Two of Wands

Everyone tells him he's got it all.  The world in the palm of his hand - like God in that bible song.  The difference being, God gave a good 2 cents about his people. Looking out on the Mediterranean panorama, in his royal robes, this guy's not so sure he's got it together.

He's holding the world at eye level, but looking past it, to what might be, or what he's lost in gaining the world. He used to be one of those bohemians - apprenticed with Michelangelo for a while, until he got bored. Then he served as a deckhand on a ship to India.  Had a lot of fun - dallying, eating well, making a killing with the loot he scored. 

Only now, he stands alone in his glory, between the two staffs.  Behind him, the lower,  stand for his past adventures. The higher one stalwart before him,  he envisions a life where he ends this hedonism. All is vanity.  He misses his friend, whom he fought with back in India. They used to be two gentlemen of Verona. (Shakespeare may be a brilliant writer, but he had to go scrounging for plots, so he used this old friend.) Now there is  one gentleman, back there on the villa terrace.

If you look, you'll see that the mountains are in the background, in the past.  He's done struggling.  Except for a couple of remaining demons that claw from within.  Although he doesn't buy into the entire premise that ' a man may gain the world, but lose his soul. '  He holds to the white rose of purity.  These, as in the picture, are crossed by red roses that drip with the pain of experience.

Edna O'Brien talks about her new short story collection, Saints and Sinners | Irish America Magazine, Irish American | IrishCentral

Edna O'Brien talks about her new short story collection, Saints and Sinners | Irish America Magazine, Irish American | IrishCentral

Minor Arcana: The Wands/The Ace of Wands

The Wands...


are flammable, knobby, occasionally sprouting green, stiff and pliable by turns.  



The Ace of Wands: 
a single wooden branch materializes from a disincarnate hand, which is itself sticking out of a cloud. (Like you needed me to explain!  But, OK, I'll continue, since you've probably been watching too many Jennifer Aniston movies where everything is explained for you...)  This is all happening on a slightly overcast day, far from the castle below, where someone in the turret is surfing the New York Times, grumbling because they finally were forced to buy an electronic subscription. (See? You wouldn't have known that unless I told you!)  


The queen reading the NYT just got done searching craigslist for cheaper digs.  The feudal lord was supposed to supply firewood - this was written in owl's blood on a scroll that is now flattened at the bottom of a basket where she keeps all such necessary but pointless deeds.  However,  he has failed to hold up his end. Castled her queen. It were a cold winter.  And then - her bathroom ceiling fell in.


All it took one really good piece of kindling, just one flicker of discontent, only one really worthy incense stick to smudge her out of that dump into someplace decent.   She is ready for something new, of her own making. 


Wands are all about assertion (and sometimes, in-sertion). Sometimes about aggression, and sometimes they represent really stupid notions - like war.  Their highest intent: fuel for your dreams.  Kind of strange that they are at the beginning of the minor arcana, as they might suggest - as does the Nike commercial - Don't just sit there, do something!  (whatever that was.)  Such headlong urgency will cause one, for example, to post to a blog without proofreading the entry, and, exhilarated that they finally sat  their lazy ass down to write, send the link to even their most remote email contacts, and all their facebook "friends"... only to have an actual friend point out that Kafka, not Chekhov, wrote Metamorphosis.  Something so obvious!!! 


You are cautioned to sit,  just for a little bit -  even with the tacit permission of this divine gift of fire (what someone went to the trouble to steal from the gods, remember?)  Just hold your horses long enough to get an idea about how this action would benefit you - and the world beyond you - outside of the pure adrenaline rush....  Get the idea.  Let it rest.  And then... go for it!!!

The King of Swords

He wields a mighty sword indeed. And, forget it: the pen isn't mightier than the sword...it is the sword! K of S is the master of wordplay, which is kind of like being the master of swordplay...or chess, or wargames. (An ex-husband used to stay up all night playing RISK.  When I beat him, one night, he didn't speak to me for 24 hrs.)

This king doesn't mince words - he goes for the jugular. Look at him staring you down (oh! a sudden resemblance to my landlord, as I raise the peephole - yikes!)

James Bond, cool calculator

Manipulating language can be a beautiful thing - who doesn't admire a fine writer? - or it can be a lot of theorizing, a lot of bamboozling.  Shell games...Foucault, Derrida, or your local ambulance chasing lawyer. The theory guys can sound as if they are talking in circles...and yet they also made us pay attention to what is important - our place in the universe - the order of things.  The lawyer boasting on the side of the bus of all  the money won for clients - hey, he might be a courtroom raptor of sorts, but he might also have brought down Goliath for the Daniels he goes to bat for.  Here's the point: the sword must not stray to the dark side, grasshopper.

Sometimes, though, the only way to get through to folks is playing headgames on them.  Judge Solomon faked out the fake mom with the threat to split the kid in two.  Kafka, in his Metamorphosis, doesn't leave us any clues, doesn't tell us what to think about a slavish clerk becoming a beetle.  The story affects us somehow....and how?  Sometimes, you have to razmataz in order to wake 'em up.

The instrument longer than wide - I'm not going there.... You get it right? This K of S gets turned on by navigating the airy realms of words, thoughts, possibilities.  He needs to be set to the great task.  Send him off to find Yeat's golden apples of the sun - tell him it's an essential ingredient for your Epicurious recipe.  Let him practice his speeches on his trusty nag for a while. (His horse, that is.)

