Court Portrait - Queen of Cups

Think you know yourself? Try your hand at acting, and you may be surprised at what surfaces.

I've given it up myself, mostly. There was a time when I used to find myself onstage quite often, but one night during a painful argument with a close friend I realized I had lost my ability to subjectively grasp my own emotions. As my eyes welled up tears, I caught myself thinking: Should I let the tears fall, so he sees how hurt I am? Or should I stifle them so that I seem more independent? Which would be preferable?

I became bothered by the fact that I was having these thoughts instead of actually experiencing the moment as it occurred. If I was detached enough to play director, how hurt could I really be? So I ended the argument, and I took some time off from acting.

There are people I know who make me want to do a lot more of it. I knew Amy Lee had that quality before I'd even seen her onstage -- in our few chats she struck me as being more genuinely interested in others than most actors I'd known, and more self-aware. Naturally, I assume there's a sad story behind all this. But that is what drew me to AL, the access she granted to both her joy and her sadness, the former shining just above the surface, the latter suspended just below the crust like a rich vein of oil. I've seen Medea smile lovingly with those lips, seen Nurse Ratched weep real tears from those eyes, and somehow they were just as believable as the snarling. As real as the blood.

You can imagine my pleasure in seeing this portrait of the artist as a woman confronting her own reflection, hovering on either side of terminal point where the observation threatens to switch places with her observer. On one side of the glass bright lights emanate, on the other side you see the darkness creeping in from behind. The cup, suitably enough, is just another prop; the litter of empties hints at the long day behind, the long night ahead.

This particular figure, the Queen of Cups, is often imagined to be somewhat inaccessible, gazing raptly into inner space. If she ever hopes to share the observations that lie within, she must either attempt to drag them to the surface (a task better suited to the Princess/Page of Cups), or she must lure people down into the depths where they can apprehend her vision with their own eyes. In my opinion, that is the real challenge and magic of theatre: convincing a stranger in the audience to hold his breath, suspend his disbelief, and dive (not to mention pointing him back at just the right moment, before he can panic and drown).

I don't know if I have the elemental infrastructure to spend any great amount of time exploring those reefs -- my last stab at acting commanded more introspection offstage than on. But will always love watching others try, and I love following them down to the places which they know so well, the underwater fumaroles that give off such surprising heat.

Previously On Arcanalogue: The Queen of Cups

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Court Portrait - Page of Swords

If you ever decide to explore the nether-wharfs and industrial rockslides of Brooklyn and Queens, I recommend bringing a friend, or a camera, or both. Matters of aesthetic appreciation aside, personal safety is an issue you do not want to neglect -- you need to maximize the odds that at least one of member of your party will stagger back to the police station, hair blanched into dandelion fluff from pure shock, to file the report. Or at the very least, that a poorly-lit photo providing clues about your last few moments will turn up on the internet.

Colin has been a great companion on these adventures. He has a great photographic eye, an hyperactive imagination, and all of the reflexes necessary to slither over or around a chain link fence without harm to life, limb, or lens.

In the city, carrying a camera is almost like carrying a weapon. Cameras utilize the same terminology as guns (aim, shoot, reload), the same focusing and timing skills, the predatory instincts. We use them to grasp, perceive, capture, and indict each other. Pretty much everyone is packing a camera these days on their cell phones, but even so, nothing raises suspicion faster than poking around and taking pictures. Many cities are making efforts to criminalize this sort of activity, even as government surveillance of the public continues to escalate. This spring I was stopped and questioned in Mesa, AZ while walking around in broad daylight taking pictures of old roadside motel signs; the cops were polite enough, but couldn't figure out -- even after I explained -- why anyone would be doing what I was doing.

The backstreets, waterways and blasted heaths of the outer boroughs are a rich breeding ground for inspiration, but you have to be willing to go out and look for yourself, to brave the unpleasant sights and smells and maybe people, to always be ready with brave smile and an excuse should you run into trouble. Whatever you bring back with you (the memory of a silver egret seen dancing among piles of shredded tires, a photo of an ancient mechanical relic) is yours to keep and sow into whatever you are working on or thinking about.

That's the idea that I think this portrait has captured. The Page of Swords seems perfectly at home in a world of lush decay, both organic and technological, dense with information. Even the sky has writing on it! Colin appears truly innocuous -- a mixed blessing, he would probably say -- but he could very easily be up to no good. There is a tension here too, as if he's spring-loaded to vanish at the first sign of alarm. What is he looking at, and why? As he hovers there on the ledge, you want to see what he sees.

