Modern tarotists sometimes relate the Fool to the planet Uranus, but in the era in which we first know that Tarot existed, this was impossible, since no one yet knew Uranus the planet existed. Only seven planets were named. Back then it’s believed the Fool may have corresponded to the Air element.

While the mental or airy nature of the King of Swords may be seen as the mastery of, or complete focus of the powers of the mind, as the ultimate in mental discipline, in fact ultimate mastery of the mind may very well belong to the Fool. Not only is the Fool so focused, on one hand, that he’s oblivious to the dangers around him or to the possible folly of his path. He’s also, on the other hand, able to let go of instinctive control, of his survival needs, just as a mad man or an innocent child might. He may also do this with full conscious intent, in order to let go, fall, create, risk, imagine, and explore inner and outer realms with absolute freedom. He embodies conscious and unconscious focus, as well as conscious and unconscious abandon. He has few attachments to the material world — only the ragged or comical clothing he wears, his knapsack, and possibly an animal guide. He could conceivably be a shamanic kind of healer, willing to enter another plane of existence without fear, with his trusty animal guide there to pull him back into our reality when his work is done. At his most powerful, the Fool can be all these things or none. He can be an error in thinking, a blunder. He can be a surprise.

He’s one aspect of the Trickster.

While many tarotists place the Fool at the beginning of the major arcana, as number zero, in fact zero isn’t a beginning at all. It is no thing. In some of the earliest known Tarots, the Visconti, none of the major arcana were numbered. When they later were ordered and numbered, the Fool remained unnumbered. Where in the series of 22 cards would one place this being who seemed to exist out of time, outside the material world, even outside the social classes? On one hand he’s a beggar, an idiot, a mad man. He matters not to the ordered classes. On the other he’s the court jester, the only one who can make fun of the King or Emperor without fear of losing his life. He also has the King’s ear and might sometimes whisper words of wisdom of the kind only a child might utter, or deliver news that no one else dare. He’s a truth teller, for isn’t that what makes a good joke, a humorous illustration of truth? So he must remain of no account, as one who will never be taken seriously.

The Fool may be a “natural fool” or a “licensed fool.”

Today, instead of court jesters we have comedians who point out the flaws of our leaders — and who don’t seem to take sides in their truth telling. Every leader seems to fall subject to their jests.

Many a family has a child like this, one who will tell family truths, truths the family doesn’t want told, who is therefore cast into the role of no-account by becoming the family scapegoat. In a dysfunctional family this role is sometimes relegated to one child. In some families the role is shared. It gets changed off from one member to another, from one time or circumstance to another. Perhaps even a parent takes a turn at being the scapegoat/truth teller.

The Fool is also the Child in all of us, the Child archetype that Jung and others have sometimes called the Divine Child and considered important as a symbol in dreams.

The Fool can be seen as both the beginning and the end of one’s journey. One starts life as an infant, a child, an innocent who knows no good or evil. Vulnerable, unlearned, unconscious, the child looks at the world and life with his eyes wide with wonder. Toward the end of life, if one is fortunate, one may reach the other end of the journey with a new kind of Fool-like awareness, an ability to see beyond good and evil, to recognize them as merely light and shadow, both necessary for balance. The Fool may have a sage-like wisdom that knows no boundaries and sees beyond our material existence. The Child Fool may be fearless because he’s innocent of danger. The Sage Fool understands danger and realizes he need not fear it. He moves through his fear with awareness.

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Post tags: Air, archetype, Child, comedian, court jester, Divine Child, Jung, major arcana, Tarot, The Fool, Uranus

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It sounds an awful lot like creative work, doesn’t it? But it also reminds me of Tarot reading.

In our dreams the same thing happens. Our unconscious presents things we’re familiar with, but they appear in new ways. Home furnishings that wouldn’t in waking life survive a flood are sometimes submerged in dreams, and so are we, able to traverse the depths in our own houses without drowning. Sometimes we fly. In my flying dreams I often need to move my limbs a little, just as if I were dog paddling, but in the air rather than in water.

If we can view Tarot cards with these same dreamers’ eyes, bending the rules of reality a little, we can read them in a whole new way, the way we look at abstract artwork or find shapes in clouds.