King of Pentacles

Loyal followers, (including those of my imagining) forgive my long hiatus.  Let's continue straightaway with the mensch of the court kings - the big catch.  If he likes you he will put a ring on it.  This fine fellow is the best to curl up on a couch with.  He will even enjoy shopping for said couch - since he's likely to be spending a lot of time there. There is a heavy sensual Taurean vibe going on here.

And the King of Pentacles very likely will have the change to buy a nice couch...crib...ride....castle.  He likes nice stuff.  And he will appreciate your stuff too - the couch isn't the only place he enjoys getting horizontal.... (Notice the horned creatures atop his throne?)  If you are a woman of child bearing age, and into it, why, this may be your guy. He is invested in the sperm bank, if you will.  The whole domestic scene is his bag, baby. This is the guy pushing the baby stroller in the park, with one kid astride his shoulders, and enjoying having soda spilled on his head, wiping the tears, the one who is tirelessly forging on from the seals to the gorillas at the zoo. The one with the wife who is applying sunscreen, enjoying the scenery as they promenade. (He cooks, too!)

Jamie Oliver, food revolutionary

This king probably plays an instrument - some down home thing like the acoustic guitar or   the harmonica.  Or else, he listens - to roots rock. Or Beethoven.  Music is his therapy. So is food. Whatever he can touch, taste, smell, rub up against. A feast for his eyes.  Break out the silk undergarments. You'll be glad you did.

This is getting predictable, right?  It's not rocket science.  Not that the Coin Man isn't bright, very intelligent even. It's just that he feels his way there.  He's in touch with his feminine side.  He likes philosophy, new age rituals - or football rituals.

He might be a banker, a baker, a construction worker, an engineer, a painter. Pragmatic. Also, romantic...and generous.  And if he's among the sea of unemployed, in this non-recession we're in, he will not be freaking out over it. He is resourceful, perhaps entrepreneurial.  Or else he will have a ritual (he loves ritual) of pounding the pavement, sending out resumes, for X hours a day until synchronicity and vigilance trump the collapse of capitalism.

And, by the way, he is a good friend, a model citizen, a patriot in the truest sense. i.e. - he is a non-scoundrel.

sez Ruby.....

The King of Wands

The King of Wands.  He's nothing if not phallo-centric.  Like the guys on the bus who you have to squeeze in between because they have their legs spread.  It's not like they necessarily have rolls of fat flowing over onto my contracting butt muscles. It's a matter of principle - that inaliable right to let their boys breath.  These myths about how guys become sterile die hard....

Like the guy this morning, the one to my right.  He didn't look menacing.  He didn't glare at me when I wedged in beside him and the other guy. Nothing particularly misogynist-looking I could intuit.  He was reading a book.  I pulled out my book to see if I could forget about my bum wedged up between these two guys' bums.  The man on the right had reddish hair, glasses, a canvas windbreaker.  But still - I had to practically do Kegels in order to not feel like I was infringing on his space. 

Finally, half-way over the Triboro Bridge, I'd had enough invisible Thigh-master exercises.  Enough being lady-like.  There were no nuns watching.  I just let 'em hang out.  My thighs, on either side, into the sides of dude left and dude right.  And then I felt it - their muscles tensing up, growing more compact.  It was too intimate.  0 tolerance for my outspread ham-gams. 

The guy on the right and I were getting off at the same stop.  He glanced at my book as he got up to leave. Checkin' out what I was readin', yeeah!  Roddy Doyle, "The Snapper".  Would I recommend? It's good for the chraich.  He held the door for me.  He was wearing jeans and tan workboots. Maybe a carpenter. Someone who works with wood.  I lost him as he turned the corner.

Liam Neeson, milking Hollywood

The King of Wands is always looking ahead.  Led around by....something longer than wide.  The king here is staring into his glorious future. Like the fire element represented by the little salamander there at his feet (cute, ain't it?) he will use whatever oxygen - or leg room - you give him to expand.  I mean - to build Mc Mansions.  Or, to burnish a wooden music box until it is perfect and smooth, cobbled together from scrapwood. It's a kind of magic.

The King of Cups

Sensitive New Age Guys - Chris...

This is the original Sensitive New Age Guy.  A friend explained to me how this variety came about.  I was telling her about someone I adored, who was artistic and smart, handsome and charming, but for all that, he didn't seem to be emotionally available. Her response was, now that men didn't hafta cough up fancy dinners, expensive baubles, or to get down on one knee, even, in order to get you to...you know.... Once women started earning their own bread, well, that's when these carpetbaggers started bagging women with their words alone.  Words like..."You should see me when I get nervous before I have to speak in public!" or, "It hurts me to see how women make less than men for doing the same job!"  Or you notice how he feeds all the stray cats in the neighborhood, while you're waiting in the car. Or lends $100 to the first friend with a good pitch. Then forgets your birthday. Stuff that used to make women slightly sick, she explained, is now a turn-on.  And these guys...they know they only have to do the bare minium to get lucky.

Viggo Morgenstein as Tolkien hero

HEY LADIES:  when this dude comes up in a reading...don't be fooled by the jewelry ("oh, I'm so sensitive I can wear a necklace and it doesn't threaten my masculinity!").  And don't be fooled by him holding out the cup to you.  He might have drunk all the cheap wine, and is waiting for you to fill it up with Chateau Saint Michelle. Yeah, and don't listen to him when he starts singing like the dolphins - especially that! Cover your ears, and run, don't swim, the other way!

On the other hand, if you don't open your heart to one of these guys at some point, you might be missing out on a whole lot of fun.....