheel
of Fortune, the World unites Kether with Malkuth, Malkuth and Tiferet, Tiferet
and Kether. She brings together the three rings of Tarot with the quaternity of
Qabbalah: the four worlds of spirit, soul, mind and body. For the World signifies
the Shekina, the divine breath flowing through all things. The World represents
the spirit of unity flowing through the myriad expressions of the tree of life. She
is herself ‘a tree of life to them that lay hold upon her: and happy is everyone
who retaineth her.’ Hers is the sacred hearth where the heavenly kingdom and
the earthly kingdom are recognised as one and the same: the one living World
which is the kingdom of the self.
The World brings all together as partners in the cosmic dance of life.
She is Ardhanari-Ishvara, Shiva in the embrace of Shakti, the dancer in the
embrace of the dance. Dancing on high at the centre of the mandala, the World is
the eternal dancer, maintaining, by her circular dance of the self, that cosmic
state of balance which sustains the inner process of creation. Hers is the dance of
wholeness. Yet it is only in those profound states of inner peace, when eternity is
realised in each passing moment, that we attain the harmony of stillness in
motion which is the heartbeat of the World. It is then we know the Wisdom of
the Fool within us.
 Chapter Eighteen: The Fool
Pilgrim, Pilgrimage and Road,
Was but Myself toward Myself; and Your
Arrival but Myself at my own Door;...
Come you lost Atoms to your Centre draw,
And be the Eternal Mirror that you saw:
Rays that have wander’d into Darkness wide
Return, and back into your Sun subside.
(‘Attar, from ‘The Parliament of the Birds’)

Following the World, yet preceding the Magician, the Fool is both
the end and the beginning. Numberless, the Fool is the universal pilgrim. The
Fool has no set place on the tree of life for the tree itself is his home. The Fool is
the journeyer who travels all paths. He is everyman - each and every one of us as
we journey through our own lives on the road of self to Self.
The journey of Tarot is the journey through ourselves. It is a journey
of self-discovery. On that journey the Fool represents both the discoverer and the
discovery. The Fool is identified with the number that is no number: zero, for
zero implies infinity. Like the Fool, zero is in itself nothing, yet it contains all
possibilities. In the language of number symbolism, zero infers both the divine
essence and the totality of all life. As a circle, zero describes the infinite straight
line whose ending and beginning dissolve one into the other at the point of
infinity. With the concept of the point at infinity is to be found the essence of the
Fool.

The nothing of the Fool has its mystery in the veils beyond Kether. These are
the veils of the unmanifest: Ain, Ain Soph and Ain Soph Aur, respectively
Nothingness, Limitlessness and Limitless Light. The Fool brings the mystery of
infinity into the finite world, and he carries that mystery within himself. As
either circle or ellipse, the nought of the Fool maps the Fool’s journey: the
descent and the ascent which takes us from and returns us to our own source. For
everything comes from and returns to nothing.
‘Ten sefirot of Nothingness. Their end is embedded in their
beginning, and their beginning in their end’ explains the Sefer Yetzirah. In
Qabbalah the mystical nought is the beginning of Chokmah: wisdom. For
Wisdom is the ‘beginning of beginnings.’ In Tarot the mystical nought
encompasses the beginning and the end of the Fool’s journey to become wise.
Tarot unfolds the journey of the Fool to wisdom. Qabbalah unfolds the paths of
wisdom and the journey of Sophia. The thirty-two paths of the qabbalistic tree
are the paths of Sophia.
In the writings of Isaac the Blind (d. circa 1235) the ten sefirot are
said to be the inner or hidden essences ‘whose inner [hidden] being is contained
in the hokhmah.’ Likewise the journey of Tarot is an inner journey whose
meaning is concealed in the wisdom of the Fool.
‘I am the first and the last...I am the honoured one and the scorned one...I am
knowledge and ignorance...I am strength and I am fear...I am the one who is
disgraced and the great one...I am foolish and I am wise...I am godless and I am
one whose God is great.’
