Collapse and Renewal

This week I'll be using the Vision Quest Tarot, a deck created by Gayle Silvie Winter and Jo Dose (Illustrator); it was published by AGM Müller. I'll also be using Bird Cards, a deck and book set by Jane Toerien (Author) and Joyce van Dobben (Illustrator); it was published by Altamira-Becht. Today's draws are the Seven of Air (Swords) and the Phoenix:

The Seven of Air's keyword is 'futility' and illustrates this with a broken spearhead. What is it that we keep doing over and over, thinking this time the result will be different? We all have familiar behavior patterns that we tend to fall into when we are stressed or exhausted. It just seems easier to do what we know. Yet it is futile to repeat behavior (no matter how comfortable) that won't help us solve anything. The Phoenix is a mythical bird that suggests the collapse of the old so the new can arise. If we can let go of our attachment to how things are usually done, we may discover a new perspective and a solution.

The art of life lies in a constant readjustment to our surroundings. —Kakuzō Okakura

No So-So Love

From the Mythic Tarot, the Ten of Cups; from the Symbolon, the 'Phoenix:'

          Seeing Psyche in her divine form next to her husband Eros made "Stand By Your Man" start playing in my head. She met challenge after challenge to stay together with Eros. Unlike Tammy Wynette, Psyche's husband wasn't the problem - it was her mother-in-law Aphrodite that caused her grief. The Ten of Cups seems like winning the relationship lottery, but most people never see the work, love, and forgiveness involved behind closed doors. Cutting and running is the easy option when our fairy tale doesn't work out, but it won't help grow a time-tested relationship. The Phoenix is a great symbol of the ups and downs of being in a committed partnership or friendship. There are times when we feel burnt to ashes by the vicissitudes of life, but if our partner or friend is a keeper, he or she can gather and hold that ash tenderly until we can rise again.

There isn’t anything in this world but mad love. Not in this world. No tame love, calm love, mild love, no so-so love. And of course, no reasonable love. Also, there are a hundred paths through the world that are easier than loving. But, who wants easier? We dream of love, we moon about it, thinking of Romeo and Juliet, or Tristan, or the lost queen rushing away over the Irish sea, all doom and splendor. Today, on the beach, an old man was sitting in the sun. I called out to him, and he turned. His face was like an empty pot. I remember his tall, pale wife; she died long ago. I remember his daughter-in-law. When she died, hard, and too young, he wept in the streets. He picked up pieces of wood, and stones, and anything else that was there, and threw them at the sea. Oh, how he loved his wife. Oh, how he loved young Barbara. I stood in front of him, not expecting any answer yet not wanting to pass without some greeting. But his face had gone back to whatever he was dreaming. Something touched me lightly, like a knife-blade. I felt I was bleeding, though just a little, a hint. Inside I flared hot, then cold. I thought of you. Whom I love madly.

—Mary Oliver,  White Pine

Tied to the Whipping Post

From the Vision Quest, Torment (the Devil):

Sometimes I feel
Like I've been tied
To the whipping post
Tied to the whipping post
Tied to the whipping post
Good lord I feel like I'm dyin'
~ Gregg Allman

Allman's song and this image remind me that my need to escape fear and find security can sometimes bind me to something or someone even worse.  I can just hear this fellow's rationalization now: "No, I don't have much range of motion, but this post feels very secure and grounded."  I've hidden in dark holes before where no light comes, conning myself into believing I was "safe."  But I missed out on all the joys and laughter in that dark place too; now I don't want to trade all that away for the illusion ever again.

From the Bird Cards this morning comes the "Phoenix:"

The puzzle pieces of one landscape fall away to reveal a new scene underneath, just as the mythical phoenix rises from the ashes.  My life often has subtle shifts, so imperceptible I rarely notice them.  Then there are those moments of change that feel like a major earthquake.  What I counted on for support and stability is destroyed in the process; I can choose to transform myself like this bird, or curl into the fetal position and play the part of the victim.  Going through change sucks, but at least this option will keep me from being stuck in a place of eternal despair.