Previously On Arcanalogue: The Princess of Swords

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Court Portrait - The Page of Wands

July 18th, 2010 8:29PM:

me: I was wondering if you could bring yourself to write a few sentences about how you feel you might relate to this card. Really, anything. I'll fill in the rest.

annsley:Yes, I will write something

annsley: but not right now when I'm hungover from daydrinking

me: haha

me: I might use this conversation in the post...

We all have our own preferred way of seeing ourselves, and I'm always interested in observing which Tarot cards an individual is personally drawn to, which expressions of self they choose to identify with. In our haste to classify ourselves, we often forget one of the Tarot's underlying principles, which is that each of us contains all of these characters, they reside in us and surface with very little effort, despite the apparent contradictions that they expose in our personalities. In that light, I find it just as interesting to note the cards in which an individual (including myself) is least interested.

In this series of posts that follow, I do not aim to pigeon-hole certain friends of mine into specific categories of characterization. The assignment of cards was a nearly random process; in some cases the subject chose for themself, in other cases I chose. Some of the images are self-portraits, some of them were shot by me personally. In all cases the subject was asked to consider how they felt they could relate to their assigned card, and I will pass on those reflections to you wherever possible.

Consider the case of Annsley, pictured above. Consider her salubrious Fourth of July barbecue, also pictured. Historically, Annsley is not someone I would've associated with the freewheeling, childlike, unreliable Page (or Princess) of Wands. Annsley is very responsible, a hard-headed intellectual who also happens to be scarily attuned to her own emotions, and is therefore often extremely intuitive with regards to her own motivations as well as those of others. If anything, I figured I'd probably turn her loose with one of the Swords cards.

That brings us back to the barbecue in question, to which I arrived quite late. In terms of drinking I caught up with everyone pretty quickly, and in terms of eating I was happy to pick through the ripe remainders piled high on the picnic table and eavesdrop on everyone's chats. It was in the middle of my third cream-filled cupcake that something occurred to me: Annsley is really good at throwing a party. She's also really good at attending a party. For someone who comes across as so well put-together, she's got a real knack for relaxing and letting things fall spectacularly out of control; she doesn't seem to question how the rebound or the recovery will occur, she just assumes that it will. That's a true gift for any hostess to have -- at my own parties I often find myself too busy imagining how I'll put everything back together to truly enjoy myself.

The Page of Wands is a mingling of the Fire and Earth elements, it revels in the heat of the former and the bounty of the latter. In her Complete Book of Tarot Reversals, Mary K. Greer writes: "You are likely to be frank and candid, artless and unstudied. You might explore things that are close at hand with a certain fearless grace and could be in strange surroundings where everything is unusual and fascinating... it suggests unexpected information, surprises, and new possibilities that might require immediate actions." Anyone who has attended one of the MetaFilter meetups Annsley's organized can probably attest to the veracity of this observation. By the end of these nights, when everyone is sweaty and broke and borderline incoherent, we still feel as if we have accomplished something truly great.

So that's the first chapter in what will be a sixteen-card series of snapshots. My challenge to the reader for each of these: consider how you would portray yourself in these cards. What would you have to reveal or conceal about yourself in order for others to glimpse your inner multitudes? If you'd like to share pictures of your own, please send them to me and I'll put together a gallery for them after these sixteen entries are complete.

Previously On Arcanalogue: The Page/Princess of Wands

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My Friend Vince's Wallet Shrine

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Aesop's Fables - The Tarot Trumps

The following posts examine the 22 Trump cards (or Major Arcana) through the lens of Aesop's fables. I was moved to create this series after flipping through a crusty old book my friend Emily and I found at a secondhand store. I was instantly transported to the long car-trips of my childhood, during which I often read and pondered these fables quite gravely; it had never been explained to me how true or important these lessons were meant to be. Did they belong in the same canon as the Bible stories I'd heard in Sunday school? The book presented destiny as an inescapable force, I noted, and yet its characters' poor choices were constantly tut-tutted. It was heady reading for a young brain.

