The Story of The Hanged Man

I am hanging upside down, in suspended animation, sacrificial inversion, call it what you will, but I am hanging upside down. All the fluid in my body has drained down into my head, which becomes to all intents and purposes, an alembic for some alchemical process

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The Story of The Hierophant

How vain and brave her dreams of pilgrimage seem now, and as she looks at the reality of the situation, down there on the ground, in the harsh grit beneath her boots, she begins to wonder if her vision is crumbling to desert dust beneath her aching feet. Looking up from the baked earth to scan the scene before her, she feels dejected, almost hoping that a bus with “Home” written on the front will come, motoring happily over the hill, and stop, facing in the opposite direction, to wait for her to climb thankfully aboard.

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