The words of this gnostic discourse are spoken by ‘Thunder: Perfect
Mind,’ thought to be a combination of the higher and lower Sophia. They are
equally the words of wisdom relevant to the Fool on the paths of Sophia. Sophia,
with her division into upper and lower, the one who journeys and the one who
remains still, is the point of union between Gnosticism, Qabbalah and Tarot. It is
the union of the upper and lower Sophia which is attested to in the Fool.
Tarot is the journey to recover the state of ‘perfect mind.’ This is the
state of mind of the enlightened sage, the divine Fool at one with himself.
Having suffered the journey to self-knowledge, the Fool as enlightened one has
discovered the Oneness of the World and therefore is able to experience the
wisdom of delight in the dance of life while remaining centred in himself. For
where the mind is in perfect harmony, there is the union of all opposites. The
harmony of the divine Fool is as a clear mirror reflecting the purity of the Self.
With a childlike simplicity, the perfect Fool is the holy fool, following with total
trust the ways of the Spirit of Wisdom.
The state of perfect mind is as the state of Tao, and the law of Tao is
to be that which essentially it is. In harmony with the rhythms of Tao, the Fool is
in harmony with the rhythms of life and with the rhythms of his own being.
Moving without moving, doing without doing, becoming and passing away, the
wise Fool participates in the journey of life while knowing always that the
journey of life is the journey through himself. He has come to know himself as
both the wayfarer and the way.
The crux of all wisdom teaching is ‘know thyself.’ This too is the
crux of Tarot. For whoever ‘has known himself has ... achieved knowledge about
the depth of the all.’ The Tarot journey is the journey to the depths of our being,
to discover and remain true to our essential self, both in our outer lives and in
our inner worlds. From stumbling infant falling over his own folly to divine sage
trusting in his inner being, the Fool signifies the journey of our unfoldment, the
journey from folly to wisdom, from ignorance to awareness, from self to Self.
Novice and adept, the Fool is both our mortal, ignorant selves passing from folly
to folly, and the Fool is our immortal, transcendent selves bringing out the
mystery of the divine in the play of life.
Le Bateleur, the French title of the Magician, means juggler, while
the English word for juggle is derived from the old French ‘jogler’ (in use by the
14th century) meaning to perform as a jester. (This, in turn, derives from the
Latin joculari, to jest / jocus -a jest). The Fool meanwhile, along among Tarot
majors, has retained a place in the modern day pack of playing cards - as the
joker. Joker, or Juggler performing as jester, the Magician and the Fool are both
tricksters. The Magician is the closest expression to the Fool. Both are affiliated
to Hermes as playful trickster god and guide of souls. The Magician and the Fool
relate to the trickster as culture bringer, juggling between chaos and creation.
Identified with zero, as the void from which all things come and to which all
things return, the Fool unfolds the journey willed in the Magician. It is a journey
in which we find ourselves by losing ourselves, a journey of affirmation by self-
negation. From the unity of the Magician to the zero of the Fool is a journey
through and to the infinity of being. On this journey the dizzy world of the
Wheel of Fortune (10) is itself the way and play of delight unwinding between
the Magician and the Fool (1+0).
Tarot, like Gnosticism, is a journey to realise the living divinity
within us. In gnostic teaching we are told:
There is in everyone [divine power] existing in a latent condition ...This is
one power divided above and below; generating itself, making itself grow,
seeking itself, finding itself, being mother of itself, father of itself, sister of itself,
spouse of itself, daughter of itself, son of itself - mother, father, unity, being a
source of the entire circle of existence.
From the union of Strength and the Magician to the unity of the World, this is
the same mystery given expression in Tarot through the pilgrimage of the Fool
on the paths of Sophia or Wisdom. Filled with the Holy Spirit, the Fool is the
vessel of Wisdom, the divine life flowing through all things. With his essence
emanating from the veils of the Unmanifest, the Fool partakes of the
unfathomable. Preceding the Magician, all the paths of Tarot are contained
within the Fool. The Fool is divine Wisdom at play. The Fool, too, is us; and as
the Fool is each of us - we are each a pilgrim on the tree of life, so all the aspects
of the Fool are aspects of ourselves. Divided yet whole, becoming yet complete,
from the will to become of the Magician to the wholeness of the World, the
Fool’s journey is our own journey to realise, that is, to make real within our
lives, the Wisdom of the kingdom within us.