The ability to see the same old cards with fresh eyes brings a depth to my readings that I don’t achieve any other way. That’s essentially how intuition works. It skips over the logical steps and paths that our mental processes usually take, and arrives at an answer anyway, sometimes a surprising answer that is equally surprising in its accuracy.

In each reading, I can retreat back into traditional or learned meanings if I choose, or I can see the cards with new eyes. Sometimes I find that a combination of the two works for me. I also sometimes see multiple layers of meaning in one card.

Next time you look at a Tarot card, pause for a moment to see it with new eyes. I’ll bet you can if you try. Tara is certain you’ll like it. And by the way, will you move your stuff off that shelf up there so she can nap on it sometimes?

* * *

You can read my article, “The Interdependent Language of Tarot,” in this month’s Association for Tarot Studies Newsletter.

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Many Death cards depict a skeleton wielding a scythe as it mows down kings, clergymen, rich and poor, powerful and lowly alike, thus portraying La Mort as the great equalizer. In some decks, Death is portrayed as a cloaked figure with a scythe riding a pale horse through fog, storm clouds, or a desolate landscape. Again, the dead strewn across the landscape are people from all ranks of life.

In movies, the Death card usually predicts an actual death, much to the disappointment of Tarot users who’ve tired of that stereotype. While XIII Death can indicate physical death, several other Tarot cards can too, and that’s not the Death card’s usual interpretation. The image in the card is a symbolic representation of an archetype, a typical process that humans experience in many forms besides physical death. But the stereotypical meaning, taking the symbolic representation as literal death, is what many people think of when they first see the Death card. It’s scary to them because they’ve learned to fear death. It makes Tarot appear to them to be full of evil portent and curses, when in fact it’s a great tool for introspection and self-understanding.

XIII Death reminds us that all things come full circle, much like the hands on a clock, from beginning to end — and in the end is an inherent fresh beginning. Death as a physical transition from this life is natural in that it comes to all living things. We fear it because of its unknown aspects, such as when it will happen, how, whether we’ll be prepared or feel that we have too many loose ends left in our lives. We may fear that we’ll have tasks, lessons, goals, or adventures left unfinished — or relationships we don’t want to split apart, even temporarily. We may have regrets that haunt us and remain unresolved. Then there’s the inevitable question of an afterlife. Is there one? What will ours be like? We also fear it because it’s out of our control, and in our modern world we like control. We insist upon it.

Some of us resist death as if we could cheat it, or be the one person it somehow passes by. Some seem to do the opposite and rush toward it by courting danger. Others unconsciously invite death by way of dangerous habits, or apathy. We sometimes borrow a little death by fearing it.

In Tarot, the Death card rarely indicates the end of physical life, so its appearance in a reading shouldn’t be frightening. It usually indicates other kinds of transitions. It’s the inevitability of these changes that seems to be most consistent, with this card, and that’s how its meaning most resembles physical death. One is faced with the inevitable. One must change.

There are many kinds of change that are as inevitable, irresistible, and irrevocable as death. A few examples are the end of childhood, the end of pregnancy in the relentless throes of labor, the need to move on from a spent relationship, leaving a job that no longer suits us — or no longer exists. It’s usually an expected change, one that on some level we knew would come eventually. Perhaps we’ve put off preparing for it, hoping it wouldn’t. Resisting such change is futile, and in many cases will make matters worse or prolong someone’s suffering. It’s best to let go as gracefully as possible, allowing the remains to feed the future and the resulting emptiness to be filled with something new and perhaps better, fresher, more vital, more timely. We can’t see what that might be, and that makes it all the harder to let go. In this regard it’s more like a stalled or prolonged grieving process than death itself.

I sometimes think of this card as the Tarot’s recycling center, or compost heap, because it represents the kinds of endings that are also beginnings, whether we can see or believe in them or not. The remaining energy is best put to other uses.

As each day ends and we retire for the night, most of us do so in the knowledge or faith that a new day will soon dawn. But worry can make the dawn seem a long ways off. It’s in resisting the unknown and inevitable change, in worrying over them as if that worry could somehow thwart them, that we kill ourselves, by refusing to move forward in life, to be present as we meet our future.

