A Reflection of the World tarot card on this Earth day ©

This is a short journal entry in support of a greener tomorrow through the eyes of Key 21.

     As I pulled the world card earlier this morning, I had a think about all this mention of earth day and what it is that most of do to support it. There is the usual act of tree planting and throughout the course of the day; we are reminded of recycling and repurposing. However, what else can we do to help heal our planet?

     Looking over the world card, I would say, just as we are born and sustained by the elements which provide our sources for nutritional support, so do we, have the obligation to return the favor to those elements. Perhaps on this earth day of the year 2013, we can seek to key 21 to gain a greater respect for our planet, via a unified effort to heal and sustain it as it has sustained us. Forget political, social and economic divisions. As an alternative, acknowledge the rate at which our planet is incessantly harmed by damaging chemicals, consistently poisoned rather than healed. The world card brings into the forefront of my mind greener/clean energy sources and the disarmament of weapons of mass destruction.
     On this earth day, let’s consider how our actions and inactions affect our planet. Let’s work towards the progression of human, animal and plant life via the sustainment of our planets health. Look to the elements which were there before any of us, elements which exist within all of us. Let’s discontinue harming the elements so they may continue to provide for us.

Ask yourself: what can I do to support a healthier earth today?

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The Devil: Death to Our Souls ©

Darkness strives to torture and limit our vision, stripping away the light of our soul.

     If there is anything I can state openly, about the dream I experienced today, April 12^th, 2013 at 5 am, is that we need to become aware of the darkness which lurks to destroy the peace in this world. The following is disturbing and intended for a mature audience. If you proceed in reading, you are contending to be of mature (legal) age.  Depart from the book knowledge (just this once) and look into yourself for the understanding already contained within your spirit. Reconnect to the collective subconscious. Respect each other and actively advocate for world peace and an end to violence.

The Nightmare:
     I saw a couple, a man and a woman, who were chatting inside their small bathroom. They had decided, to shower together in order to speed up their routine, as they spoke of an engagement they were to attend early that evening. While in the shower, they heard the bathroom door open. The woman pulled the shower curtain aside and peered out to see who it was. She saw a man standing in their bathroom. He was tall, olive toned with short, straight black hair. A bandage was wrapped around his right, perhaps of some sort of laceration. With dark eyes, the man stared at her, startling the woman. Calmly, the stranger closed the narrow bathroom door and sat down on the toilet which faced it. The couple shut the shower off and pulled the curtain aside completely. Alarmed and frightened, they held each other as they crouched down in the bath tub. The stranger reached for a bat which he brought in to the bathroom, along with other items. He swung the bat, hitting the woman’s husband on the head, rendering him unconscious. The woman held her husband’s head while crying and screaming loudly, as she shook him in an attempt to reawaken him. The perpetrator swung the bat close to the woman in an attempt to further scare her.
     Sitting back down and never once speaking a word, he continued staring at her. She looked to the door and saw it was unlocked, yet the small bathroom did not allow for her to make a sprint towards it. He noticed her eyes shifting behind her brown glasses, towards the door knob. Smirking, he reached for the knob and pushed the brass colored button in, engaging the lock. Somehow, I could hear her thoughts for escape. I could feel her hopelessness. This stranger would be the last person she would see. Her husband began to move and groan. Reaching for him, she shook him. Now awake, he saw the man sitting on the toilet and remembered the strike to his head. Though he was awake, his body remained sluggish and limp.
     The couple embraced each other, not knowing the purpose for this stranger’s act of violence. What did he want? Why was he here? The man reached for a small container. Holding it in his right hand, he tossed its’ contents directly at the woman’s face. She felt a burning sensation and her husband’s screams drowned out her thoughts. Within seconds, the vision in her right eye was lost. This was some sort of acid and soon, the mad man reached for another container to repeat the process. Now blind in both eyes and barely breathing, her hands found the wall on the right. While her hands pounded against it, the mad man grabbed her, pulling her out of the bath tub. Her husband was threatened with the same fate if he dared move. He reached for a small clear bottle with a twist off dropper. The liquid inside the small bottle was an anesthetic which he emptied into the woman’s mouth by a dropper full. She refused to swallow at first, but had no other choice but to do so, for the fear she had of her husband suffering the same fate. Her body became numb. This was the end.

Ceres, the High Priestess & the Rite of the Pomegranate ©

You called to me, I listened.

