Do not break it!
It is fragile!
Page of Disks:
The innocence of a baby asleep.
Yet unconscious of the growing potential represented by the plant in its hand.
Beaded moccasins, that have never tread the living Earth, never stepped onto anything and so also never over-stepped.
The baby is swaddled.
Gentle, swaddling makes babies feel save, reminds them of the tightness of the womb.
There will have to come a day, when parents have to loosen that swaddling cloth, to allow more freedom of movement, of growth.
They have to trust, that that will be all right.
That the emerging little Self will provide the bounds within which it will grow.
There will be pitfalls and stumbles and the moccasins will have to be replaced by running shoes.
It will all be about running free, about evolving …
…about revealing beautiful Eagle’s wings beneath the swaddling,
and ultimately about unfurling these wings in order to fly free.
Ace of Swords:
What went wrong?
What fear gripped a doting parent?
-What notion of insecurity transferred to the fledgeling Eagle that he
was OK with being tied down, fixed into place -?
A beating heart thumping against tight bonds swaddling the chest.
What feelings are they supposed to restrain?
What does it feel like having them welling up regardless.
Can he hear his thumping heart, thumping yearning messages into the mind of the predator Bird born to soar free?
Those magnificent wings!
Have they ever tasted the wind?
Is his head hanging low.
Deep in meditation?
Forgoing instant gratification for later gain?
Gain of what? Wisdom?
Or is he depressed resigned to the fate of a caged Spirit?
Or is he plotting to break free?
The burning desire to exercise his flight feathers is setting his gut into flames….
Will these flames burn away the bonds?
What’s with the tightly bound groin?
The seat of sexual desire, urge and lust , when bound like this is a time bomb, ready to explode…..
What fear made these constrains necessary?
What deranged mind thought they are the answer?
Was it a quest for knowledge, that started this?
The notion, that suppressing one power will give you another?
He now knows.
It is time to loosen these bonds.
What will we see, if these bonds come of – finally?
What – – if –
What if it is too late?
Damage done, fuse burnt – right through the Soul?
Imprinting the fear?
Then we might have a soul-sick predator on our hands……
Ace of Wands.! ?
Is THAT, what this is supposed to be?
I read the book – about this being the untamed heat and energy of the sun….
That is not, what I see.
Sometime it is a rather heavy burden, to know – too much – about mental health – and what it looks like, when that falls apart.
The RN in me, the trained professional in me knows and has seen it = THIS very scenario in the card more than once.
I learned to read artwork like this, find the tortured Soul between the strokes of the brush, the charcoal sketches, the drawings a knife or other sharp object rendered onto bleeding skin.
Legs being a prime canvas…
On more than one occasion that, what is shaman in me has had to slip into the chaos-ripped Soul of the patient, in order to pull him/ her back from the brink of annihilation.
This is, what it feels like, when the voices call hither and fro, when the soul does not know anymore, where to turn, and then can not turn fast enough – forth and back and forth again.
Male? Or female? Or nothing- or everything or?? What? It changes by the minute – by the voice in the head and the voice of the soul that answers in tortured cries..
Voices! Roaring voices of malicious HATE, voices of angelic beauty commanding him/ her – you to – cut: First the arms and legs,let the blood run free and release the – self hate, the confusion the fear….
But then, just go, try to – cut – then the tail of the Cat, then – the whole Cat –
– Then cut the cord.
The cord that hold the last vestiges of sanity – the bindings, that anchor a person in the reality, where others live….
Others – that’s it!
The “Others” are after you! The voices scream and warn and threaten forth and back and every shadow becomes an “Other” equipped with menacing grin, brandishing a pen or a paintbrush that morphs into a knife, marking the body with blooooood-red fear and an insurmountable urge to escape.
Then, when the cutting of the own flesh is not stilling the voices, is not releasing the pain anymore as it used to, not quieting the fear either….
When starving the body, depriving it of sleep, of food, of water, of nutrition will not kill the daemons, but just ripppppppp the fragile Soul-cover bare and expose it to the glarrrrring light of burning horror, When shielding the errant eyes from this glare of shadowy specters will not bring any relieve or refuge……
Then there is only one escape left: Spread your bloody wings and flee
Will you stumble screaming into the the sanctum of the walled wards and its/ their mind -and Soul numbing pills ?
Been there – done that –
How many times?
Do it again?
Or dare to turn the other way and race on blood dripping wings through the gates of suicide and –
– back into the quiet arms of the Earth Mother?