The World

December 21, 2009.  The winter solstice.  Out with the encroaching dark - in with the burgeoning light.  This nearly naked lady is creating her own solstice ritual, as she dances through the Christmas wreath.  Twirling batons as she comes.  She just happens to have forgotten her Majorette hat and boots.  (And if you missed that decade....it's OK!)

But really, consider the timing here, the synchronicity.  I didn't plan on writing my last Major Arcana blog about a woman dancing through a mythic portal on the last winter solstice of the first decade of the new millenium.  It just happened that way.  Sometimes we're just tools in the great cosmic blogosphere.

The two wands she stands between are white, meaning that their potential has been expended.  The die have been cast for the new day, new year...(new age?)  They are two double flames. She has figured out how to transmute matter into light. Also, how to put on a marvelous show, even if she did forget her baton-twirling costume. (These details!)  Unlike the ying/yang-binary-black/white towers of the high priestess, the symmetry of the wands indicates a perfect resolution.  Indicates that the voluptuous yet weightless woman is sensitive to the vibrations around her. At the same time, if she needs to, she is can kung fu the dark away with her light sabers.

Notice that wreath removes her from the beastly forces of the mundane world, as glorious as they might be. The stubborn, powerful ox.  The noble lion.  The eagle who sees all.  The sexy, princely dude.  The winds of change.

She has been there, baby, yes, and done that.  She began the journey as the fool, who was leaping from a cliff, ready to fly.  His black staff had yet to spill its many colors.  He has evolved into She. The divine feminine.  (God is a woman after all!)  She is in the world, but wears it very lightly indeed, as she simply glides through the final threshold with no effort or hubris, no fear posing as courage. 

She owns it, now, having earned it.

The World

Judgement

This angel means business.  He's making a fearsome noise with his horn. It's the great call that Cannot Be Ignored.  It's a call to look at ourselves naked in the full-lenth mirror, and then, to shrug, and maybe give a Buddah-belly-laugh.


Muslims answer a call to prayer in the evening.  Tibetan monks make tremulous bleats on conch shells - another tool for waking up.  Sonny Rollins played his sax on the Brooklyn bridge alone for two years - because he had to.  The Irish used to pay women to keen at wakes, to mourn out in high-register, inarticulate moans. Ella Fitzgerald scats all crazy, but - guess what - we get it!  We get it in the way we get poetry, which bends language to a new purpose - and slows time, stops thinking, opens our hearts.

That trumpet is the connection between heaven and earth, between the ephemeral unseen and what can be seen, heard, felt: a manifestation of pure Knowing, of higher vibrations.  The souls are being attuned by the great blast.  They know now that they always were.  Got no more axes to grind, no more shyness, no more regrets. They are so ready. They are done crying. They are as dumbfounded as new babies.

We don't have to wait until we are dead to be called.  Besides, death and rebirth are partners in a life-long process. You're being called every day. Put down your I-Phone, log off of Facebook, pull out your earphones and listen. Just lie down on the floor and listen, for Crissake! Be glad for your fake Persian rug, all cozy with cat hair, or your kitchen linoleum, all cool and non-judgemental. Close your eyes, feel the floor and your breath. What do you really Really want? How do you want the universe to make use of you? What did you tell your third grade teacher you wanted to be?

I want you all to go to your window right now and call out -"I'm glad as hell, and I'm not really sure why. But  that's OK!"