Emily wound up snagging the book (I bitterly concede that she did see it first) but she agreed that I could mine it for illustrations to scan. From what I can deduce online, they appear to date back to around 1900. In the process of snagging beauties like this one:


and this one:


I began to feel a tingle of familiarity from the symbols on display. While the Tarot isn't based on Aesop's fables, the artists who designed it certainly relied on the weight of classical symbols in religion and folklore to anchor many of their concepts. The imagery on Tarot cards was meant to evoke familiar concepts and stories; they were meant to be easy to read, fairly practical and transparent in meaning. The cards only seem opaque and mysterious to us now because of the centuries of cultural shift. We have forgotten the stories, and the ones we do recall are only half-remembered.

I have presented the following myth/card match-ups purely as a thought exercise, to see how neatly they might (or might not) line up. I don't feel I had to stretch particularly far to find matches, though I was limited by the selection of fables that happened to be in this particular book. I hope that you enjoy the fables, the book's wonderful illustrations, and whatever additional contribution I might have have provided in my comments.

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Aesop's Fables - The World

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Wait, didn't I already post something about this very idea not long ago? Yep, which is why I was sorely tempted to assign the World card to an entirely different fable purely out of principle. I was going to run with this one, because the accompanying illustration was so much lovelier and tied in visually with a particularly famous version of the card.

But as much as I try to keep style and substance perfectly balanced, it's an unavoidable fact that the more humbly illustrated fable up above is perfectly on point in its message. The wisdom the man has attained by the end of his life echoes in what you've learned here at the end of your current phase.

Undergoing an intense journey of self-discovery reduces your fundamental elements to their purest form. Just as every stick in the bundle is its own unit, these disparate elements can remain separate even while joining together to create a whole, self-contained world. We only appreciate how true this is at certain rare moments in our lives, and the power of this revelation is what spurs us to set out into the world once more and conform reality to our desires, even as we conform our desires to reality in exchange.

Previously On Arcanalogue: The World

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Aesop's Fables - The Last Judgment

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In today's version of the Judgment card, it's the trumpeter himself who is judged. Let that be a lesson to any of us who feel we are beyond reproach!

That being said, the beautifully concise moral "Words may be deeds" sets us off down the slippery slope which holds us accountable for our own mistakes down to a practically cellular level, regardless of whether this is just.

The post-apocalyptic awakening of souls for judgment that the card usually portrays has fallen out of favor in many modern interpretations, most notably in the Thoth deck version which was renamed "The Aeon." The newer versions describe the great reckoning as a purely internal affair. We judge ourselves, we take "a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves," as they say in AA. Whereas that's only the fourth step in the recovery process, it's the penultimate step in the cycle of Tarot trumps -- once you have endured judgment by the higher power of your choosing, you are free to ascend to the promised land, graduating out of this world and setting out into a new one. (The Tarot's metaphor applies more to life as it's actively being lived than to what comes at the end of it.)

As much as we'd like to rely on ourselves to navigate these proceedings, it can be profoundly helpful to have some sort of person, belief or idea or idea to reach out to, someone who will advocate for us and ensure that the trial we're undergoing is a fair one. Our poor trumpeter certainly learned this the hard way...

Speaking of trumpeters, don't miss this video. Before 22-year-old assistant band director Brandon Franklin was shot dead this last May, he had casually mentioned to his boss that, were he to die, he'd want "all the bands" to play at his funeral. After his tragic shooting, nearly 300 band members assembled in tribute. The resulting cacophony is a wondrous and cleansing thing, perhaps it will move you to turn your gaze inward, to sort out what you can, while you can:

Previously On Arcanalogue: The Last Judgment

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Aesop's Fables - The Sun

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First of all, note to those punks and rogue elements out there who think they might be stronger than the Sun: you totally aren't. I can't believe we are even having this conversation.

As a Tarot card, the Sun represents a time when you are finally able to participate actively, consciously, and joyfully in the work of being yourself. It's a special triumph, a merit badge earned by exploring dark and perilous trails, the hurdles of all the cards that came before it.

With the awareness you gain from reaching this special place, you're certainly better equipped to judge others' efforts -- but you're also in a great position to help those struggling up the path behind you. Enjoy your newfound strength and let it shine on others, I'm sure most of us could use the encouragement.

Previously On Arcanalogue: The Sun

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Aesop's Fables - The Moon

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The lessons of The Moon card, like the hard lessons of the nightingale, can only be appreciated in retrospect -- at the actual time of learning we know only loss, uneasiness, and frustration.

