The Chariot - "Exit Music (For a Film)" by Radiohead

[The charioteer is usually thought to be the child of the two Lovers, rejecting their world and setting off on his own dangerous course through life. I can't imagine a more wrenching departure than this...]

Wake from your sleep
The drying of your tears
Today we escape
We escape

Pack and get dressed
Before your father hears us
Before all hell breaks loose

Breathe, keep breathing
Don't lose your nerve
Breathe, keep breathing
I can't do this alone

Sing us a song
A song to keep us warm
There's such a chill, such a chill

You can laugh
A spineless laugh
We hope your rules and wisdom choke you
Now we are one
In everlasting peace

We hope that you choke, that you choke
We hope that you choke, that you choke
We hope that you choke, that you choke

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Aesop's Fables - The Chariot

(Click here for large version)

The message here as it relates to the Chariot is twofold. First, we have the lesson that the horse learns about shortsightedly sacrificing one's independence, a warning which any potential charioteer ought to heed. We often sign contracts and forge alliances in the heat of the moment, only later realizing to what we've been bound.

Then there's the man's perspective, which demonstrates how a disinterested party can ride the wave of others' conflicts and reap their benefits. It's common to regard this behavior as evil, but look at what card this is! No one puts on all that armor and charges off across the countryside purely because of the beautiful Spring weather. Even if he's committed to doing good deeds -- going rescue missions, for example -- the Chariot isn't a harbinger of peace. If he sees the chance to perform a slam dunk, he will totally use your back as a ramp:

Previously On Arcanalogue: The Chariot

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"¡Soy Capitan, Soy Capitan, Soy Capitan!"

This is the first installment in a series of short essays inspired by the 22 Trump cards, featuring original artwork by Greg Erskine. (Scroll down for large version.)


I keep a short list of cards that come up in more readings a lot more often than they really ought to, and lately the Chariot has become one of them. Fortunately, compared to other cards that seem determined to defy statistical averages (I'm beginning to think there must be several Eight of Swordses in my deck) this one is a welcome sight, adding a burst of momentum to conversations about hopes, dreams, and ambition. The Charioteer's restlessness and readiness to evolve are qualities that people identify with immediately -- it's a vision of the confident self that they’re still searching for.

I’ll be the first to admit that New York is a tough city to live in, especially if you're still figuring out who you are and what you want to be. Every day, you’re surrounded by people who already know exactly what they want and seem uniquely adapted to their purpose. You hate and fear these people, of course, and you're happy when bad things happen to them. But since you also want to become just like them, you can’t help but watch them admiringly, studying the way they play the game. The city is for people what Darwin’s tiny island in the Galapagos was for animal species. Everyone must keep up the furious pace of mutation and diversification to survive -- even the panhandlers.

I remember an incident I witnessed one day on the F train. It was during rush hour, so the car was crowded with lots of professional suit-and-tie types who had been reduced to catatonic states by their long, vital-essence-destroying workdays in midtown. Therefore, no one looked up when we all heard a voice from the platform shouting, “Hold the train! Hold the train!” just as the bells chimed and the doors closed. Holding the train slows everyone else’s commute, so it generally isn't done. However, if the straggler happens to be a beautiful woman or can make a convincing case for an emergency (though no blood, please) special exceptions are made. Going against the grain, a younger guy in a gray suit shoved his arm between the doors, forcing them apart.

Fortunately this case turned out to be pretty special. He was scrawny, his clothes were filthy, and his brown skin had that rawhide patina that usually suggests a hard life spent mostly outdoors. But the most special thing about him by far was his enormous horse costume made out of rolled-up foam bedding. It was the kind of outfit that makes it look like you’re in the saddle, but your legs are actually disguised as the horse’s legs. It also had a shaggy mane out of yarn, and eyes and nostrils that had been crookedly drawn onto its face with black marker.

When that foam horse-head parted the doors and entered the train like the prow of a Viking ship, the reaction of the other passengers could not have been more predictable: they refused any acknowledgment whatsoever. Eyes were fixed straight forward at a newspaper, or on the floor, or anywhere other than upon this ridiculous spectacle. Attention is a valuable commodity, and New Yorkers guard theirs fiercely. But with the costume jutting out two feet in front of him and two more in back, it was hard to ignore that the horseman -- I figured he’d stay out of trouble as long as he held really still.

“¡PARA BAILAR LA BAMBA!” He began singing gleefully at the top of his lungs. “¡PARA BAILAR LA BAMBA, SE NECESITA UNA POCA DE GRACIA!” His steed began to prance in place, bumping into people as it bopped along to the melody. The man began to carve his way through the car, beaming infectiously as he serenaded his captive audience. It created an instant feedback loop -- the harder he pushed against their bubble of frigid silence, the harder they pushed back, collectively inventing an entire parallel reality in which the poor man had never been born, and of course this resulted in him butting the grungy horse’s ass even more playfully against their dour newspapers.

By the time he got to “SOY CAPITAN, SOY CAPITAN, SOY CAPITAN,” he was wearing down their defenses -- I could hear laughter being stifled here and there by people who could no longer contain themselves. When he reached the end of the car, a coffee can was conjured from some unspeakable hidden cavity in the horse so that he could solicit tips on his way back to the front, rattling coins in time to his energetic performance. When he passed by I gave him five dollars -- this was at a time when I could barely afford my groceries, but he’d done more to earn it than I had. When the doors opened at 14th Street, the car emptied as if it had been on fire. The little man galloped close behind his fleeing audience, ay arriba ay arriba, and then squeezed himself into the next crowded car.