The Death card is as much about internal change — life lessons or phases, and how we process them — as it is about external matters. The change might take place inside us, completely unseen by others except as it alters our outlook and behavior. It can be as mundane a change as, “Vacation’s over; time to get back to work.” Although the Death card always requires an adjustment, it’s never a reason to panic. What good would panic do, even if it was an indicator of death? There are more constructive ways to meet the future.

Copyright © 2009 Barbara W. Klaser. All rights reserved.

2009 Tarot Study Index

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Post tags: 2009 Tarot Study, Tarot, Tarot de Marseille, XIII Death

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Going back to Gail Fairfield’s geometric analogy, Two is two points connecting to form a line. Remember back to Geometry class, the abstract notion that a line extends into infinity in both directions, and you have an idea of the potential of the Twos in Tarot — especially the most prominent Two in the deck, the Papess or High Priestess.

As keeper of the Akashic Records, the Collective Unconscious, the knowledge of past, present, and future, the High Priestess’s secret knowledge extends into infinity — but not in all directions. Her number is two, so her scope (or at least what she’ll tell us about it) is limited at any given moment to the course of a single line, and perhaps that is why she seems so secretive. Perhaps in any given instance her wisdom extends only from one point in the unconscious to one point in the conscious, or from one point in Heaven to one on Earth, or from one point in the Past to one point in the Future. At any given moment, perhaps she only connects one point on the Other Side to one person or moment on this side of the Veil. (She is sometimes portrayed with a kind of curtain or veil draped behind her.) She is the line of knowledge from the waters of the great sea of unconscious and intuition, or the dark side of the Moon, her planet, into the light of day. She is the epitome of the Oracle called Tarot. Her knowledge can be as mundane as a single person’s entry in a dream journal or as far-reaching and esoteric as the unknown fate of a people, a nation, or the world. She is the antithesis of the Magician’s conscious known. She is the Unknown, the vast, ghostly sea of the Past, the revealed and unrevealed Present, and the possible Future.

I’ll write more about the High Priestess, as well as the other instances of Two in the major arcana (Strength, Judgment), later. Today my focus is on the Twos of the minor arcana.

The Twos are important cards to us because we live in a world full of duality. At least in a physical sense, we’re tied to duality in this life, to the divisions of day and night, male and female, up and down, right and wrong, life and death. Yes, there are gray areas, but the Twos are at a point in the path where two extremes may not have been bridged yet.

Each of the elements acts on us and our surroundings in dual ways through wet and dry, hot and cold, motion and stillness, hardness and softness, magnetic polarity or attraction, and so on. Though these forms of duality aren’t always absolute, they’re with us all the time to one degree or another, in connection or disconnection, in flow or resistance, in some state of balance or imbalance, for good or ill.

Opposition is something that the smallest child is aware of. Conflict is one way that it manifests, but it also manifests as contrast, complimentariness, and in both positive and negative forms of tension. The saying, “Hunger makes the best sauce,” provides a good example of the range of positiveness and negativeness inherent in any two-ended spectrum or two-sided relationship, even in conflict. Hunger can be deadly, or it can make a meal the most pleasurable event in one’s day. Ice can kill, or it can refresh one in an ice cold drink after a summer day’s work. Some of the most dangerous objects, substances, and experiences in the world are also those that make life worth living, and how they affect our lives depends on duality, combined with perspective.

Of course there are other forms of conflict and interaction than pure duality, and we explored some of them in the Threes. But considering duality can set us on a path of learning about the nature of everything — ourselves, our fellows, and our world.

The ways in which two can work together are every bit as important as the ways that two can work in opposition. We have two eyes, two ears, two hands, opposable thumbs, two legs, two feet. Each pair works in unison to improve exponentially one’s ability to perceive and act in the world. A tree grows limbs above the ground and balances itself with equivalent limbs — roots — beneath the ground. In this way the Two are bridged, a path between them provides cohesion, unity, and support. The limbs alone are without support, the roots alone serve no purpose. Unless they can grow new limbs, they die. Together there’s strength, support, and life. Male and female come together with great tension in a sexual union and then (in many species) they unite as one complimentary force to protect, nourish, and guide their offspring. It might be said that the dual nature of our world, the physical plane, and the bridges that form between opposing forces, are what create the fabric of life. They’re what hold our Universe together. Everything else is built upon that.