This fable seems like it could be merely a dream the laborer was having, an idea reinforced by the accompanying illustration. It makes me think of how many dreams I've awoken from with a profound sense of heartache. Experiences I'd wanted to be real so badly, gifts I'd received, even actual friends I'd made whom I felt profoundly connected to -- all wiped away with the opening of my eyes. One time I found myself crying piteously when I realized I'd spent what felt like days getting to know someone whom I'd never meet again, at least not in this world.

These experiences, however confusing and upsetting, contribute something important to our lives that is difficult to pin down and articulate. They round us out, they inflate our inner worlds to the point where they are barely constrained by reality. Returning to that reality is almost always a let-down, but we return quite changed. Embracing these experiences and wringing meaning from them subtly alters the paths we take in our real lives, uniting our conscious and unconscious minds and inching us forward along the path to self-awareness. When you get there, you'll find plenty of evidence that all your time groping in the darkness and mourning lost dreams was time well-spent.

Previously On Arcanalogue: The Moon

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Aesop's Fables - The Star

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The moral of this fable, "Outside show is a poor substitute for inner worth," seems to have been written specifically as a response to the demolition of the Tower in the previous card. It's the mantra that the Star recites out loud in hopes of summoning the courage to set out alone, unprotected, without artifice.

This disembodied, in-between-worlds quality is what makes the Star seem so ethereal and desirable an icon. It's also what fascinates us about real stars -- both the outer-space kind and the Hollywood kind. We gaze at them, memorize them, even worship them; they do not, can not, gaze back.

Previously On Arcanalogue: The Star

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Aesop's Fables - The Tower

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When I was growing up my mom hung a cute little placard on the fridge that said "Blessed are the FLEXIBLE, for they shall never BREAK," with the word break spelled out in a shattered-looking typeface.

I couldn't help noticing that even when my mother left my father some years later, the sign stayed up on the fridge for quite a long time afterward; she took very few belongings with her when she moved. Periodically my sisters and I would ask if she wanted us to bring her some of these things -- heirlooms, keepsakes, things that were undeniably hers. Her yearbooks. Her china.

"No," she'd say quietly, "That was part of my old life." And that would be the end of the conversation.

In reference to the end of her own marriage, my aunt Judy wrote: "The break, when it came, was so swift and clean that sometimes I dream I went walking in the coulee behind the ranch house and emerged on the far side of the mountains."

I find that obscurity, as mentioned in the fable pictured above, is hardly the quality that set the reed apart from the mighty tree, nor is it a quality that saves anyone from anything -- though it does keep people from receiving the help they may need in a crisis. The two plants seem equally smug about their respective abilities to withstand the storm, but in the end neither has any more control over their structural integrity than you or I do.

Far less, in fact. As humans we're able to overcome more physical limitations in our own lifetime than any other organism in the history of the world. We have the advantage of pulling up our own roots when we see the storm coming -- if we see it coming.

The Tower card is an emblem of these emergency adaptation procedures. Whether or not you manage to avoid the lightning strike is irrelevant: you will not always be as you are now. If you cultivate flexibility as you go, the inevitable upheavals will be less likely to shake you to the core.

Previously On Arcanalogue: The Tower

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Aesop's Fables - The Devil

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By picking apart perfectly conventional behavior and making a case for how irrational or illogical it seems, the satyr here plays his role as trickster archetype to a tee. It's just a shame that his offer of food and shelter turns out to be nothing but a game to play with desperate, unwitting humans, right?

But ultimately it's our job, not the trickster's, to tie up the loose ends in our nature, to reason and rationalize. He points out our silliness, and we decide whether it's something to be corrected, embraced, or ignored. If we accept his handiwork at face-value, we just get outraged and completely miss the point.

I thought about this after watching Lars Von Trier's most recent film, Antichrist. (It's still not available on dvd in the US, but you can watch instantly on Netflix!) Maybe you heard the spoilers that were freely circulated about the film's sensational moments of sexual violence? Just in case, I won't repeat them here.

Von Trier is a provocateur, but he isn't the kind of manipulator who yanks one way in order to force the audience to yank back in the other. There are no easy answers to the questions he raises, there is no "right" reaction. As a culture we too often prefer for our artists to do all the thinking for us; we've been trained to respond poorly to narratives which are open-ended or which refuse to fully resolve the emotional disturbances they trigger. We don't mind being directed to examine our own dark side as long as we're already pretty sure what we'll see there, and we hate (HATE) the idea of some smug jerk out there reveling in his moral or intellectual superiority.

