I went on the Women's March this weekend, not in DC, but in one of the hundreds of sister marches that took place around the world. Now this might not be big news for an extrovert, but I am a confirmed, dyed-in-the-wool, unrepentant introvert. Silence nourishes me; solitude restores and recalibrates me. It's one of the reasons I love being a writer—I get to spend massive quantities of time alone.
Not that I don't like people. I love specific people, some of them very extravagantly. But people in a general, crowd-y kind of way? Not so much.
Imagine my delight then to see the Hermit come up for this week's reading. If the concept of "alone time" could be personified, it would be with this card. It usually depicts a solitary figure shining a lantern into the darkness, and boy howdy, was I glad to see it. It was as if the Universe Herself were giving me permission to lock the doors and silence the phones and be blissfully, mercifully, righteously alone.
Well...yes and no.
The Hermit does indeed herald a solitary time, but it is an active time, not a passive one. It is not a hibernation. The key to understanding the Hermit is that light he carries, one that has nothing to do with looking outward and everything to do with looking inward. It is the light that can only be seen in darkness, a faint true light that—like the still small voice—carries truth.
This week, heed the call of the Hermit. If you are a writer, you probably already spend a lot of time alone. The Hermit asks you to spend time with yourself, which is a different thing entirely. Devoting time to yourself requires you to disengage from the common distractions—the phone, the Facebook, the crisis du jour—and concentrate on...well, you.
No reading. No cleaning. No to-do list. Don't try to squeeze a few more words into the WIP or knock off a quick blog post. Court boredom and ennui; let the emptiness unfold.
The Steampunk Tarot describes it thusly: "To see the glow of your own light, go into the dark."
I must confess a special affinity for the Hermit (who last visited us almost a year ago—you can read about that here). Each card in the major arcana has specific zodiacal associations, and this one resonates with the energy of Virgo. We Virgos have a (somewhat earned) reputation as the sign of the Ultra-Mega Introvert. Our mascot is the porcupine in full prickle, and our motto is, "I vant to be alone."
The Hermit spies us in our solitariness, acknowledges us with a dip of his lantern. I see you over there all by yourself. Carry on, my solitary child.
Virgos and Hermits get along well because they both understand the concept of sovereignty—to be beholden only to oneself. Independent. Contained. Self-sustaining. These are key to understanding the nature of both Hermits and Virgos. Like the virgin forest untouched by chainsaws and bulldozers, those of us who fall under the sign of the astrological virgin know how to be complete and solitary at the same time.
The Hermit understands too. That's probably why he's shown up. Have you been too much of a social butterfly recently? You should probably stop flapping your pretty wings and ponder for a second. How is your relationship with your art going? I don't mean sales and reviews; I mean the deep soul work. Are you tapping new springs in your psyche? Making time for the subconscious to bubble up some new inspiration? Has there been any solitary daydreaming in your life? Any at all?
This week, remember that everything needs a little dark, deep, down time, especially seeds. Especially you. There's a time for connection, and a time to be alone. The Hermit says that at least for this week, your own company is the best company.
Last week the fair came to town in my part of the world. I spent hours in this fishbowl of sensation -- the spastic neon lights, the cacophony of screams rising and falling, the midway hucksters calling and cajoling, the air saturated with fat and sugar and dust.
I am so relieved to see The Hermit.
He reminds us that there is a time and place for being in the outer world, but that perhaps we've been toiling in those hectic fields for too long. If you are a writer, you know that we tend to be solitary creatures, highly introverted, soothed by our time in our inner world. We cannot live in seclusion, however, no matter how attractive it may seem (and with the din of mechanical amusements still ringing in my ears, it seems very attractive). We must venture, yes. But we must also return.
The Earth herself is moving into the dark time, the cool time, the time of shadows. Humanity has created a million ways to pretend this isn't happening. We turn up the lights, sing louder, drape tinsel, laugh and plan and move hither and yon, busy and busier.
This week, consider the bear. Bears know how to hermit better than anybody, so start planning the ways that you can honor your inner ursine this coming autumn and winter. Plump the cushions in your cave. Make ready to spend some time in luxurious hibernation. It is a fact of our culture that one must carve away solitude, carve it like Michelangelo freeing the angel from the marble.
But do carve. Because the angel is there. And The Hermit promises to help you find it.