     Standing in a large hall watching the Roman goddess Ceres I could hear instructing others in how to tend the countless halls where marital unions took place. There were ceremonies faced with ill planned itineraries; others by awkwardly matched couples, while in other instances, unions appeared well matched. In all of these cases, Ceres did not pass judgment, for her job was to ensure there were plenty resources available for the celebrations to follow. The goddess tasked me with cleaning her house and informed me of our forthcoming move. Unsure about this passage of “ours,” I carried out all duties despite feeling that only I would be the one moving. Her eyes were attentive to my tasks though there was much for her to administer. Was she my mother? If she was, I felt our connection to be distant. Why did I feel this way? Regardless of this feeling, I continued the errands which were endlessly abundant.

     As I worked, situations arose and were brought to my attention, frequently interrupting and prolonging the ability to absolve my own chores. Lined up on a narrow table before of me were swords that were each distinctly decorated and of innumerable lengths. Sitting aside each other in a long line, I soon understood how each situation required a specific blade, requiring meticulous selection by my hand, to resolve mishaps associated with the festivities. After spending extended periods of time in sword selection, I decided to rise and give myself a break. Looking down at my body I saw I wore a brown linen skirt and sandals. My body and mind begged for time away from my arduous tasks. Walking out of the house of Ceres, I was met by others similarly dressed. In an instance, I was greeted and invited to engage in a delightful pastime of warrior games. Playfully, others ran around me. Delighted by their disposition, I joined the game. I heard the roar of other kin who cheered us on. A heavy rainfall commenced without warning, though the sky had been overcast for part of the day. Our feet pounded the ground as leather sandals mixed water and soil, covering our legs from the knees down in mud. In this manner we continued our games of chase and attack.
     Hesitantly, I bade farewell to my companions acknowledging the importance of my return to the house of the goddess for whom I needed to carry out my final tasks of the day. Upon completion, I bathed only to find my clothing replaced with flowing garments of white linen. Looking around, I was unable to see or hear anyone who may have entered my quarters. Nevertheless, I slipped into my gown. In doing so, the sun peered through a large break in the clouds. Looking down into my clean hands, a cluster of pomegranate seeds appeared. They glistened in the early evening sun like freshly polished rubies. I noticed these seeds appeared when I thought of something in particular or felt a certain way. This idea drew me deeply into a state of contemplation. These seeds were a key. Ceres watched me from a short distance and smiled at me with joy of my personal realization. She was not my mother, yet in her house I resided for this period of time. My mind was clear, my hands were clean and my clothes were fresh and new. The goddess wished me well on my trip, blessing the seeds with her essence of abundance and prosperity. Plenty would always be provided.
     Lastly, the Priestess who accompanied Ceres said: these are the seeds which you have earned through labor and humility. Your brethren have worked in the same manner as you, awaiting passage into the other worlds. This is eternity. This is power. This is the grace of the gods shinning down on those who’ve labored to gain entry. Your work was never in vain, though at times, you felt it so. You now begin anew. Unique challenges lie ahead; take up the appropriate sword for its' warranted action. Remember the law. The king smiles upon you. You are accompanied by eternal brethren. Cross the worlds. Exercise prudence. This is the contract. The goddess and Priestess fade away, signaling the end of the rite of the pomegranate. Instantly, I “awoke.”


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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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An Illusion of the Seven of Cups, Part 1©

     I dreamed I walked through an outdoors Arabian market where I perused many tables. Merchants eagerly pushed to advertise unique artisan items, while others promoted articles which gleamed in the sun, sparkling like gold, but gold, they were not. After spending an entire day sifting through tables of this congested market place, I was drawn to a merchant who largely sold regional fruit. I became intrigued by one of the trays on his table which held figs of various sorts. Many had traveled from afar to meet this trader as he was well known globally for acquiring the juiciest of figs. It was apparent many had arrived after a long journey, to his table earlier than I, as they had picked through the finest of the figs. All that was left were two figs which have blackened, entirely over ripened for my taste. Though this was obvious, the merchant in his grey pants, beige shirt and grey head dress tried his very best to persuade me to buy the remaining fruit as he claimed they were in perfect condition for consumption. Repulsed by his attempt to feed me over sweetened words, I rejected the two figs on the tray and announced my intent to depart his stand. The merchant stopped insisting and fell silent, as he waited, watching for something else to occur. I did not know what to make of his silence. A thought popped into my mind, and soon I found myself wondering, was he in disguise? Somehow his facial features were familiar to me yet I could not place him, in particular, to any place or situation from my past. He looked at me as if he knew me, yet an unspoken oath of silence prohibited him from revealing the nature of our last encounter. He realized I was scanning my memory, searching for the key of our last conversation as he remained still on his withered wooden stool. His slight smile cued me, from sheer instinct, to redirect my view back to the tray of over ripened figs. The second I laid eyes on the tray I saw a new fig appear. I looked at it and without question, reached for it. It emitted a tantalizing scent, a testament of its freshness. This fig was ready to consume, picked freshly just moments ago, and now, here it was. I let the merchant know through a particular hand gesture that I would buy the fig which I securely held in my right hand. As he shook his head up and down in acknowledgement, a pomegranate appeared on the tray, the only pomegranate in the entire market.