 What Inspired Maureen to Write This Book
This book was written was completed in February 1997. To end, I would like
to include, in her own words, why Maureen was inspired to write it:

“Entitled ‘The Fool’s Journey’, my book is on Tarot, but the meaning of the
seventy-eight cards are elucidated within the framework of the tree of life of
Qabbalah.
In previous books aligning Tarot with Qabbalah, the minor cards are usually
associated with the ten sefirot (spheres) and the major cards with the twenty-two
paths between the sefirot. I believe, however, that this is not the only possible
alignment .Approaching from an alternative, complementary angle, I have
concentrated both the major and minor cards within the sefirot themselves – the
reasons why I hope the book will make clear. For I have tried in The Fool’s
Journey to show convincingly that there is more than enough overlap between
the meanings and attributes of the sefirot and the Tarot majors both to validate
my approach and to throw new light on the tarot.
The book is divided into two parts. Part One, the largest part contains
chapters one to ten. Each chapter centred on one of the ten sefirot – following
numerical order – and deals with the seven Tarot cards relevant to that sefirah.
Related to each of the sefirot of the central pillar are two major and five
minor cards, while to the sefirot of the two outer pillars are related one major
and six minors. For example, in Chapter Three on Binah – the sefirah of the
Great Mother – is to be found a discussion of the role of the Empress, the Queen
of Cups and Discs, and, more conventionally, the Threes. In Chapter Six, dealing
with the central sefirah: Tiferet (beauty), the roles of both the Lovers and the
Hanged Man are discussed. (In the teachings of Qabbalah Tiferet has two
spiritual experiences assigned to it: the vision of the harmony of things, and the
mysteries of the crucifixion). Related to these two majors is a discussion in the
same chapter of the King of Cups and the Sixes.

In presenting the structure, I have presumed, on the part of the Tarot reader,
no prior knowledge of Qabbalah and, while giving evidence to support my
points, have tried to explain as clearly as possibly only that which is relevant to
the Tarot journey. My main concern throughout has remained with the Tarot.

Re: the Tarot. While giving as full a discussion and interpretation of the
majors as possible, I have also tried to give due regard to the minor cards. These
are so often neglected (or omitted completely) from Tarot books, and yet they
play a vital, integral and often majority part in any reading. Where possible, I
have also tried to draw attention to another neglected area – that of the
relationship between cards. Their groupings on the Tree of Life have certainly
facilitated this, allowing opportunity to acknowledge not only the relationship
between the major and minor cards within a group, but also the relationship
between groups of cards, which the connections between the sefirot helps to
bring out.
The second part of the book: The Inner Sanctum, journeys into the non-
sefirah – Daath (knowledge) and deals with the final seven Tarot majors leading
back to the Fool. It is knowledge of these final seven majors: the Devil to the
World, which completes the Fool’s journey to wisdom.

The book concludes, then, with the Fool. The Fool alone is not confined
within the sefirot for the Fool is the universal traveller. He is life’s pilgrim: each
and every one of us travelling on the paths of life. The Fool’s Journey on the
Tree of Life represents our own Journey to Self-Realisation (or individuation)
while Tarot provides the guiding landscape – where we have been, where we are
going, and the experiences we must yet undergo to get there.

The alignments, then, are not arbitrary, but are the result of gradually
unravelling a series of similarities and underlying connections which I first
began to recognise in the course of my own studies. I have a first class honours
degree based in philosophy and the religious quest. I have also studied and
successfully read Tarot for several years.

