"It's Your Secret Heart, You Own It..."

Whoa, two body-art posts in a row. I must have been a little more inspired by the scar jewelry than I realized...

But in this case, it's my skin. As a 30th birthday present my partner booked tattoo appointments for us, and this is what I got. I'm not overly concerned with the symbolism and meaning behind tattoos (or as my SO put it, "I'm just into putting cool looking shit on my skin") but I saw this as an opportunity to memorialize a time in my life when my attention was focused on one particular philosophical principle that has been a considerable help to my understanding of the Tarot: receptivity.

The outline of the cup is boosted from Salvador Dali's Ace of Cups, which, as you probably noticed, creates the illusion of two people meeting face to face. The cup is usually shown as being full but not to the point of overflowing (though sometimes it is a holy fountain). It is a crucible for the internal transformations which will inevitably manifest in the external world through our words and actions.

I have always been a doer. Every event strikes me as a call to action, and I begin to panic or doubt myself during times when there's nothing to be done. I don't enjoy long vacations -- anything longer than a three-day weekend fills me with existential dread. Working with the Tarot has required me to become more observant, more contemplative, and more patient; for a time, I wouldn't perform any readings at all unless I had a little time beforehand to myself to meditate and turn down the volume in my brain. Meeting someone face to face and creating a temporary zone of communal understanding can be quite difficult, whether you know the person or not -- often we hasten to fill that space with small talk, with conversational asides, with snap judgments, simply to put ourselves at ease. To me, being a good reader means being able to put all that to rest and simply absorb the current moment like a sponge. Otherwise, I'm hardly meeting someone halfway.

Our Western culture does not necessarily encourage us to linger in the antechambers of our unconscious mind. When we do, it's usually as part of an overall strategy, a means to some other end. We want to pray for something, or prepare for something. We want to obtain peace of mind, because we know it will make us happier and more functional. We even prefer our art to be "for" something, or to "mean" something. There's nothing wrong with this, but it places limitations on our ability to know ourselves. We don't meander in and out of those strange mental and emotional landscapes the way we did as children, and all too often we forget what it felt like, how important it was, and how much potential is housed there. The reality we speak and act in is only one part of the story, and without its counterpart it's easily rendered meaningless.

The Ace is a sudden, all-too-real reminder of this, a rare moment of alignment which opens a pathway to your unconscious. A creative burst, a surprising realization, a new vision of yourself and your life. While we can't help but use these moments to drive us forward to the next event or discovery (we'd be fools not to), try to take this opportunity to mark that trail so that you can travel back again whenever you like. It's your secret heart, you own it -- you can visit and explore it as often as you like, and it will grow more fascinating, not less, as you do.

Previously On Arcanalogue: The Ace of Cups