The Tarot’s minor arcana Twos divide some of these interactions into categories for our consideration, based on their suits or elements:

Two of Wands (Fire)

The Two of Wands in the Haindl Tarot shows what appears to be the forecourt of a ruined stone palace. A palace or other seat of power ruined by time or war can symbolize the dominion of one powerful force over another, weather opposing stone, or two armies opposed in battle, even a leader opposed by his own subjects. The forecourt of such an important building is often the nexus of activity and interaction with other forces — a place to greet other leaders who visit or send emissaries, or the leader’s own subjects may gather there in protest. In any relationship between two powerful forces there’s equally powerful unity or opposition. Only in special circumstances can two energetic forces remain in balance for long, because their great energy creates great tension. Through attraction or opposition, tension is created that without perfect equality and balance will eventually wear one side down or overwhelm resistance, attraction, or peace.

The Twos in all the suits have to do with relationships between people, things, actions, or forces. The Two of Wands reminds us of how we exert our power over others in relationship, how others exert power over us, and whether we balance that power somehow through equal application of force, or whether one side is likely to dominate the other. It can be competitiveness or cooperation. Because Wands are all about powerful energies, this is the Two that is most likely to indicate conflict. But it can also indicate a powerful union of two. The choice is often ours. For instance, in business, one party can only be concerned with what the other can do for him or how he can profit from the relationship, which can result in conflict or a win-lose result. Or he can be equally concerned about what he’ll do for the other, resulting in an equal, productive and mutually satisfying relationship, one that is likely to last or to be repeated, a distinct win-win result.

Two of Cups (Water)

Water tends to flow in the same direction, usually due to gravity, and sometimes due to deliberate channeling. It can be dammed up or its flow controlled, in constructive ways, or in damaging ones. Conflict in our inner selves or in our relationships with others can bring about a lot of turbulence in our lives, both inner and outer, and make us feel as if we’re submerged, unable to surface. A lot of the most energetic conflict in our emotional lives has to do with dammed up feelings, those held in check so long or which have such great intensity that they eventually break through their barriers — just as water needs to flow. Water also tends to seek itself out, as well as to seek out its source — the ocean — just as we humans tend to seek each other out in relationship, and to seek our spiritual source. As individuals we tend to seek our whole inner self, to flow toward wholeness, balance, and integration of our internal opposites, toward individuation.

In the Tarot of Transformation this card is titled “Authentic Connection”. It portrays two people having a balanced, direct conversation. In an authentic relationship, with our Self or others, feelings are shared or acknowledged in a balanced way. The positive and negative feelings are at some time or another brought into the light and acknowledged in a compassionate, honest way, and at appropriate times, so that they don’t build up that intense force that penetrates helpful and healthy barriers. Helpful barriers are those that protect our innermost secrets and dreams, our self-esteem, our personal space and privacy. They may also be those barriers that govern our considerate or compassionate behavior toward others or help us keep confidences and maintain trust. They can be barriers that keep us from saying hurtful things in anger that we’ll later regret.

Relating to others takes time and a willingness to listen without judging. It takes acceptance, cooperation, or flowing together. Supporting each other’s feelings as valid helps us work together through difficult times as well as pleasant times. It’s also important in any relationship to be honest in pointing out when we think the other is about to fall or do something regretful, or needs healing that they can’t see right now. It’s easy to love someone when they’re healthy, strong, and when things go well. But true love and friendship work equally well during tough times.

Two of Swords (Air)

Swords are sometimes about communication, thoughts, intellect, ideas, and sometimes about things governed by electricity, electronics, airwaves, weather, or technology. I can also see them as indicating the atmosphere of a situation. There are times when we speak of the air being tense with a particular mood, and if one looks at the images on the Swords cards in many decks, they do appear rather moody. Our frame of mind on any given day can influence a lot in our lives, including our work, our ideas, our decisions, our relationships, and our communications.