The reason that I did not take my studies further within the academic
establishment was that there was no opportunity, at least in English Universities,
to pursue the subjects that had caught and absorbed my attention – such as
exploring the similarities between and overlap of, Tarot to such various sources
as the mystic strands of many religions, ancient mysteries, mythology, alchemy
and Jungian psychology. It has taken a few years, working on this book, to be
able to bring all the strands together into a coherent, accessible whole, but I
hope, with the Fool’s Journey, I have succeeded in producing a book which will
be of anyone interested in interpreting and gaining a deeper understanding of
Tarot.”
[*]
Werblowsky & Wigoder (Ed.s) Encyclopedia of the Jewish Religion. Phoenix House, London 1967.
[†]
Sanskrit.
[‡]
The term for wisdom is feminine in both Greek and Hebrew.
[§]
Also called the ‘Robe of Glory’ or the ‘Hymn of the Soul.’
[**]
It is this aspect of the High Priestess we shall meet at a deeper level in Part Two, when the journey is
through the seven levels of the invisible sefirah: Daath. Daath lies on the thirteenth path, the path of the
High Priestess, leading back up the centre of the tree to Kether.
[††]
The one tree of life features simultaneously in each of the four worlds of Qabbalah: Atziluth, the
highest spiritual world, the world of emanation; Beriyah, the creative world or world of archangels;
Yetzirah, the world of formation, the world of the mind; and Asiyah, the natural world.
[‡‡]
Or whale, depending on the myth.
[§§]
Revelations 12:3.
[***]
The family of hawks and eagles; Accipitridae.
[†††]
See Chapter Seven.
[‡‡‡]
Crowley, the Egyptian pack, Tavaglione and so forth.
[§§§]
Incidently with 50 daughters.
[****]
Shelley: Ozymandias.
[††††]
The Golden Ass/Metamorphoses Ch. Eleven.

[1]
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[2]
Lao Tzu, Tao Teh Ching , trans. Dr. John C.H. Wu. (St. John’s University Press, New York, 1961) P.3.
[3]
Anonymous, Meditations on the Tarot , (Element, Shaftesbury, Dorset. 1991) P.275.
[4]
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[5]
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[6]
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[7]
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Revelations 5:5. (AV)
[10]
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[11]
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[12]
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[13]
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[15]
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[16]
see, Kaplan, A. Sefer Yetzirah . (Samuel Weiser, Inc. York Beach, Maine, 1993) P.XXI.
[17]
Jung CW5, op cit., P.303, para 460.
[18]
ibid, para 460.
[19]
Quoted in Jung, CW9b. op. cit., P.41, para 379.
[20]
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[21]
Yarden, L. The Tree of Light . (Horovitz Pub. Co. Ltd., London 1971)
[22]
John 4:14. (AV)
[23]
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[24]
Shabistari, in Cohen, J.M. (ed), The Rider Book of Mystical Verse . (London, Rider, 1983) P.230.
[25]
Mathew 10:34. (AV)
[26]
Jung, CW11, para 359.
[27]
Genesis 3:24. (AV)
[28]
Jung, CW9b. para 379.
[29]
‘The Bahir,’ in Scholem, G. Origins of the Kaballah . trs. A. Arkush. (Jewish Publication Society/
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[30]
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[31]
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Hoeller, S. Jung and the Lost Gospels . (Quest Books, the Theosophical Publishing House, Wheaton,
1990). P.112.
[33]
Scholem, Origins of Kabbalah , op.cit. P.94.
[34]
Isaiah 45:3 (AV)
[35]
Wisdom of Solomon 7:26. (AV)
[36]
Hymn of the Soul, in Acts of Thomas. Apocryphal New Testamen t, trs. M.R. James, (Clarendon Press,
Oxford, 1924). P.414.
[37]
Wisdom of Solomon 10: 17-18. (REB)
[38]
Wisdom of Solomon, 10:13-14. (REB)
[39]
Wolkstein and Kramer, Inanna, Queen of Heaven and Earth . (Harper & Row publishers, New York,
1983). P.52.
