When I began this blog the intention wasn’t to explain the Tarot, or to express some special understanding of it. It was to find a path: from where I stood as I began to write to the heart of the card itself. It’s a hard discipline to hold. This entry is dedicated to Linda. We’re connecting three points now. If, by the way, having a blog entry dedicated to you is of interest, please drop me a line, and I’ll be happy to do it.
Today I’m starting with sorrow and joy. In my personal life I crossed a bridge last night, of renunciation and love. Seeing it before me was quite scary. It was a very public moment, and it went okay. On its heels came a tsunami of dreams, astral travel, flying through landscapes of impossible beauty, cityscapes ranging from the Arabian Nights to Renaissance London to things I can’t begin to identify. Absolute freedom, and meeting the spirit of an old friend while I was there.
What I had to do yesterday was participate in a social from which at once empowered and annihilated me, and I had to do it with casual good humour and some generosity. And I had to do it from the heart. I had to achieve a form, hold it, smile, and disappear.
The Hierophant is the mediator between the Divine Will and Manifest Form. When you submit to Him, you catch a taste of perfection; there’s one moment when you know you are cleanly aligned, your whole life has been in training for this moment. You know it, and you give yourself unconditionally, and some part of you sees, maybe your own inner Hierophant, and is pleased.
And then there’s the hangover. Wanting to go back to the bottom line. Drinking tea and wanting to turn a golden moment into something to cry on someone’s shoulder about. The butterfly is the caterpillar’s apotheosis, brief, airborne, miraculous. And then it’s gone. I wonder what it would be like if after a golden flight the butterfly had to go back to caterpillar-hood, patiently eating, soft-bodied and vulnerable.
We give ourselves to the Hierophant when we are called to Form. He gives us perfection in exchange. Perfection is a moment, not an eternity, and it’s a challenging gift to live with, maybe. It takes the raw staying power of the ordinary to support it.