My blog--I pull a card--if it doesn't speak to me...perhaps it is for you?
I pull a card...if it doesn't speak to me...perhaps it was meant for you? |
How to Read the Tarot
Begin by brewing a cup of tea,
a nervine, lemon balm or chamomile,
this is after all, your future.
A reading at the dark of the moon is best,
before the night creatures crawl
and bad humours fill the air.
Pick a circular deck, with a fairy-tale motif,
and no reversals.
Hold a question in your heart,
shuffle the cards and place them on the table.
Choose only two.
Like the ancient Israelites,
these are your seer stones, Urim and Thumimm,
black and white, yes or no.
Isn't that all you were asking?
There is a boy and his grandfather fishing at the edge of the retention pond.
Their chance of snagging anything is about as likely as catching a leprechaun and having him lead you to his pot of gold.
They stay for a moment and then as expected leave with an empty pail.
I know eventually she will appear.
I have never seen the color of her eyes, her face shrouded by her veil.
I have been bringing her microgreens, baby lettuces and bok choy that I grow hydroponically.
"Like the shamrocks in Ireland," she chortled. "But better than the flies and larvae in this pond," she managed to say.
She surfaces with merely a ripple.
I place the greens at the ponds edge. The Muscovy ducks scatter when she appears.
She tells me she is veiled because she is trying to renounce her human side and be only part of the finned world.
And today she orders me, "Breathe. This virus attacks the lungs. Because your world id destroying the rainforests, the lungs of the world."
She takes my offerings and goes back to the depths of the pond.
I smell cypress, and fresh mowed grass, Breath in, Breath out.
Pholarchos Tarot-- 10 of Wings--In this grand experiment of life can the mind be wide enough to accept all things?
The lake, a retention pond really, quivers oddly tonight.
A splash, a ripple, a breath, and there she is.
Mermaid, old, a black veil covering her face.
She extends a hand dripping with mud.
"I'll leave you with just one thing," she rasps.
She slithers back under the murky water.
On the bank, in the weeds, a carved stone, "Believe".
I fear this virus.
I am not smooth and twenty.
I am old and panic rips and roars..
I pray to Our Lady of Lost Things
her crown askew, like mine.
Lift me up enough to see the far view.
Gift me enough blessings to sing.
I sit in the dirt
and watch the March full moon rise
between my rosary beads.
Who will help?
How can I help?
The floor of our world falls away.
Gaian Tarot--3 of Earth--What medicine are you making for your community.
Mother Mary came to me:
Ask no more questions today,
bake bread, plant a seed.
I savor this just baked bread,
butter and honey
far better storytellers
than wee,sly,smart folks.
I set the seeds in peat pots
placed in the windowsill's heat.
Now chains of fragile tendrils
Pholarchos Tarot---Dreamer of Coral---Hear the world making requests in the cup of your being.
Japanese form: The Kouta
Waking up to the dark,
waking up to the cold
resile light, reject sun
open to deep wisdom.
The Cook's Tarot--19--The Sun--Author's Note: I pulled the 19th card of the Tarot for this 19th day of February. The Sun card is blessing and beneficence.. I decided to go with an alternate vision, embracing the dark.
It's hard to believe how much blood can spew from a vein cut by a paring knife. My smart watch tells me it's only been 15 minutes, still there must be half a glass full pooling on the tablecloth. The room is unspeakably quiet and still. Eight chairs encircling the table, all empty. Eight candles, one for each decade, unlit in a birthday cake decorated with roses and sunflowers, my favorites. There are open engraved name cards at each place setting. But none of the children have come. My friends are all dead. I am old, and lonely. I have the birthday cake all to my self.
The Cook's Tarot: Eight of Wands--Empty chairs, and empty tables.
Prompt words: glass, open, watch