Today, I am visiting The Empress, and I feel that I should be taking something to her, some offering, for this verdant mother, this goddess of nature, this woman of substance and form. I walk slowly up the stairs, preparing my self, breathing slowly, letting my world fall away like a tattered cloak, lightening the burden as I leave a trail of tired thoughts and unruly chatter behind me. I pause quietly before the heavy wooden door, and listen… for what I wonder, and then, emerging from the silence, I hear it….a suggestion of birdsong……. There must be something there. I pause, and take a deep breath, and walk through the portal, parting the silken fabric that glimmers in jeweled shades of green and blue, and step into the world of The Empress.
I walk out onto a high cliff top… the grass is short and firm beneath my feet and is strewn with a riot of tiny flowers, buried in the soft green, giving the effect of a hand made counterpane embroidered with a thousand colours. The breeze blows my hair around my face, and I look to find out where the Sun lies, and see that it is a little after midday, that he has moved from his point of supremacy and has begun his slow afternoon journey into the western seas. I turn away from the sun and the sea, to see what else there may be for me there, and it is then that I see her.
The Empress stands, in all her glory, garbed in a long and flowing dress of lilac and blue, a green and yellow headdress covering her auburn hair. I stand before her, a supplicant with empty hands and wonder at her, for I have seen this woman before, not like now, life size and regal, looking kindly at me with the welcome of a mother, but somewhere else, some other, more distant reality.
I peer, remotely, into my mothers study…. A light filled room, cluttered with the past and the present, and possibly the future. I look up to the shelf above the glowing computer, and study the various objects that parade upon the shelves. Memories of the past flood back with the sight of these things, made by others, by her, and by my siblings and I. She stands there, on the shelf of memories, my Empress… a carefully glazed pottery figure, with a rather improbable waist and hands that were fashioned by my kindly Art teacher. She gazes down at me with her gentle eyes and her head slightly to one side, as if permanently questioning me in a calm way, the words “what next” lying on her porcelain lips.
I leave my mothers house, and return to the windy cliff top, and listen to what the Empress is telling me, for I am sure that I can hear words now, words that are issuing from the lovely woman that I have found in my dreams. She talks to me about creativity, about how she can help me to reconnect with my creativity, if only I allow her back into my life more, make room for the stillness of gestation, the heartbeat of life. Mother of all things that she is, Demeter, Isis, Gaia, I stand gazing at her in awe, and open my heart to allow her love to fill me.
She urges me to go down the hill then, to see if I can find anyone else to talk to, and I turn like a child, and scamper away from this gracious goddess, running with a fleetness I can barely recall, careering down the green grassy slope until I tumble breathless and tangled in a heap, laughing at the bottom of the hill.
Standing amongst a few small trees, I see that Malachi’s hut is there, and I go excitedly up to the door, knocking, and laughing, as if I was going to a party. Malachi sits within, at a table before the window, carving something. The table is covered with wooden objects… some are decorative things, the faces of animals and humans, carved or whittled; others are more engineered pieces, that have been made with saws and chisels, useful items that would help in any home. I went and stood beside him as he worked, and marveled at his skill, as he deftly used the sharp tools on the piece of wood in his hands, allowing the form of the creature, to emerge slowly from the heart of the tree that had given its life into a new form. He paused and set the piece down on the table, and took my hands, turning them over in his hands and studying them. He told me I had able hands, good for creativity, and that I must express this energy more, express this Venus, this mother of making, bring her into my home, and honour her. I looked around at Malachi’s simple place, and the lovely things that he had created, and I saw how the energy filled him, and overflowed in him, he had become a channel for The Empress, allowing her creativity to mix with his own imagination to express itself in this multitude of creative works, the children of his minds eye.
I walk slowly out of the hut, feeling calm and peaceful. The Sun has dipped further in its trajectory, and soon it will meet the ocean, it is time to return, and I start to walk towards the shimmering image of The Empress that has appeared just beyond the trees. It feels difficult leaving this place of beauty and calm, this womb of gestation, this creative oasis, and I try to hold the feeling in my heart, as I step through the veil again, into The Hallway of Beginnings.
III The Empress
Planetary Trump of Venus
The Daughter of the Mighty Ones