The Writerly Tarot: The Knight of Swords

We all know a Knight.

They are the extroverts, the enthusiasts, the seekers. They charge and brandish and yell "Tally ho!" They like speed and adventure, and while they can be somewhat reckless, they are brimming with prowess and a heady, mercurial energy, like alternating current. If you can get them to concentrate, that is. And stop tilting at innocent windmills.

Knights are court cards, which have a reputation as being tricky to figure out. I suspect their openness to various interpretations is the reason. There are sixteen court cards in a traditional tarot deck—four in each of the four suits: a King and Queen and Knight and Page—and they can personify the querent, a person in the querent's life, or the energy of the suit as expressed by their role.

In our case, the Knight of Swords has come dashing into the fray (and if there wasn't a fray before he arrived, there is guaranteed to be one after). Does he represent you, riding headlong into a battle of wits that is occupying every iota of your attention? Or is he coming at you, sword aloft, and if so, is he seeking to entangle you in his adventure or whack you down as the enemy? (this is an important question, really important). Or perhaps you are dealing not with a person but with manifestation of some particularly feisty energy, in which case, be prepared for wild times of the intellectual sort.

Only you know the nature of this dashing Knight. All I can do is tell you to be on the listen for hoofbeats this week. Get ready to ride, or get ready to run. You'll be doing one or the other for sure.

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Queen of Wands

I'm currently writing a story about a Queen of Wands—vivacious, attractive, somewhat restless, quick with ideas and plans and "let's do this!" schemes. As one of the court cards of this suit, the Queen of Wands personifies warmth and generosity and magnetic charm. For as Arthur Waite himself pointed out, the wands you see portrayed here are not dead wood—they are always alive and in leaf.

I enjoy writing about these particular queens, probably because I'm such an earthbound Pentacle myself; my series sleuth Tai Randolph, who has been with me for six books so far, is a classic Wands personality. Her sun sign is Aries, Cardinal Fire, which means that it carries the qualities of elemental fire—quickness, passion, wholehearted enthusiasm—in one direction, forward. The Queen of Wands makes things happen. She initiates. Follow-through is not her strong point, but she'll always come out of the gate with a bang.

Some contemporary schools of thought assign Cardinality to the Knights, however, not the Queens, and I'm inclined to agree. Knights are much more tally-ho about things, charging here and there, questing and jousting and generally staying in motion. When I'm reading the cards, Queen are much more interior. They represent states of being. They have thrones, after all, not horses. They don't flit hither and yon.

So what does this means for you and me as creative people this week, to have such royalty grant us an audience? For me, it means that the project I am just beginning will benefit from two key if somewhat paradoxical aspects of this Queen—her ability to make a strong start combined with her ability to be centered in her own power. It's a tricky trick, being still and in movement at the same time. But it's what story requires of us. Sometimes the story leads; sometimes we have to give the reins a sharp pull. Always we have to be in partnership with our own creative process.

This week, if you find yourself fighting the work before you, find a comfy place to sit and arrange yourself there royally. Feel your backbone straighten, your brow uncrease. The wand you wield is a powerful one, as useful as a scepter as it is as a jousting stick. A queen knows how to do both, and when to do each. Be a queen. Sense your next move, the one that will clear the way. You'll know you have it when a little black cat comes and sits at your feet.

(For further information about the astrological associations of tarot, especially the court cards, check out Richard Palmer's explanation the Golden Dawn's elemental tarot associations at The Biddy Tarot, or this essay at Tarot Moon on court card astrology).

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The King of Cups

First, a confession.

I cannot look at the King of Cups as depicted in the Rider-Waite-Smith tarot and not think of Q, the almost-omniscient troublemaker on Star Trek: The Next Generation. Something about that weird hat crown. And the whale-tail throne floating in the middle of the ocean. And the blue dress. And the necklace with the fish amulet, which is not something Q wore, but only because he hadn't thought about it yet, I am sure.

Because let's face it, the King of Cups is an odd combination of traits. He's one of the court cards, tricky devils when it comes to interpretation because they can represent the querent (the person getting the reading), a person in the querent's life, or some manifestation of the energy of their suit. So if he shows up, he could be you, or somebody else, or some kind of kingly presence.

The Cups themselves are also notoriously hard to pin down. Like the watery element they spring from, they are always ebbing and rising, flowing and switching course, in a perpetual state of constant change (ponder that paradoxical concept a moment). They transform and are transformed in continual movement, only temporarily contained. The King of Cups represents that dynamic, especially its emotional power. The Cups are the suit of the heart, after all, and this King is deeply in touch with feelings of all kinds, especially compassion and love.