Whenever I find myself lacking the courage to commit to some big new project or creative idea (or even when I’m shy about giving Tarot readings) I find myself recalling that man, his exuberance and his lack of self-consciousness. His entire livelihood depended on his ability to win over a whole new thoroughly-aggravated crowd every five minutes or so -- the risks I face seem practically nil in comparison. But I also try to remind myself (and others) that there’s no rush. A lengthy waiting period is a crucial part of your metamorphosis. Once you inhabit that armor and crack those reins, there’s literally no stopping you, so it’s best to come into them naturally.

Once when I was 21, a friend and I planned a weekend road trip from Phoenix to Los Angeles. Even though I was technically a grownup, my parents caught wind of this and sat me down for a long talk. My car was in no condition to make such a trip, they explained. I’d break down somewhere and then they’d have to bail me out. My father told me I had no right to jeopardize the family’s collective financial stability by taking such a risk. Of course, I saw this as yet another opportunity to drive them completely insane. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, Dad,” I said nonchalantly. “If I break down along the way, I’ll just stay where I am until I can earn enough to fix things on my own.” In the end they stepped aside, but only because they knew that having me involuntarily committed would probably wind up being more expensive in the long run.

The thing is, they were right about the car. It had weird electrical problems; the radio, AC, and automatic windows had given out long ago. It also overheated like crazy. Whenever the white smoke started blowing back from under the hood (which was every forty miles or so) there was no choice but to pull over wherever we happened to be and wait for it to cool down. Neither of us had a cell phone, and since we were making the drive overnight, the only other vehicles we saw on the road were ghostly 18-wheelers that whooshed past at a six hundred miles an hour. There were long stretches of highway where not a single light was visible in any direction except for the immense, operatic clouds of stars overhead.

Our progress through the desert that night was painfully slow, but I was convinced that we’d get to LA and back completely intact. And even though I cringe now when I remember how hard I pushed to take such an asinine risk, it just happened to turn out that I was right, just that one time. We returned home 36 hours later, rattled and relieved, but also perversely triumphant -- we had not waited for permission, we had not fed our plan through the logical system of checks and balances that govern other adults. We were independents: We set a course west, and then went west until we saw the ocean. What could be more important or less foolish?

“Now is the time to act,” I said recently to someone when the Chariot made its characteristic appearance. “You’re finally at the point where all you have left to do is dare yourself, and then off you’ll go. So do it.” It’s the opposite of anything my parents might have ever advised (though now that I've spent more time as a concerned bystander, I can better imagine how they felt). We become so adjusted to the slow arc of maturation that we forget nature's obsession with change -- without notice, any of us might sprout wings, or wheels, or even shabby horse's legs. Thus gifted, what is there to do but locomote your weird new appendages and see how far they'll carry you?

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The Chariot - VII

1. Victory over opposition
2. Health and vigor
3. New direction.

-- David Allen Hulse, The Western Mysteries

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"Not Everyone You Meet On The Road Is An Enemy..."

You might think that a tiny robot capable of moving in only one direction would have little hope of getting from one corner of twisty Washington Square Park to another, but thanks to a little human guidance, this wayward (and apparently recyclable) little creature seems to do just fine. Tweenbots are an art experiment by Kacie Kinzer that test how we share space with human-like objects. Would passersby who notice the robot struggling read its little flag ("Help Me!" followed by its destination) and point it in the right direction, or just keep walking? In the end the tweenbot crossed the park in 42 minutes -- extremely cute minutes, judging by the video on Kinzer's site -- thanks to the aid of 29 different people.

On the surface the Tweenbot looks like an unlikely candidate for the stern, warlike charioteer, but at heart they share the same values. The Charioteer -- thought by some to be the progeny of the two Lovers from the card directly preceding -- leaves the nest to make his own way in the world. He stands on the shoulders of the great society and family that produced him, but he'd prefer to make his own errors instead of replicating theirs: choosing his own direction carefully, he launches himself into space. Embarking requires courage and discipline, and so does maintaining a direct course to his target, but there's nothing about this neophyte that suggests he's incapable of finding his way; he's well-prepared and he's almost certain to prevail.

The Tweenbot sets out similarly, with a destination in mind, welcoming insight from fellow travelers -- and that, I think is an important example for you would-be Charioteers to follow. Not everyone you meet on the road is an enemy or an obstacle; the ability to learn and accept help from those you encounter on your mad dash to greatness might mean the difference between arriving as planned or spinning your wheels in a ditch. [Via]

Previously On Arcanalogue: The Chariot

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THE CHARIOT

Often thought to be the offspring of the Lovers from the card directly preceding his, the figure on The Chariot fairly crackles with youthful energy, test-driving revolutionary ideas and setting goals that may seem overly ambitious or reckless to calmer, more experienced travelers. This sprint straight out of the gate, however, is a necessary test of the world's natural boundaries-- and one's own.

Dr. Seuss's first wife Helen Palmer wrote what could be considered a field-study of the Charioteer in action: the book Do You Know What I'm Going To Do Next Saturday? (more info here) is like a download directly from the brainstem of the world's most enterprising young demigod-in-training as he eats ten miles of spaghetti, joins the marines, and jumps more stumps than anyone ever jumped before. "I'm going to go up high if I want to," he says, "And I want to."

If you're feeling overwhelmed by new challenges or opportunities, it might be wise to click the link above and flip through the entire book; you could probably benefit from making this kid your mentor for a while.

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