So look what lies behind me
the night
the forest
embers
this is my fortress
look upon my body
the scars
the strength
the journey
this is my engine of war.
look what lies before me:
nothing?
We shall see.
When I first started learning, in 1999 (or possibly 1998), this was my favourite card in the deck. It chimed with my whole attitude to life at the time; bloodied, unbowed, determined as ever, putting on a tired show of force (or a show of tired force, one of those), not in the least inclined to give in. It's the only stance you can take when you're backed into a corner and can't get out and can't be driven further back either. I've toyed with other cards to represent insomnia - the Knight of Swords or the Tower - but I think it could belong here, at home.
You don't need to reverse this card; it reverses itself perfectly fucking well.
This is, incidentally, the butchest card image I've ever seen in my life, even among Nines of Wands. Big, male, naked, with wands formed into spearpoints, something I haven't noticed on any other Wand thus far. The figure's genitals are fully displayed and his arms are spread wide - not invitingly, not entreatingly, just to show you what he's made of. The whole show is just a ridiculous representation - there is no card like this for masculine posturing, or for base territoriality, or for pride bruised to a pulp but still intact and unyielding. Fuck every other word I've said; this card is your survival.
Like other nines, the spot is secure and lonely and rewarding; we've seen the card of harvest, and the card of the spring tide, and the whirlwind is yet to come; here we have old embers, charcoal, fires burned twice.
Images of the Nine of Wands:
RWS. Love.
Exhaustion - the Osho Zen Nine, trapped in the machine.
Medieval Scapini Nine of Wands. Crushed and at sea - notably less posturing than most Nines and yet sending the exact same message.
Index
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(For a list of all card articles, open March 2008 on the sidebar).
Showing posts with label nines. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nines. Show all posts
Thursday, 6 March 2008
Nine Of Pentacles
my open eyes
my orchard ground
my ships
my harvest
my open hand
my body
your sky
your sea.
my open hand.
This is my tenth card article; I have nine completed ones sat on the blog front page. Three a day, every day, I hope, though tonight I am very tired; yesterday and the day before, I felt full of life when I was done, ready for a fourth, but I really don't want to burn this out. Harvesting feels nice. Writing is a harvest - a harvest of thoughts and feelings that were sown long ago, left to grow as you read, as you turned your earth over.
That this is so much easier than writing fiction maybe tells me what I ought to be doing with the words in my head. But it's good to rotate, to avoid monoculture, and to let your mind run fallow for a year at a time.
As with all things Pentacle, a good harvest does not spring out of nowhere; neither does it disappear when you put the hoes away. [...I'm sorry.] Whose orchard is it - whose harvest? There's this beautiful idea, I think in the first appendix of ILLUMINATUS!, that it's absurd for a human being to claim to own land, or a building - how can something far older than you, which will live far longer than you will, be your possession? It is better to see oneself as steward to the harvest rather than the owner of it. For a more Pentacly footnote, see how much power, privilege, and capital gains tax plays into the owning and using of land.
And that harvest needs managing, has to last through your winter; and from what I know of winter, it would be good to share around some of what you have brought forth from the earth, so that the same will come to you in time. A real Pentacle would stab me for saying that, though.
So if there's a flaw, a reversal, here, it'd be taking your fruit for granted, rather than seeing why it's yours and where it has to go next. And as I hope the above stream-of-consciousness crap hinted, I fear there's a desire, in the Intuitive image, to think it natural to own the world.
(It's not come yet - though my guess is it'll be sooner rather than later, I'll jot this down in case it slips away: The Nine of Swords is reaping the whirlwind. (And the Nine of Cups is here, and has brought the spring tide)).
Images of the Nine of Pentacles:
Ripeness - the Osho Zen Nine. Great name, because it makes it about timing and about the fruit being ready for the harvest, rather than the harvester being ready. By removing the human character, the deck makes the natural process of harvest more clear.
The traditional hawker of the RWS. Why a hawker? The Intuitive card takes quite a nod from this one, only with more sea and no hawk.
my orchard ground
my ships
my harvest
my open hand
my body
your sky
your sea.
my open hand.
This is my tenth card article; I have nine completed ones sat on the blog front page. Three a day, every day, I hope, though tonight I am very tired; yesterday and the day before, I felt full of life when I was done, ready for a fourth, but I really don't want to burn this out. Harvesting feels nice. Writing is a harvest - a harvest of thoughts and feelings that were sown long ago, left to grow as you read, as you turned your earth over.
That this is so much easier than writing fiction maybe tells me what I ought to be doing with the words in my head. But it's good to rotate, to avoid monoculture, and to let your mind run fallow for a year at a time.
