When I cut the deck and selected this card, I was 27,000 feet over the Great Plains and surrounded by sleeping grandparents.
I really felt pretty torn about what to draw here; for a while I suspected that my Nine of Cups drawing was actually better suited to the Ten, what with its hierarchical overtones and effective infrastructure. But it also seemed a bit... dry, or utilitarian, in a way that seemed unsuitable for the suit's crowning card. The Ten is supposed to seek out that line where a good thing becomes too-much-of-a-good-thing, and then plant its flag right at that edge. Surely a little more fanciful excess was required to construct a proper Ten.
I meditated on this for quite a while -- I had all the time in the world, and no in-flight movie to distract me. Eventually I came up with the idea of a castle built literally on the water. Even though this is just a jaunty little sand castle and not the full-blown citadel I originally envisioned, it seems just as improbable and magical. This is a fortress built on intangible, irrational ideals that somehow manages to stay afloat. It's an embodiment of the suspension of disbelief required to thrive in emotional, mystical, unfamiliar settings. Without that suspension, we'd never be able to answer the initial call of the Ace of Cups, and building a house inspired by it would seem like pure madness.
And maybe it is, but it's a madness which takes us somewhere, offering us temporary shelter as we travel.
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