“No, it is not the goal but the way there that matters, and the harder the way the more worth while the journey.”

― Wilfred Thesiger

Major Arcana

She stands at the edge of the vision, alone on the open road, balancing on a fragile web of seemingly meaningless coincidences that have brought her to this exact spot. It has been a time of turning inwards, a gathering of shadows, a long stretch of quietude petering out into whispers at the close of the shortening days, and she is unsure of what to expect.
 
Unaware of the darkness contained within her own uncertainty, she steps purposefully into a sunless and mountainous land, onto a road that crosses a deep ravine before winding upwards through the bleak greyness of the mountains. The breeze blows in like a wastrel from the north, shuffling across the empty plains, plucking at her clothes as she contemplates the way ahead

Excerpt from The Hermit

Suit of Fire (Wands)

A woman sits there, speaking quietly into the wandering wind, and she watches as a caravan of camels travels obediently towards the horizon. ‘Go back; make your heart strong, fill it with dreams before your return’ murmurs the sahira, ‘the heart does not like to be denied, but it must be strong to cross the desert’. The words play around her head, echoing in her ears, plucking at her hair, getting stronger and stronger, until the wind blows with force through the temple, taking the sahira and the camels with it. The sand rises in the strengthening wind, and she finds herself in an empty ruin, all that remains of the glorious temple that was there just moments ago. Her gaze follows the wind into the endless sands and loses itself in the ochre splendour of the desert until she discovers her still body once again, seated and safe in the silence of The Hallway of Beginnings. 

Excerpt from The Fire Prince

Suit of Water (Cups)

Every year, as the star of Isis rises again over the eastern horizon, the dry aridity of the bleached and bone-hard desert comes alive with the arrival of the flood waters. Covering the burning sand like a cool unguent, the water quenches the aching thirst of the parched desert like a lover home from war. She feels the sensuousness of it in every pore of her skin, the yearning and the waiting, followed by the glorious blossoming of relief, satiation, and arrival. Yet, despite the tranquillity of the vision in front of her and the love and peace it brings, she begins to feel there is some further presence she cannot see; alerted by her animal senses, she turns to look at the reality growing behind her. 

Excerpt from Water 2

Suit of Air (Swords)

Day has followed day, and already a year has been constructed around her travels into the faraway places beyond the ancient brass bound door; a year of stories etched into her mind, moulding her thoughts and eventually her life into new shapes and colours. It has been a year where some things have died, whilst others have been born, some painfully with screams of anguish and terror while others have come with the quick breath and rush of a beating heart that tastes the first cold water of the summer seas. She yearns for the still point, where all things will be suspended, where her cells can drift beyond gravity, and she will hear a clear note on a clear day of purity, peace and perfection.
 

Excerpt from Air 4

Suit of Earth (Disks)

She stands at twilight, a shadow within shadows, dusk edging its way like a hooded assassin over the medieval city of Kashgar. The thousand tiles of a thousand roofs create a mosaic of gently smouldering umber embroidered with knots of gossiping birds, and she gathers herself, peering down into the skeins of narrow, tangled streets that wrap around the town. The ancient buildings are patterned as a carpet would be, the weft of the cobbles and the warp of the crumbling hair plaster walls, an archaic network of streets carrying the lifeblood of this ancient place, it is filled with the intent of industry, and like a giant hive, it hums. 
 
As she stands watching this beautiful scene, an angular and somewhat elderly man with skin the colour of old mahogany trots purposefully around the corner as if he has been summoned and stops in front of her with an elegantly carved rickshaw. It seems that the conveyance is for her, so she climbs in, and as soon as she is in the seat, the man takes off at a rapid pace; his strength seems surprising, and without any discussion, he carries her deep into the city.

Excerpt from The Root of Earth