I seem to walk with fear today, a fear of the unknown combined with a fear of the known, perhaps a fear that what is unknown is really already known, together with the fact that what I see as known is actually false…. Knowledge is a movable feast, it changes as you grow, moves with the times, continually updates, leads you into false avenues, surprises you with gems on the most unlikely of corners and grinds your most glorious edifices to dust beneath its merciless winged heels. It is a dangerous pastime, the pursuit of knowledge, and the necessity of acceptance of that knowledge once you have found it; all journeys have a price and some of those prices are greater than others.
So I ascend the stairs today, a heat rising like a fire within me, and my unsteady heart beating a chaotic rhythm in my chest, and I wonder what the Magus will bring to me, what path will I discover within his enigmatic face, what part of me will I reveal. I walk slowly along the landing carefully treading, not wanting to do this really, uncertain all of a sudden; but I must, I know that I must.
I step into the world of The Magus, through the whirling blue and yellow colours that shimmer and shift in the darkness, and I find myself in a place of constant movement, of spinning fractals of colour that twist and turn and leap and fall all around me; flames of air that manifest, die, embrace and part in a cacophony of light, accompanied by the sound of laughter and chatter that spirals up into the skies in an incessant dervish whirl. The symbols that are etched into the card, spin in a continuous orbit around me, and I feel dizzy and disorientated battling to stand upright in this crazy place. I feel that I am at a point of lunacy and insanity, that I am lost, and so I kneel in a position of humble forgiveness, in the midst of this madness and try to make some sense of it all.
And as I close my eyes within my vision, I find that I am suddenly attracted to a patch of darkness in the corner of my mind, and I make my way towards it, a small but constant unmoving heart of darkness in the whirligig world of colour that surrounds me. I see that it is a small but perfectly formed Oak Tree which looks to be many hundreds of years old, but in miniature, and I wonder why it is so small. I see that the darkness of the tree is representative of the darkness that the Magus stands upon in the card, the path to the underworld upon which he walks. I see that in many ways the Magus is like a tree, with his feet in the earth and his arms in the heavens walking the path between these twin divinities, between heaven and hell and making a life in between. A teller of stories, a weaver of rugs, a maker of pots, a carver of stones, a crafter of wood, a polisher of gems, a figure who walks between the worlds, ever changing, ever curious, friend of all, but beholden to no one, a constant inconstancy. The Magus forges the gap between dark and light and brings inspiration from the places of the divine, a conduit, a channel, he helps us to bring the divine into manifestation.
I look at the tree and embrace its knowledge, whilst feeling that I need to know more about what is happening beneath the surface, in the darkness of the roots. With that in mind I enter the tree, and travel into the darkness, walking along endless corridors that are lit with flickering torches, and although I pass many rooms that lead off this tunnel, I keep on going, keep on going down into the velvet enclosing gloom of the earth.
I finally arrive at a large and empty room that contains nothing but a large throne like chair that has its back to me, and which seems to be concealing a figure sat within it. I feel very afraid and I slowly walk a little closer but suddenly, as quick as ever I saw anything move, the figure in the chair turns and snarls at me, a savage and terrifying face, the face of a child’s nightmare that scares me so much that I turn and run away.
I find myself again in the relative safety of the whirling yellow and blue world, in front of the sturdy oak tree and see that I need to actually become the tree. So with this task in mind, I step inside the trunk and allow my toes to reach into the roots and my arms to stretch and meld with the tree, as they reach up into the heavens. I feel the energy coming from the darkness beneath my feet, flowing up into the light, and I see all the outward manifestation of leaves and twigs that have no obvious resemblance to the twisted roots that delve in the dark soil., but that are a product of what has been drawn up, what has been experienced, what has been learned. I stand and feel the wonder of the rustling leaves, the birds and the animals that live in the branches, telling me stories, poems and gossip, the voices of the world carried on the four winds pouring themselves into my listening ears. I feel the light of the sun the moon and the stars and along with all this lightness and beauty, I can also feel power of the darkness within my feet as I explore the underground riches that lie between my rooted toes; and I know now, that I need to go below again, and to meet the King head on, the King in the ground at my feet, and that this is a personal requirement.
I find myself again in the Throne room that lies at the end of the long corridor, and I see the figure that sits in the chair, and he is facing me now. Silent and motionless he watches me approach and says nothing. I stand before him and still he says nothing, a gaze of ice, a wall of apparent emptiness greets me as he watches me with that implacable stare that I seem to know so well. Those eyes of dark silence that go to places that I cannot fathom, watch me intently, scrutinizing me critically, and so I kneel…..and I watch.
And slowly it begins….a light appears, a light in the darkness as the glisten of water gathers in the corners of his eyes, welling slowly, inexorably, gathering, waiting, gathering, and then finally……. falling; and the tears start. One by one, they fall from the eyes that have seen too much and which have not wept, and I see the aeons of sadness that lie behind the anger, the tears of a thousand years, a sadness which can never be healed, and I know too that this is a special message, just for me, and that I will treasure it. I go over to him, and I sit with him. I know that I cannot help him, that he doesn’t need my help, but I let him know that I accept him, that I accept his pain, I accept the injuries, the difficulties, the infernal sadness and the loss, I accept them all, and as I do so, I accept my own. I accept them because it is from this that the tree springs, fertile and alive, spreading its branches into the summer skies making a home for the birds and the animals, spreading beauty amongst the world as if by magic.
Mercury, magician, psychopomp, walker between worlds, a builder of bridges, a translator of language, a writer of fate……neither one nor the other, neither light nor dark, but a traveler, a gatherer, our ability to search and to understand, to garner and to harvest, and to shape our findings and our experiences into something meaningful, now that is power.
I The Magus
The Magus of Power
Planetary Trump of Mercury
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