A sense of calm has descended on me today, as I slowly walk the stairs, ascending into the place where all things are possible. I feel centered, balanced, a drop of stillness within a vortex of energy, the static tip of a child’s whirring spinning top, a world of motion so perfectly balanced, that it seems frozen in eternity.
It feels reassuring, this sense, perhaps it is confidence, but that seems to be the wrong word…. Composure is perhaps better, I like that, it has a rhythmic and musical feel to it, Composure………………..I stand at the doorway, waiting for the moment….. and then I open the door, and pass through the glorious colours of gold blue and red that herald the arrival of The Chariot.
…………………………………..And I am caught, without protection, in the midst of a thundering onslaught, as the herds of a thousand Kazakh tribesmen gallop past me. I am reduced to floundering upon my knees, helpless in the dust, as wave upon wave of the sturdy legged creatures pass within inches of me, so close that I can feel their hot snorting breath on my face, and feel the air rush past me, the roar of their hooves on the hard steppe deafening, the frantic whites of their eyes, terrifying, as they manage to avoid my hunched form, huddled fetus like by now, on the short grass.
As the last of them gallop by, I sit up and quickly look down after them, into the valley below. I watch the riders, deftly control the herd, and, as agile as swallows, they turn their ponies this way and that with effortless grace, and the horses move as one, like a flock of starlings at dusk, swerving and pirouetting across the vast, endless plains of Mongolia.
This wilderness is staggering, literally, I feel a sense of vertigo just looking at the emptiness of this place, I am in awe….. so much so, that I cannot take it all in, it is too much….so I bring my focus closer to where I am standing, and I see, as if they had just miraculously appeared out of the earth itself, a small group of women and children in an encampment of a round, yurt like tents, grouped together on a level shelf in the otherwise sloping hillside.
I walk hesitantly over to the group, unsure as to what I need to ask them, but by the time I reach their fire, I have lost my inhibitions, and I devour the stark open beauty of their Moon round faces and the glittering depths of their Slavic eyes. The children stare with wonder at this oddity come amongst them, and I skirt around the group as I make my way towards a woman who has caught my gaze. Slightly beyond the fire, in the open doorway to one of the tents, she sits, a woman with an elaborate headdress, heavily decorated with silver, and coral beads. Her black braided hair is streaked gently with age, and heavy turquoise plaques hang in her ears. I approach this goddess of the steppes, and I ask her what she represents in this card.
She tells me that she is in the centre of her universe, that she has no home, her home is within her. At all times, she must be ready to leave, being called upon by the seasons, the tribes, the herds and the turning of the earth, ready at a moments notice…..her time is spent in preparation, becoming ready to move on once more, she is the centre of her world, she says that life for her is a moving meditation, a journey of discovery.
As she seems to have nothing more to tell me, I move on a little further, as I have caught site of another tent that interests me that is set away from the rest of them in the deepening darkness that is finally erasing the short hours of daylight.
I see a figure in the soft shadows beyond the flickering fire, a man dressed in grey with a speckled hood that seems to be made from Owls feathers. He looks at me with interest for a while, as if sensing my question, and tells me that once I have chosen my road, I must continue with it, I must carry on, for losing momentum can invite disaster. I look at him, and wonder what he is meaning… what road….. and then I see what he might be saying….. I see the image of The Chariot before me, the perfect balance being achieved by the driver of the 2 wheeled vehicle, being pulled by those variant energies…. The mind of the charioteer is focussed, he does not look to either side, he sees only his destination, and feels the energy of the creatures that carry him there, and who listen to his every command. He is balanced, a drop of stillness within a vortex of energy, the static tip of a child’s whirring spinning top, a figure of stillness in a world of motion so perfectly balanced, that he seems frozen in eternity.
I turn away from the grey Owl man and walk off into the Mongolian dusk, for I see a shining doorway, iridescent in the gloaming…… I walk into its jeweled beauty and pass again into The Hallway of Beginnings.
Zodiacal Trump of Cancer
The Child of the Powers of the Waters
The Lord of the Triumph of Light