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[42]
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[44]
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[45]
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[46]
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[47]
Baring and Cashford, op. cit., P.609.
[48]
Keats, Ode to Melancholy.
[49]
Mathews, C. Sophia . (Mandala, Grafton Books, London, 1991). P.331.
[50]
Ecclesiasticus 24:18. (AV)
[51]
Song of Solomon 2:11-12. (AV)
[52]
Ibid., 1:2. (AV)
[53]
Baring & Cashford, The Myth of the Goddess . (Arkana, Penguin, 1993). P.225
[54]
Neumann, E. The Great Mother . (Bollingen Series XLV11, Princeton University Press, 1991). P.98.
[55]
Neumann, ibid., P.99.
[56]
Revelations, 12:1. (AV)
[57]
Baring & Cashford, op. cit., P.568.
[58]
Revelations, 12:4. (AV)
[59]
Revelations, 12: 1-2. (AV)
[60]
Mathers, S.L.M. Kabbalah Unveiled . (Samuel Weiser, Inc. Maine. 1986). P.288.
[61]
Neumann, P.148.
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Jung, C. G. Modern Man in Search of a Soul . (Ark Paperbacks. 1990). P.248.
[64]
Neumann, P.317.
[65]
Neumann, P.333.
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[67]
Neumann, P.330.
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Zimmer, The Indian World Mother, P.85, quoted in Neumann, P.353.
[69]
Neumann, P.240.
[70]
Pistis Sophia, 392, “Books of the Saviour.”, in Mead, Thrice Greatest Hermes, Vol 1, P.454.
[71]
Luke 2:35. (AV)
[72]
Rumi, Mystic Odes 37. in Vitray-Meyerovitch, Rumi and Sufism , (The Post-Apollo Press, California,
1987) P.27.
[73]
The Book of Inner Knowledge, in Vitray-Meyrovitch, P.120.
[74]
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[75]
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[76]
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[77]
Proverbs, 20:28. (AV)
[78]
Campbell, J. Occidental Mythology . (Masks of God, Vol lll, Penguin Books, 1976). P.480.
[79]
‘Allegoriae Super librum Turbae,’ cited in Jung, Alchemical Studies (CW13), para 272.
[80]
Jung, CW13, para. 331.
[81]
Jung., Aion , (CW9b) para 376.
[82]
Tractatus Aureus. in Jung 9b. Ibid.
[83]
see Jung, CW9a, paras 637-640.
[84]
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[85]
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[86]
Mark 10:25. (AV)

[87]
Mead, G.R.S. Thrice Greatest Hermes . Vol. 1. (The Theosopical Publishing Society, London, 1906).
P.463.
[88]
Jung, CW9a, para 74.
[89]
Jung, E. & Von Franz, M. L., The Grail Legend . (Sigo Press, Boston 1986). P.368.
[90]
Satapatha Brahmana, in Wilkins, W.J. Hindu Mythology . (Rupa & Co, New Delhi, 1989). P.135.
[91]
from the Bhagavata, in Wilkins, ibid. P.140.
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John. 3:5. (AV)
[93]
The Holy Qur’an, Chapter 18, Section 9-10, verses 60-80.
[94]
The Thirty-Two paths of Wisdom. In Kaplan, Sefer Yetzirah , (Samuel Weiser, Inc. Maine, 1993). P.297.
[95]
Jung, CW9a, para 396.
[96]
Jung, E. & Von Franz, M. L. P.181.
[97]
Ibid, P.189.
[98]
Mark 12:31. (AV)
[99]
Mathnawi 111, L.348. - The Mathnawi of Jalalu’ddin Rumi . edited and translated by R. A. Nicholson.
(Luzac & Co. London 1977) P.22.
[100]
Jung, CW9a, para 426.
[101]
Mathers, S.L. Kabbalah Unveiled , (Samuel Weiser, Inc. Maine, 1986). P.65.
[102]
Apocryphal New Testament , trs. M. R. James, (Oxford University Press, 1924). P.253.
