Death

Relax.  It's nothing personal. Look at the white flower on the flag of the victor.  It's five perfect snow white petals, like the heart of the golden mean. It may look like the end of the world, but everything is really in perfect order. You were sick of that gig anyhow. Death is just hastening along a badly needed change. 

He's like the meter maid.  Everyone fears him. They try to negotiate with him when he's standing next to their car/carc, softly shaking his skull as he assesses the damage. He'd snear, if he could raise a lip corner. But he drives a hard bargain.  And heaven help you if you lose track of time. Going for the mani-pedi special, or making an extra stop to pick up your dry cleaning.  Excuses, excuses.  He's heard them all. You think you have all this time. Snap out of it!

But really, do you think it's fun, being the harbinger of doom?  Do you think it pays well?  Not on your life! Don't even mention the dumb uniform they make him wear.  Well, he likes the armor better than the silly black robe and sickle.  (What a cliche!)  The white horse makes him even look chivalrous.  Knight of the Living Dead.

And even though he doesn't exactly fill out his armor - let's face it, he's not exactly ripped - the service he provides is noble.  Think of of the Knights of the Holy Grail.  They didn't have any guarantees they were gonna find it.  As bad a Don Quioxote with his windmills. But they were all tireless, these knights. Incorrigible.  Loyal beyond all reason.  Longing for what they can never have, in service of some lady eating berries and cream somewhere. And this particular knight has nothing but time on his hands.

Speaking of negotiation - look who's really schmoozing.  That's right - the man of the cloth, trying to buy some time.  Or if that's not an option, how about some plenary indulgences?  Meanwhile, the king is face-up in the mud, his glassy eyes spelling  'shock'.  A very untidy passing. I don't think even the Salvation Army will salvage that ermine. Not like the graceful woman, who looks like she is going into a deep sleep.  (Poppies.  Paawhhh-pees!)  She's not fighting it, so it's no big deal.  And the child?  The child survives death.  Well...we all survive death.  As a wisp of light, as an echo reverberating through the ether's. As much more, I believe. But the child already knows that this clown on the horse is so much spectacle...like Santa Claus.  On some level the kids knows it's fiction.  He lives in the present moment.  Which is the same thing as eternity.

The Hanged Man

I used to work a nurse.  I used to have to sum up my patient's condition by doing a "cephalocaudal assessment." From head to foot. Do their pupils contract equally when lit?  Can they give your hands a good squeeze? When you press your thumb on their calves, for how many seconds do the dents remain? What color are the toenails?

We can't do a cepalocaudal on this guy, cause he's upside-down.  The whole procedure must be canceled.  The apple is falling back up.  No dice.  He's not exactly compliant.  Maybe we should get a psych consult, because we can't be the crazy ones!

OK, just for kicks, we'll read him upside-down.  Well, first there's the cross he hangs from.  But...it's not a cross, exactly, since the mast doesn't 'penetrate' the horizontal beam.  So...it's a kind of non-violent cross. Or a 'not invested' cross.  A "T".  Sounds like "tree". Something that knows which way is up, with deep roots, head in the sky.  And this hanging-beam, like a tree, bears live foliage, there's still plenty of sap flowing. Not like the splinty wood from the Gothic passion plays of Immaculate Conception School...not their conception.

His slippers are gold, like the halo about his head. There is is light coming and going, no matter what color the nail beds. 

His red tights: his legs - what he stands on - are soaked in sanguinous fluid.  (Yikes!)  Except, guess what?  He's not standing on them - they are taking the place of his head.  So he is willing to sacrifice, to give away what he was standing on. He is assured in his groundless-ness, in his breeze-swinging.

He's also willing to put his feet where his mouth was.  To...well...not walk his talk.  Plus, notice his right leg - the one ascribed to correct action - is taking no action, since it's tethered. His left - amoral - leg is contracted, resting behind this decision to be passive.

He wears a sky blue shirt.  What's he got to be so perky about, especially with his hands behind his back?  He must be really off his nut!  But then...why is he smiling so serenely?  Maybe...because he knows that up is the same as down? That the tree, Great Nature, has his back.

Check out:

The Waking, by Theodore Roethke

Justice

Many years ago in religion class at Immaculate Conception School, Wellsville NY,  the idea of the judge as Great Equalizer impressed itself upon me, to the point, even, of a little OCD.  King Solomon was the first judge. Said Sister Mary Frances.  These two women came before him, fighting over a baby, since one woman's child had died. Both women claimed the squirming, screaming infant as her own.  But this being way before genetic testing, no one could say for sure who was lying.

The judge said the answer was simple: he would just split the kid between them.  And we're not talking shared custody, either.  Solomon hoisted up his big sword with one hand, and with the other, held the baby down on a table.  Just as the heavy weapon began to slice the air in its downward heft, one mother - the real one - began to wail and grab for her son. Solomon put the sword back into its sheathe and handed the kid over to his rightful owner.  Case closed.

Those Old Testament stories scared the Behjezus out of me. That's because they were so lacking in compassion, and Jesus was The Savior.  Except I remembered that mother screaming, as if her child dying would be her own death.  Wise awl Solomon had a knack for drama, for getting people to react.  Not unlike Judge Judy, who knows how to bring people to their knees by pushing the right button, long and hard enough.  There's your 5 minutes of fame - how'd ya like it???!  Perhaps these judges have iron nerves. This is how it's gonna be.  Why?  Because Father knows best. Or Mother. Flip a coin. These aren't who you would classify as Highly Sensitive People to be able to make such assured calls.  Damn complexities!  Binaries rule! Is there a mite of compassion in righteous judgments made for the good of the many? Maybe.

Recall, if you will, The High Priestess. She's in a similar setup: between two columns, staring without wincing, crowned by the moon.  But she is not of this earth, as Justice is.  While High Priestess's robes seem to transmute into water around her feet, and she is nearly encased in a beehive of breathing pomegranates, the judge is a glorified civil servant.  Her robes are serviceable, but not ostentatious.  She has the golden light of righteousness in back of her, but a dull and heavy tapestry is tacked up between the columns somewhat obscuring that light of wisdom.  Even Justice here doesn't know - or remember - how she figured out who weighed in as guitly, who came out smelling like a rose.  Pay no attention to the light behind the veil - just attend to the word of this world-weary bueracrat.  She's done her homework. 

The columns that circumscribe tireless Justice are equally dull grey, unlike the trippy ensignia'd black and white columns that embrace High Priestess.  All things are equal when Justice gets done with you.  The scales don't even whisper. The Sword may as well be stuck in stone.  Her shining right foot is forward.  The left - or errant - foot is safe asleep behind the robes.  There is nothing gauzy about this woman.  While High Priestess is clothed in multifarious shades of moonlight, this sage is wearing blood-red (for swift and merciless edicts?) and a cloak of lizard-textured green (for chameleon-like mutability? Just what do I have to do to get you into that prison cell?  Or out of my courtroom by 2pm? ) 

But check it out: our judge has a clunky, yet authority-rendering crown. And in the center of it? A jewel.  Where her third eye would be.  She is just hooked up.  We just have to trust her.