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.
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.
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.