The Two of Swords in the Rider-Waite-Smith Tarot (RWS), and in decks based on the RWS, usually shows a situation that appears to be a stalemate. Differences have been set aside, but only in what appears to be a temporary way, by closing one’s eyes to them or by putting decisions off. Sometimes it indicates a stubborn resistance to talking things out. Avoidance is indicated rather than a truly satisfactory compromise or agreement.

This Two can also sometimes indicate thinking a situation or process through carefully before moving forward, which is a more positive form of delay or resistance. Or it can indicate a need to conserve energy by focusing on fewer things for the time being.

In some situations this is about a fork in the road, sometimes a pivotal divergence of paths. One idea takes two different courses, each veering off until they’re two separate ideas. Who originated those two ideas? The person who started out on one path, or those who carried that idea in different directions? In this sense this card could indicate the genesis and subsequent evolution of a situation, even of a belief system or religion, or a systematic way of thinking, such as Freudian and Jungian psychology, the divergence of one political party into two parties, and so forth. This can lead to conflict. An argument about cleaning a closet becomes an argument about cleaning the garage or entire house, about buying too many clothes, needing a larger house, and so forth. An argument, or an international conflict, can escalate in this way, leading to a war that no one remembers the reason for. For that reason sometimes it’s best to leave some arguments and side issues for later — to ignore or avoid getting sidetracked by them for the moment — and to focus on the matter at hand. This helps to resolve one conflict and leave the others to be resolved one at a time. Otherwise things can quickly get out of control. In this way Two of Swords can be about timing, knowing the right time to pursue an argument, or picking one’s fights.

Two of Disks (Earth)

The Two of Disks is about balance of physical things, activities, energy, time, and even pleasure. Everyone has two or more priorities in their life — work and home, exercise and sleep, vacations and paying off debt, hobbies and those things that pay the bills, spiritual life and practical life. The illustration on the Two of Disks in many decks shows a person juggling two objects on shore while in the background ships toss in a rough sea. Juggling requires focus and attention that shuts out all else. We sometimes get so caught up in juggling one set of obligations, and possibly the conflicts between them, that we don’t have time to see how the rest of our life is getting out of balance. Practical matters seem to override all else these days. The boss insists we be passionate about the job — juggling our obligations to his business — so the kids’ soccer practice, or the fact that an anniversary is coming up — the business of personal life — falls by the wayside. Sometimes we aren’t even aware of how our activities are causing us to miss other important things. It’s all about balance, though, making sure we pay attention to the “big rocks” as time management expert Steven Covey teaches in his “What Matters Most” course, and letting the sand fit in between where it can. The trick to this is in deciding up front what’s a rock and what are the pebbles and sand in one’s life, and ensuring that one isn’t juggling someone else’s rocks instead of one’s own. That’s setting our values and prioritizing, and it may be the most important meaning of this card. It’s difficult to plan our time perfectly because we don’t know what’s coming, what’s likely to throw our plans off. But if we determine up front what’s truly important to us — what we value — and then keep clear in our minds at all times what’s truly important, we’ll be sure to take care of that no matter what, and be happier people for it.

In some decks, such as the Crowley-Thoth Tarot, the Two of Disks is Change, and that’s another important aspect of planing and prioritizing conflicting obligations. Any plan or set of priorities needs to be flexible. What’s important to us one month, for instance making sure Tommy does his homework or gets to band practice on time, may change next month when Tommy goes off to summer camp and we have a big organizing project at home that we want to finish before he returns. Sometimes our values change drastically, such as our beliefs, our political identification, or our major relationships. If we don’t find a way to stay in balance in spite of these “big rock” changes in our lives, disaster can result. So this card is also about flexibility in how we value and prioritize the various parts of our lives. It’s important to glance up and check the horizon now and then and keep our relationship to it adjusted in appropriate ways. If ships are tossing out at sea, there’s a good chance that storm will hit shore soon, so we’d better keep an eye on it, not just go on juggling things the way we would on a sunny day.

Copyright © 2009 Barbara W. Klaser. All rights reserved.

2009 Tarot Study Index

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Post tags: Crowley-Thoth Tarot, Gail Fairfield, Haindl Tarot, High Priestess, Rider-Waite-Smith Tarot, RWS, Tarot, Tarot of Transformation, Two of Cups, Two of Disks, Two of Swords, Two of Wands

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