[103]
Acts of Peter, ibid., P.335
[104]
Revelations 22:2. (AV)
[105]
Jung, C.G. Memories, Dreams, Reflections . (Flamingo, Fontana paperbacks, London 1987). P.386.
[106]
Kaplan, A. (trs.) The Bahir . (Samuel Weiser, Inc. Maine, 1989). P.34.
[107]
Jung, CW11, para. 233.
[108]
Jung, CW5, para. 399.
[109]
Attar, Jawhar al-Dhat . In Rider Book of Mystical verse , ed. J.M. Cohen. (Rider, London. 1983). P.230.
[110]
Luke 12:50. (AV)
[111]
The Book Bahir, in Scholem, .G. Origins of The Kabbalah . (The Jewish Publication Society/ Princeton
University Press, 1990). P.71.
[112]
Acts of John, Apocryphal New Testament , op. cit., P.253.
[113]
The Book Bahir, in Scholem, Origins of The Kabbalah . P.75.
[114]
The Thirty-Two Paths of Wisdom, in Kaplan, A. Sefer Yetzirah (Samuel Weiser Inc., Maine, 1993).
P.297 .
[115]
Jung, CW5, para 516.
[116]
Plato, Phaedrus , trs. Hamilton, W. (Penguin Classics, 1983). P.51.
[117]
Graves, R. Greek Myths , Vol. Two. (Penguin Books, Harmondsworth, 1990). P.145.
[118]
Mascaro, J. (trs), The Bhagavad Gita . (Penguin Classics, 1962). Ch.3:39.
[119]
Ibid., 2:19.
[120]
Ibid., 3:4.
[121]
Ibid., 2:38-45.
[122]
Ibid., 2:64.
[123]
Ibid., 14:13.
[124]
Deuteronomy 33:26. (Sacred Writings, The Tanakh. Jewish Publication Society translation).
[125]
The Bhagavad Gita, Ibid, 2:47.
[126]
Proverbs 9:1. (AV)
[127]
Revelations 1:18. (REB)
[128]
Shakespeare, As You Like It. Act 11, L139-143.
[129]
Luke 20:25. (AV)
[130]
Proverbs 8:15. (Moffat Translation)
[131]
Kaplan, A. Sefer Yetzirah . (Samuel Weiser, Inc. Maine, 1990). P.139.
[132]
Hebrews 4:12. (AV)
[133]
Proverbs 8:29-30 (Moffat trs.).
[134]
Proverbs 8:36. (Ibid.)
[135]
Goethe, Faust Part Two. trs., Wayne, P. (Penguin Classics, 1984). P.76.
[136]
Genesis 3:24. (AV)
[137]
see Campbell, J. Occidental Mythology (Masks of God Vol 111) (Penguin 1976) P.46 -footnote.
[138]
Fraser, J.G. The Golden Bough . (Papermac (Pan Macmillan) London 1990) P.280.
[139]
Kaplan, Sefer Yetzirah , op. cit., P.242.
[140]
The Gospel of Thomas (42). trs. by Hugh McGregor Ross (William Sessions Ltd., The Ebor Press,
York.) 1987.
[141]
Proverbs 20:27. (AV)
[142]
Mark 8:36. (AV)
[143]
Jung, CW13, para 335.
[144]
Scholem, G. Origins of The Kaballah . (The Jewish Publication Society/ Princeton University Press
1990). P.96.
[145]
Scholem, G. Origins of The Kaballah . Ibid., P.186.
[146]
Acts of John, 99. James, M.R. Apocryphal New Testament. (Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1924). P.245
[147]
Acts of John, 95-96. James, Apocryphal New Testament . P.253-254.
[148]
Ferguson, J. The Religions of the Roman Empire . (Thames & Hudson, 1970), P.86.
[149]
Scholem, Origins of Kaballah , P.186.
[150]
Ezekiel 1:15. (AV)
[151]
Ezekiel 1:20. (AV)
[152]
1 Samuel 13: 14. (AV)