As with all things Pentacle, a good harvest does not spring out of nowhere; neither does it disappear when you put the hoes away. [...I'm sorry.] Whose orchard is it - whose harvest? There's this beautiful idea, I think in the first appendix of ILLUMINATUS!, that it's absurd for a human being to claim to own land, or a building - how can something far older than you, which will live far longer than you will, be your possession? It is better to see oneself as steward to the harvest rather than the owner of it. For a more Pentacly footnote, see how much power, privilege, and capital gains tax plays into the owning and using of land.
And that harvest needs managing, has to last through your winter; and from what I know of winter, it would be good to share around some of what you have brought forth from the earth, so that the same will come to you in time. A real Pentacle would stab me for saying that, though.
So if there's a flaw, a reversal, here, it'd be taking your fruit for granted, rather than seeing why it's yours and where it has to go next. And as I hope the above stream-of-consciousness crap hinted, I fear there's a desire, in the Intuitive image, to think it natural to own the world.
(It's not come yet - though my guess is it'll be sooner rather than later, I'll jot this down in case it slips away: The Nine of Swords is reaping the whirlwind. (And the Nine of Cups is here, and has brought the spring tide)).
Images of the Nine of Pentacles:
Ripeness - the Osho Zen Nine. Great name, because it makes it about timing and about the fruit being ready for the harvest, rather than the harvester being ready. By removing the human character, the deck makes the natural process of harvest more clear.
The traditional hawker of the RWS. Why a hawker? The Intuitive card takes quite a nod from this one, only with more sea and no hawk.
Nine Of Cups
the wave I am
four limbs tossed by its whims
i am the spray
i am swimming
i am overflowing.
i am myself
i am the sea at daybreak
i am the peak
of the next wave
First Cup out of the deck, and I think I'm in love with it. Maybe it is sea, and I'm only mistaking it for human; maybe it's sunset, and I'm just that much in love with daybreak. But if the Nine of Pentacles is the harvest, the Nine of Cups is the spring tide.
I think I'm finally getting smitten with this card. It's a great bundle of stuff, but most Nines of Cups are offputting; the smug RWS chap and his many many clones. But nine is a beautiful number - it's the furthest you can come alone, and it's the number of Yesod, which is the trapdoor in the ceiling of the material world. Nine is our exit, and everything else's entrance. And water? Water is what we're made of, what we have in common, what we have in common with trees and skies and oceans - water is how we communicate, how we experience.
A Nine of Cups is a full glass; complete in itself; lone, but not alone.
Ever read Casino Royale? Most of the good bits got put in the film. The Nine of Hearts was one bit that didn't, because in the book the hero and the villain played baccarat. James Bond called the card 'a whisper of love, a whisper of hate'. The wave is that finely balanced. Others call it 'the wish card': joy derived from having what you wanted. Satisfaction.
Reversed, you might be being superficial; and you might be letting your satisfaction drain away, consuming rather than revelling.
Images of the Nine of Cups:
This gorgeous specimen from the Intuitive. It's a far cry from the overly smug Rider-Waite-Smith Nine.
And here's a pip card from the Marseilles.
four limbs tossed by its whims
i am the spray
i am swimming
i am overflowing.
i am myself
i am the sea at daybreak
i am the peak
of the next wave
First Cup out of the deck, and I think I'm in love with it. Maybe it is sea, and I'm only mistaking it for human; maybe it's sunset, and I'm just that much in love with daybreak. But if the Nine of Pentacles is the harvest, the Nine of Cups is the spring tide.
I think I'm finally getting smitten with this card. It's a great bundle of stuff, but most Nines of Cups are offputting; the smug RWS chap and his many many clones. But nine is a beautiful number - it's the furthest you can come alone, and it's the number of Yesod, which is the trapdoor in the ceiling of the material world. Nine is our exit, and everything else's entrance. And water? Water is what we're made of, what we have in common, what we have in common with trees and skies and oceans - water is how we communicate, how we experience.
A Nine of Cups is a full glass; complete in itself; lone, but not alone.
Ever read Casino Royale? Most of the good bits got put in the film. The Nine of Hearts was one bit that didn't, because in the book the hero and the villain played baccarat. James Bond called the card 'a whisper of love, a whisper of hate'. The wave is that finely balanced. Others call it 'the wish card': joy derived from having what you wanted. Satisfaction.
Reversed, you might be being superficial; and you might be letting your satisfaction drain away, consuming rather than revelling.
Images of the Nine of Cups:
This gorgeous specimen from the Intuitive. It's a far cry from the overly smug Rider-Waite-Smith Nine.
And here's a pip card from the Marseilles.
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