     Extending my left arm, my fingers quickly found and wrapped around the bright fruit. I could feel, through its thick spongy skin, the many seeds contained within. I could smell the sweet juice which waited for me to devour it. Holding each fruit before me, I communicated to the merchant my intent to purchase. While sustaining his smile, he finally broke his oath of silence by expressing to me how long he waited for this moment to arrive; waiting for the day that someone would reveal the truth about the figs, which many bought and purchased blindly. Countless people traveled in vanity to reach the merchant merely to say they arrived to partake of the worlds’ most luscious figs. It was a journey made mostly for personal bragging rights, out of the sheer reputation of the merchants’ name. The genuine process of discerning quality fruit, unfortunately, fell by the waist side. After paying, the merchant, along with his table and the entire outdoors market of this desert town disappeared into smoke. Soon, I would see myself indoors in a place far away from this one, continuing the saga of discovering the truth behind the smoke of an illusion created for many to believe. Upon gazing at the seven of cups, one must confront the task of dispelling the illusion of promises conjured by another; promises disguised as gleaming, fresh and new, a mirage that leads nowhere. The person in the seven of cups is a manipulator of illusion and care must be taken to not become part of that illusion.

The Vision:

     After much reflection, I received the following vision: a small fox coyly hides behind a fallen tree deep in the woods. The more I watched it, the more it tried to hide its face. The fox continued this game of watching and hiding, yet, it did not run away. Passing my hand over the mirror, an image of a small bird appeared. It would not be too long afterwards before expedient arrival of news regarding the sly fox would reach my ears. A week later I received part two of this journey, discovering more behind the fox’s secret.

To be continued…

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Union with the Prince, a Return to the Purified Ace ©

This entry is based on the dream of a Prince that was once forgotten.

     My mother, the queen met with a king who presented his son, the Prince to me. The Prince, elegantly dressed in garments of royal blue and gold, was pleased to meet my acquaintance. Handsome as he was, his soul spoke to mine. He was accompanied by a friend, another Prince who did not waste any time to suggest a conversation in order to get to know one another. From behind us, two Princesses approached us and attempted to disrupt our meeting. The Princesses were spiteful and jealous, as clearly, the attention the Prince rendered to me seemed unnecessary in their eyes as they thought themselves greater of status in comparison to me. They were cold and condescending, straining their energies to instill a sense of inadequacy within me. Looking down to me in the manner they did, their efforts to separate me from my Prince became much more vigorous. The king watched from across the court in utter displeasure as this was clearly not what he envisioned for his son and me, yet he could not do anything to interfere. If his son’s true desire was a destiny with the Princess ruled by the material along with her thirst for recognition, then he would be forced to suffer an eternal disappointment in his son. With sorrow he watched the two Princesses driven by arrogance and egotism slowly succeed in their malevolent plan to diminish a holy union.

     Meanwhile, congregated in an area of the court, all five of us stood, but it was only one who suffered public mockery and humiliation from the Princesses slashing tongues. On in this manner, malicious words and actions ensued, and my heart, heavy with sorrow, sank as it knew the last road left for me to take. There was no other option; I had to walk away from my Prince. Having settled on this choice, one which I regrettably needed to accept, I turned and departed the group, as my sense of self and confidence became the victim of dilution while in the presence of the five. I left the five, leaving behind the four, hearing all the while, as they celebrated friendship and possible marital union. The group of four became stale to the Prince and soon, he was able to see the truth of these false festivities, alas, unveiling the hidden agenda of the Princesses. The truth was simple as there was no truth to uphold the union with the dark hearted Princess. Turning his gaze towards me, he watched as I walked away in the near distance. By instinct, I felt him silently sounding off a faraway trumpet, a battle call for my return.
     Heeding the call, I turned my head to glance back at my beautiful Prince, who seemed to be ripped out of my future. To my surprise, he looked in my direction while quickstepping towards me, as the distance between us became narrower by the breath. In a moment, the celebration he willingly departed would come to an abrupt halt. The two Princesses immediately understood the Prince’s humble choice. Infuriated, the two stormed out of the court, abandoning the Prince’s close friend without any further word. The Prince ran towards me and when he reached me, he lifted me up in his embrace as my toes and heels swayed gently to the sound of our breath. Placing me back down on the ground, he motioned to guide me by his arm back to where his friend stood. The three of us proceeded to enjoy a humble celebration of a union that was meant to be. The king and queen watched in silence, overjoyed with content. The friend of my Prince smiled with sincerity as he blessed our happy union and bade us farewell. From the three, now stood two; a further reduction for reaching true happiness. The Prince and I held each other while contemplating our union, a union of the two, now purified. There was no imbalance, as a clear choice guided by the hand of the divine was attained. In this choice of purity and innocence, a summit was reached, as the Prince and I chose a love which made us one. His garments of blue and gold were transformed, as I saw his body cloaked in stunning fabrics of red and gold. It was a transformation of the cold into warmth as it was apparent that he cherished me, and I him. We were both the fire of each other’s heart.

