Tuesday, January 24, 2012

The Seed in the Elevator: the Page of Cups

Just reposting.
Cut and pasted the wrong thing.
If you already saw it, it was in Chinese. If you didn't see it, don't worry.

It’s been a rough week, and it’s hard to separate myself from it and write anything objective. I have the Page of Cups to write about. It’s about the ability of water to generate life. It is a card of fertility, of pregnancy. In some cases it could stand for infection (something growing in a fluid medium).

It recalls a quote from William Faulkner. He could be a bit florid, but every now and then he hit the bull-s eye. “I feel like a wet seed wild in the hot blind earth.” No control. Only germination and growth and inevitably death and decay creating more life in the fluid medium that was once a body and is now decomposing matter.

The encroachment of blindness is like a jerky elevator for me. A fast and frightening drop, and then stasis. I unpack my lunch on the elevator floor, organize myself happy in the belief that I get to stay here. Suddenly there’s another jerking fall. My things fly everywhere and I’m too blind to find them. It’s happened enough times that I have moderate faith in my ability to regroup and rebuild again. And again. And again. How many times can I do it? How many times can I stand to do it? How many times until there’s just not enough data to build another reality. Then I am indeed like the Faulkner quote, blind, without any control or even any picture of what I am.

This week has wrenched my right out of my world. Things have disappeared that I don’t know how to navigate without. The elevator may have finished dropping for now. I can still see. I can start groping around and reorganizing the world again. Maybe.

I have trust. I don’t know why, or in what, exactly.

Right now I’m trying to find a path through these lines, back to the Page of Cups. Maybe trust that in the fluid medium of my life, my psyche, whatever I am, there’s still life generating itself, even if I can’t see it. I can feel it, but it’s kind of horrifying, waiting for something to coalesce, knowing it will.

There’s finally only love. It’s the fluid medium that holds us all, grows us all. Sometimes I know it. I can feel my cells spreading out into it, creating space among themselves.

And maybe in the dark fluid of my visual field a new world can generate?


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