Tarots are incredibly fascinating. A tapestry of life, art bringing knowledge, hidden behind symbolism.
I do not know about you, but I love the metaphor of us going through our life journey beginning as Fools, in the hope of becoming whole with the World. The whole thing is definitely not linear, and at times it loops and folds, and it’s never quite clear where we are in the journey at a given time.
It is our life quest. It is pain, it is joy, it is mystery, confusion and clarity, loneliness and companionship, death and survival, creation and loss. The Tale of Tarot is the iridescent weave of our lives, the Arcana our warp and weft.
I’ve always been fascinated with Tarot cards, and have been reading them on and off for about 18 years, beginning soon after I moved to Scotland. Much has gone by since then, the relationship between me and the transcendental waxing and waning several times. Last year, though, I had the luck of falling in love with a witch, a spark that made me reconnect with the occult. The fire is blazing again.
This little project started an afternoon doing watercolours together. I had no idea what to do, and drew a thing, and then drew the Tower over it. And, while painting, the writing appeared spontaneously. A little setup, and number of questions, mostly aimed at the persona of a young wizard, initially nothing more. A system-neutral journaling game, a reverse tarot reading, using the cards not as events, but as explanations querying you for the event.
But it’s not only a game. It’s also an introspective tool, ready to ask questions when you need to give answers from yourself. It will work, whether you believe or not.
So, here we are, making clumsy, little watercolours, and writing some questions, vibing.
Let’s see the Tower. The most cursed card, the scariest, say some people. For me it’s not scary: the Tower is the collapse bringing freedom from ignorance, is the catastrophe resetting the situation to a more sustainable baseline, is the letdown bringing you down to Earth.
The Tower is, crucially, the break-up that came ten days after it was painted.
XVI – The Tower
How did it feel, how did it feel reaching for the sky? Upward! Upward! Ever upward! Light headed, merry, intoxicated by the rush? No more! You are now falling, screaming, broken, free.
What made you so optimist? What was the brilliant plan? What made you blind? What was the lightning bringing the downfall?
And now, falling:
what are you screaming?
what is your pain?
what is your shame?
Lost Pages 