     The message of this dream is clear as it shadows, in a sense, a previous entry. In the end, all returns to the one, as there is no man or woman greater than the source from which, after reduction, is returned to the one. Which Ace have you forgotten to embrace today?

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The Wheel of the Unfortunate Sevens ©

Based on a dream of a friend, in hopes she can discover the place of peace.

     Standing beside an Olympic sized pool, I awaited to watch a swimming competition. I saw a friend far off, approaching the pool as she spoke with another. I smiled and waved waiting for her to return the gesture. She turned her face towards me, and upon seeing me, turned away to ignore me. I steered my attention back towards the pool as I refused to let her coldness of heart destructively affect me. I watched the Olympian athletes gracefully warm up, as they practiced their well measured strokes and breaths. As I stood there, the water called to me, a sound I imagined water sirens were accustomed to. I was soon convinced through this melody, to examine the experience to follow from within the realm of this liquid haven. Obeying the call, I reached for my swim apparel and confidently tip toed to the far edge of the pool. Once there, I asked the closest swimmer if I could take a dip, taking care to not disturb their practice. With a warm welcome, this swimmer, a merman in his own right, directed me to an enclosed area of the pool by which I could partake in the experience. Excitedly, I hurried off to a private corner and changed into my swim gear, a second skin of which I seemed to have forgotten, just how comfortable I was in it.

     Delightedly, I returned to the pool. I felt cool liquid lap against my feet, water that invited play, enticing my toes which hung over the pool’s edge. Bending one leg at a time, my bottom met the tile beneath my feet, and with a gentle push, my body was submerged. Liquid heaven, fluid and cool, I could see mermen gliding past me, demonstrating their exquisite talents. In need of a breath, my arms pushed against the liquid around me and soon my head met the surface of the water. Treading and floating in this place felt second nature, as the mermen who swam circles near me clearly enjoyed my presence. This was a place of peace. Floating quietly as I did, the voice of my friend within earshot, I could hear as she boasted of her swimming abilities. Her voice expanded as details of her abilities grew by the second; a sound so horrid that it disrupted the peace of all who dwelled within the fluid realm. Unlike the water that surrounded us, her soul was unclear and her mind was riddled with the thoughts of lust over personal recognition.
     The waters became silent and soon I found myself folding one leg over the other while maneuvering my fingers into my preferred mudra. I watched the spectacle that unfolded as she signed up to compete against the skillful mermen. I decided to focus on the beat of my heart, a steady percussion, accompanied by the sound of my breath as it entered and left my body. All the while I thought to myself: “What exactly is the difficulty in accepting limitation and what is one getting away with really?”
     A whistle blew and soon the sounds around me were turned up. The mermen disguised as athletes lined up on the opposite side of the pool, filing into their perspective lanes. I saw my friend position herself at the end of one of these lanes. Ill prepared, she competed in her normal clothing. Her turn arrived as she waited for the whistle to blow. When it did, she jumped into the wrong side of the lane before her, failing to take note of the dark net which separated each of the lanes underneath the water’s surface. She had become gravelly entangled and soon, was unable to unravel herself, a skill she had not acquired. Screaming for help as her arms flailed in the water, she was in need of rescue. In disbelief everyone watched as she cried and screamed, as she waited for a nurturing hand to comfort another one of her mistakenly ill measured decisions. This was the story of her life, a chapter that I chose to skim over lightly.
      Her life is a never ending cycle of traumatic events. Confined in the realm of the unfortunate sevens, she refuses to escape the sheltered views of her book; unable to swallow pride and the sense of false courage, the word of her testament. She knows not when to cease speaking to the tune of manipulation, a mode by which her deceptions are shielded. Aiming for expansion, she cares not for those amongst her. This is her signature mark, a trademark attributed to the unfortunate sevens. In despair she cries for truth and clarity, while in a state of elation, she embraces anything but. She resides within the safe haven of her delusions; a battery of self-inflicted wounds. Around and again goes the wheel of her deceit as she rejects to grasp the seven of the tangible, the authentic, of valor. She travels around this wheel fueled by the force of the unfortunate sevens safely within her pocket.


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