This contradicts with the outwardly-focused, actively-engaged nature of Kings. Masculine cards are direct, linear, and somewhat relentless in their drive forward—interior work is not their forte. And yet here is the King of Cups representing just that.

Also, you must understand that in the tarot, concepts like masculine and feminine have nothing to do with gender—they simple describe ways of being in the world by creating two poles on a continuum. So Kings don't always refer to men, and even when they do, they don't always reference the "manliness" of said men.

In summary, be on the lookout for the King of Cups this week. He'll be—to quote Suzanne Vega's "Left of Center"—"in the outskirts/ in the fringes/ in the corner/off of the strip." He may be disguised, deliberately unassuming or delightfully outrageous. He may be in your own heart, or sitting next to you on the bus. He may be a she, or an it, both or neither. And he'll have a message for you.

What does this have to do with writing? you say. Excellent question. You should probably ask this King when he appears. He may answer with a riddle. But he'll always answer. Guaranteed.

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Queen of Pentacles

Last week an Emperor, and this week, the Queen of Pentacles. We are in royal company.

This Queen did not come alone, however. This week I pulled three cards from the deck (who knows why, only that I felt the need to do so—learning to heed that subtle prompt is the art of tarot). This Queen came escorted by the Five of Pentacles on her left and the Five of Cups on her right.

This is decidedly unpleasant company. I was reminded of the scene in Dickens' A Christmas Carol where the Ghost of Christmas Present opens his robes to reveal the two wretched children, Ignorance and Want. Only here we have Misery and Grief. What, then, are we to make of the woman between them?

Quite a bit, because she is the key to understanding the forces at work this week, and in doing so, ameliorate them. When I see a Queen of any suit, I remind myself that I am in the presence of a sovereign, a person complete unto herself who is able to be and act from that completeness. Queens lead not by subjugation or intimidation but through example. They are icons. Touchstones. Avatars. They channel their energy for you to embody, and as such, are the interiors to the more masculine King cards' exteriors. They are the beating hearts of the tarot.

This Queen rules the suit of Pentacles, the suit of material concerns and physical foundations. What is she asking of you this week in your creative life? Don't transcend, she says. You are not above any of this. Instead, transform. Feel it all, even the painful unpleasant parts, and claim their power. Take care of yourself in this endeavor. Root yourself in that which nourishes and let that which does not serve return to source to be transmuted.

I cannot help thinking of another famous female royal, a princess and a general, and the woman who breathed life into her on the movie screen. What to do this week? Do what Carrie Fisher said to do: Take your broken heart, and make it into art.

 

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Queen of Swords

Straighten those shoulders — you're in the company of a queen. And as the emissary of the suit of rationality and logic — all that is spare and clean and straight — this queen will appreciate your good posture most especially.

Court cards are often tricky to interpret. They can be symbolic of the attributes of their respective suits. They can be personifications, either of the querent (the person asking questions of the tarot) or people in the querent's life. Or they can operate as representations of states of being.

The latter is my favorite way of looking at court cards. This method reveals energies swirling and present — some represented by the people around us, some attributes we could take on ourselves if we wish. According to this approach, queens are the experts of being. They rule by one decree — they are what they are, and they don't need to do a thing to prove it. Especially not this queen, who rules the realm of thought.

This week, the Queen of Swords wants to remind you who you are.  You are, after all, exactly who you think you are. And she would like you to remember that you are a creature of both mind and brain, that your intellect serves you and not vice versa. You'll figure it out, she would tell you, it's not that hard.

You are who you think you are.

So...who are you going to be?

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Knight of Wands

It's been very Knightly around here recently. This is not a surprising turn of events, considering that we are just now moving from one calendar year to another (a man-made happening, true enough, but one fraught with letting go and cleaning slates and galloping forward, quintessential Knight activities). It's also the first Mercury retrograde of 2016, and nobody in the tarot does mercurial like a Knight.

So welcome Knight of Wands! We've been expecting you!

Now normally, I'd be telling you all about this Knight's proclivity for rushing into frays, charging forward, lance upraised. This is especially true of the Knight of Wands, whose lance is actually a tool of creation, not destruction. See those little green leaves, those tender twiggy shoots? His lance is a live thing, the archetypal staff of fertility and creativity. It channels the creative impulse into direct energy. It is a powerful tool.

