The Star

am I myself?
or am I my reflection in the waters?
am I pouring self hope dreams into the well?
or do I drink this lift this from the spring into my cup into the light?

will you follow me into the night-dark waters?
or do we swim together into the midnight sky?

did I find you, falling from the heavens?
or did you see me, my light, my song
as you came up for air?

where there is no truth, no past, no present, no safe home, no sight
give me your hopes, or take my hand, and walk towards the light.


Pollack places the Fool between each Major card and the next. The Star barely seems to need the help; you fall from the Tower, get to her, and dive straight towards the Moon before she's done saying 'hello'.

I view the Star as a largely passive experience; above all, she is distant. Unknowable, but also undeniably real. Not only real, but dependable, predictable, and universal. Look up from the bottom, and she's there, waiting for you to follow her home.

She's my third card out this evening, sat there with the Nine of Pentacles and the Knight of Wands. It's 2am and I spent a long time in the woods today, and she's there. I've always preferred to do this in silence, but I put two songs on the moment I turned her over; a run-together set by the Chemical Brothers, Where Do I Begin? and The Private Psychedelic Reel. [It later occurs to me that Coming Up For Air by Dobie and Raissa Panni is horribly appropriate, not least because I had a picture of Raissa on my wall for most of my teens, but first heard her music less than a year ago. Only the Star could make sense of that.]

She's always there, if you're quiet, if you hide from the sun, if you look for subtle things, if you seek out her waters. You'll be broken, and she'll be whole. You'll never touch her, and can only communicate by light and by those sounds you never notice til you become quiet.

You'll never know if she's really on your side, or if it just seems that way. Oh, and she's naked - clothes would be social, would send a message, would say that there's more to be seen than meets the eye. She's just there, all of her.

Her opposite is the Emperor - he with his finger on every button, and in every pie, resulting in many a pie-smeared button; she without contact or control, at the bottom of the well.

As she is card 17. her younger relation is Strength. Or possibly Justice. (I hate that switchover).

I didn't write about this one in 2005, but I'm tempted to add that line by Andy Warhol: "...the richest consumers buy essentially the same things as the poorest. You can be watching TV and see Coca Cola, and you know that the President drinks Coca Cola, Liz Taylor drinks Coca Cola, and just think, you can drink Coca Cola, too. A coke is a coke and no amount of money can get you a better coke than the one the bum on the corner is drinking. All the cokes are the same and all the cokes are good. Liz Taylor knows it, the President knows it, the bum knows it, and you know it."


Images of the Star:

The Roots of Asia Star is blowing bubbles in the sky.

Amano's Star is sitting on a swan. I don't know the significance of this, but it reminds me of that story about the girl and her six swan-brothers, and the hopes and dreams and breakings that made them human again.

The RWS Star.