An Illusion of the Seven of Cups, Part 2©

Better to be simple and under control than the object of someone else’s sideshow.

     A man of which I was unable to take my eyes off placed me upon a stool. Unattractive as he was, he was quite familiar with fame. Acclaimed for his talents, particularly his singing and guitar playing abilities, I wondered why he situated me on this stool in the manner he did. He was on tour and asked me to be a part of his show, a venue which sold out weeks earlier. I inquired about his request for my participation, as I did not possess talents for singing or playing an instrument. Confused by his fervor for my involvement, he reassured me to stop worrying as he waved his hand in the air towards himself, a gestural order for the staff to immediately approach and take me away to a predestinated dressing room. Soon I would find myself covered in hands of those who placed their makeup and styling skills into high gear while dressing me to play the part the musician had in mind. The staff emphasized how much the musician needed my assistance on stage, careful to avoid disclosing the true nature behind his request. I remembered the mention of “how my talents were discovered from afar some time ago.” They took equal care not to divulge the talents referred to in particular.
     Now ready, the staff guided me beside the staircase near the back stage. From this position, I would await the cue to make my entrance. Surveying my black outfit, I saw a green and yellow bow tied around my neck. Angered by the sly manner this bow was placed around my neck moments before stepping onto the stage I ripped it off and loosened the uppermost buttons of my shirt. Looking further down at my body, I was outraged by the uncomfortable short black skirt that I certainly did not deem appropriate for an audience. I pulled the skirt down the furthest it would go, but, at that precise moment, I heard my cue. Quick to regroup my efforts, I took care to ascend each of the steps leading to the front stage. The short skirt made matters difficult during my ascent, but with care and grace I reached the summit and stepped onto the shiny onyx black stage where soon the musician would flamboyantly motion me forward, as he yearned to bedazzle the crowd with his antics.
     Upon reaching his position on stage, he picked me up, demonstrating to the audience how easily he cradled me in his arms, as if I were an infant oblivious to the world around me. Showing me off at stage left, followed by stage right, it was apparent the makeup along the musician’s jawline was beginning to smudge too early in the show and soon would be noticeable to others. He headed to the tall stool at center stage and placed me upon it, forcing me to sit in an awkward position. The stool felt unstable and any quick or uncalculated movement would have me losing my balance, thereby falling off of it. Besides balance, I took excessive caution to keep the short skirt under control, and overall, found myself displeased at the provocative manner my legs were displayed. Sitting down on his wide and stable stool next to mine, he motioned for his guitar. His guitar needed piecing together before the audience, as this was a part of his stage act. A staff member handed it me the pieces which I passed along to him. I needed to remain nimble for the reason I was placed on such an uncomfortable stool and forced to wear such an intolerable outfit became clear. I was the side show that would make everyone laugh, the one who would divert attention away from the musician. After the guitar was pieced together, I motioned for him to commence playing while holding a microphone in my left hand that he used for singing. Without any warning, the guitar fell apart in his hands as he failed to apply gentle pressure to the instrument. Without notice, the musician could not muster the ability to sing. All the while, I watched, while holding the microphone in disbelief. Storming off the stage, the musician hid from the public out of personal embarrassment, and I was left alone, before the world, with microphone in hand. Things could not be any more ironic than this.
     I saw many friends who came to see me at the show. They felt bad the venue was cancelled due to the musician’s disappearance. When I effortlessly dismounted the unstable stool, the audience applauded, shouting phrases of approval at me. I smiled and waved at both the audience and friends who were present to support me. I uttered a brief thank you into the microphone and placed it on top of the musician’s stool. Everyone continued to clap as I exited the stage. Friends lined up along the aisle beside the staircase to greet me. They were apologetic as my chance to shine was stripped away from me. I smiled and told them not to worry, as evidently, I excelled the moment I held my ground with poise. My cheeks were warm and blushed in a soft hue of peach-pink as the audience continued their heartfelt display of encouragement. I walked away from the lip service of the musician, feeling fantastic like never before. By resigning the position of the side show act, I was empowered. The musician promised me the world but delivered an illusion, an illusion he could not maintain.

In seeing the seven of Cups, will you remain an illusion in the world of another? Is someone paying lip service via an illusion of promise? Our father, the Hierophant asks: can you break the illusion you have been cleverly placed under?

The Vision: The right hand of a person “plays” with constant rearrangement of articles around a pentacle on an altar. The individual’s hand is tied with a black ribbon/cord, as elements are moved about in an indecisive manner regarding final placement.

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