But this Knight comes to us during a time of retrograde — a time of return and re-visioning and remembering — even as the calendar impels us forward. It's a contradictory impulse, looking back, especially for Knights, who are all about the "tally ho." But I think that's what we creative sorts are being asked to do as 2016 rolls out the welcome mat.

Go back a little to 2015. I'm sure there are many things you're releasing — the decluttering of life is practically a religion now — but the Universe is asking you and all the knightly parts of you to chill for a second. Take stock of the treasure chest that is the past, especially the recent past. It's a rich tapestry, your past, the warp and woof that makes you who you are. Find something here that matters to you, and tuck it next to your heart. And then ride forward with this memory, this blessing, as a talisman.

Like the knights who carried their Lady's Favour into battle, you now have a reminder that your work is a sacred, matter-full thing. That you are on a mission of the highest valor and importance. And that somebody up there loves you.

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Knight of Cups

"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all

Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."

from "Ode on a Grecian Urn" by John Keats

Here is your message for the week, delivered by that most ardent and devoted of suitors — the Knight of Cups. All the knights of the tarot are quest figures, searching ever searching, their eyes straight ahead, their vision steady and fixed on a singular goal.

Our chivalrous Knight of Cups is perhaps the most emblematic of his company, for the golden chalice he holds links him with the Holy Grail of Arthurian myth. You might think him the poster boy for the quest achieved. After all, there's the cup, tight in his hand. Problem solved. Treasure found. Next adventure, please!

Hold your horses. The quest isn't for the cup itself — it's for what the cup contains. And that, oh creative one, is still a mystery.

You have clues that this is the case. Notice his winged helmet, and the slightly less obvious winged spurs. Our knight is cousin to Hermes and Mercury, two of the more tricksterish gods to ever tamper with mortal affairs. They are also messengers, heralds of news and tidings and sudden developments of a surprising nature. And since Cups are the suit of emotion and imagination — the somewhat feverish but always fertile ground from which creativity is born — you can bet this knight will deliver something . . . interesting.

He is a dreamer, the prince of that tribe. He is gentle and compassionate. He is often haunted, sometimes melancholy, but always deep. And he's got something for you in his chalice, something for you and you alone, a message and a gift and a quest all rolled into one. This is the season of advent, after all. The season of approach.

Listen. You can almost hear the distant hoofbeats, coming closer.

This Week's Writerly Tarot -- The Knight of Swords

If this Knight had a slogan, it would be He Who Runs With Scissors.

Just look at him, hellbent for leather, sword high, galloping straight to glory.  Or something. Knights are quest figures, and as such, they don't do standing around very well. Their eyes are always on the horizon, and since this Knight is of the Sword variety (the suit of mental energy) the prize he's after is of an intellectual nature. Maybe evanescent, maybe even intangible, maybe spun of air and wind, but a prize to be obtained nonetheless.

And he's put some planning into it, yes, he has. Swords love strategy and vision, logic and reason. But for the Knight of Swords, this most masculine energy of a most masculine suit, nothing is a pure and clean as the rush forward, the wind against his skin (notice he has his visor up, because sensing this, seeing this, is more important than whatever protection he'd get from such armor.) All the planning, all the foresight . . . it all serves this moment.

The horse, however, begs to differ.

I've always thought his gallant steed has a slightly different perspective on this whole rushing-into-battle thing. He's looking not ahead or at his Knight -- he's looking sideways at us -- and I detect a hint of "oh sheesh, nope, don't wanna go there" in his horsey eye, reluctance in his gritted teeth. But go he will -- when this Knight has the reins, the only direction is forward and the only speed is fast. How well he'll fare once the battle starts remains to be seen. Our brave horse might be returning riderless.

So whatever writerly adventure you undertake this week, whether it's finally sending that manuscript off or reaching out to that perfect agent, do it both big and well. Remember -- martial planning is a beautiful thing, but combat looks very different on the field than it does in the officer's tent. Sure, the charge forward is exciting. Just be certain that you have your sharpest sword, the one you polished the night before, and not the gorgeous but flimsy one. Be sure your sensible support staff is with the program. And just in case there's an unpleasant surprise around the corner, you might want to lower your visor. Just saying.

Tally ho, my friend.

 

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The King of Wands

Are you a mover and shaker this week? Or perhaps you feel more among the shaken and

moved? Either way, meet the gentleman* responsible for whatever seismic goings-on are rumbling in your world, especially your creative one.

Kings are the cards of action, of exterior, of the wide world. They are the bringers of expertise and resources, the ones who grease the wheels. Wands are the suit of creative energy, the fire and passion that burns within us, the energy we release whenever we put our talents to work. The King of Wands is will made manifest, and as such, he has little time for logic-debating or day-dreaming or detail-obsessing. He's a "get on with it" kind of man.

So your question this week is simple: are you the actor in this situation, or are you the acted upon?

In creative endeavors, we find both types of energy. Being a writer is often solitary work. Most days, you are your very own boss, for better or worse, and the King of Wands urges you to seize the day, make your mark . . . all those fiery masculine activities that are sometimes difficult for people accustomed to working from a desk. Fix your crown firmly on your head, make your plans, and move forward as if the seas of the world will part before you. That's the King of Wands way.

However . . .

There are days when you're not the King. Creative fields have many kings -- editors and agents, publishers and critics -- who often have sweeping control over your life, and the best you can do some days is avoid getting your head chopped off (which is a massive accomplishment, don't ever forget). Of course some days you are granted an audience, an opportunity you must make the most of. Kings can be headstrong, hard to influence, as difficult to turn as a hurricane. But do try. This King may burn fearfully bright, but under the right circumstances, he is as generous with his fire as Prometheus.

Some days you are the King. Some days you meet the King. In either case, remember: forward ho, and hold your head up high.

*In the tarot, Kings represent a very masculine energy, but in the real world, that energy can be expressed by any gender. 

Writerly Tarot for the Week: The Seven of Wands (Again) Plus The King of Swords

Apparently, the concept of "lazy days of summer" is lost on you and me, dear reader. For here we are again with the Seven of Wands (previously seen here, warning us of chore creep and reminding us to cherish the real reason we do what we do).

Because we are still beating back the world with our stick. And the world just keeps on coming.

So I asked the deck for a little further enlightenment (we're allowed to do that, you know. If the messages you're getting from the Universe are muddled or muddy or inexplicable, you're allowed to say, "A little clarification, please."). Because apparently there's something still going on here, something we need to be addressing.

I drew the King of Swords, one of the court cards. There are twelve of these in the tarot deck, four for each suit (you can see contemporary echoes of this court in the face cards of a deck of playing cards). In the tarot, Kings represent action and authority, and Swords the suit of mental expression. The King of Swords has a clue about how we should handle all the continuing chaos surrounding us, and his advice has nothing to do with waving a stick around.

This King suggests that instead of rushing about and trying to exert order on a messy world, we should take a step inward into the one thing that we can control -- our own minds. Our brains are our best friends in many ways, but they can also be tricky, demanding, and deceitful. Meditation teachers will tell you that the human mind is like an unhousebroken puppy -- it must be brought gently and firmly to the newspaper where it can do its business. Hitting it with a stick will not help it learn. Treating it with loving discipline will.

So this week, when the chaos crackles and swirls like heat lightning, don't pick up a stick and try to beat the world into submission. Instead, disengage yourself from the situation. Breathe in and out. Soothe your mind until it is as clear and free of thoughts as the blue sky.

And the rest will follow.

Writerly Tarot for the Week: The Page of Wands

Oh, thank goodness! After all the wreckage of the Tower (see last week's post), it's nice to have such a clean, straightforward card to point our way. Because the Wands are the suit of inspiration and passion, of using our will and our enthusiasm to . . . well, whatever ends and purposes we choose. The Pages, however, aren't about the ends -- Pages herald beginnings -- and when you have two fired-up energies combined together in one dynamic card, best find a project to channel that fire and drive, and be quick about it.

Ah, but here's the tricky-tricky about fresh starts -- they can be hard for those of us with our identity bound up in some idea of proficiency. Oh, not you, of course. You understand that ten-thousand-hour arc to experthood. You know beginner's mind like the back of your hand.

But the rest of us -- sometimes anyway -- feel like we just strapped on roller skates for the first time whenever we try something new. That feeling of graceless precariousness can be a bit unsettling. But take a page from our Page -- those boots are made for walking. And that Wand is made for adventure.

This week, look at whatever you might be avoiding because you don't feel quite adequate at it. Is there a query letter you're putting off sending? A proposal you're avoiding? A phone call that needs making? A manuscript that needs feedback? A new skill that's still in the squeaky-hinge stage?

This week, try doing the thing that scares you. You know what they say -- what doesn't kill you makes for a good story.