One of my favorite interpretations of Antichrist is that it's a response from Von Trier to those who have accused him of misogyny based on films such as Dogville and Dancer in the Dark. The heroine of Antichrist, played by Charlotte Gainsbourg, reveals to her husband that she believes women are inherently evil. By introducing an openly misogynist female character -- who may or may not be a mouthpiece for the director's own ideas -- Von Trier demonstrates his awareness of the debate already in progress, and adds considerable depth to it, all without insulting our intelligence with any platitudes or pat answers.

It's just like what wicked queen Sigourney Weaver says at the end of Snow White: A Tale of Terror when young miss thing accused her of having no heart: "That's too simple." Hate her, Von Trier, or any other morally-ambivalent trickster all you like, but she's got that part right.

Previously On Arcanalogue: The Devil

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Aesop's Fables - Temperance

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I selected some of these fables because of how perfectly they dovetail with a certain card's traditional meaning or imagery. In several cases, though, the fable zigs where the Tarot zags, resulting in an combination that reads a bit like a reversed (or upside down) card.

The Temperance card seems to have been designed explicitly to counter Aesop's message. It's as if our angel heard the pots' conversation, walked out across the water to retrieve them, and then proceeded to show them how to keep company, uniting them in a common purpose while holding them delicately apart, meanwhile judging the strengths and weaknesses of each.

This card actively encourages experimenting with seemingly opposite qualities, blending them to see what will emerge. Are the they truly at odds, or do they represent two extremes on the same scale? Often you will find that the strong and the weak may keep very good company indeed, may even become indistinguishable from each other. Or perhaps the term "strong" will prove subjective to the point of becoming utterly meaningless.

Whatever the results of this process, no important discoveries (whether personal or scientific) would be possible without it.

Previously On Arcanalogue: Temperance

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Aesop's Fables - Death

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I think Aesop misses the mark here. The old laborer wouldn't necessarily be sorry if his wish had been gratified; he'd just be dead.

The real lesson of this fable seems to be about our inability to measure our own readiness as it pertains to crossing certain thresholds. At the critical moment, at the jump-or-don't-jump point, we never feel ready. Later on, whether we jumped or we didn't, we hardly remember being given a choice.

My friend Chris can attest to this; he went skydiving recently with his boyfriend, and there's a really good picture of him taken at the critical point, right at the door of the airplane. You can tell just by looking at him that he's not even really there -- his mind has been blown and he's as blank as a ping-pong ball. It's obvious that whatever happened next, whether he leaped into the sky or clawed his way back into the recesses of the plane, it would be done automatically, half-consciously at best.

Chris and I have laughed together at this bug-eyed picture on many occasions. I'd like it's the exact same expression that the old laborer had on his face when Death suddenly appeared in the form of a grisly skeleton:



But you know, ultimately Chris did jump. And so will you, too... when you are truly ready, or are given no other choice.

Previously On Arcanalogue: Death

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Aesop's Fables - The Hanged Man

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This is one of those fables I really took to heart as a child; it just seemed like the sort of thing that might really happen to me if I didn't watch out.

I think the important lesson here as it pertains to the Hanged Man is that we ought not trust our own intentions toward others when we're in a bind (metaphorically or otherwise). You aren't exempt from acting like a human being just because you're temporarily backed into a corner or swinging upside down; take that extra moment to reflect and gather yourself before you decide to inflict your "difficulties" on anyone else.

Previously On Arcanalogue: The Hanged Man

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Aesop's Fables - Justice

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The moral of this fable, "Vices are their own punishment," should be etched in marble in front of every church and every courthouse in the nation. It is merely the flip side of "Virtues are their own reward," and yet what a difference that flip makes.

But what the story itself describes is how easily and readily humans use rules and laws against each other, brandishing them like weapons despite the fact that most of them were invented to protect people from harm. Reading today about the "worst divorce ever" made me wonder whether things had changed at all since Aesop's time.

Previously On Arcanalogue: Justice

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Aesop's Fables - The Wheel of Fortune

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As Hercules helpfully points out, the Waggoner has become so reliant on the strength of others (his horses) that he overlooks what he himself may contribute to the situation, he forgets the value of own strength. Maybe that extra push will be enough to get them all out of the mud, and maybe it won't -- but let's not invoke the gods (or demigods) until all earthly possibilities are exhausted, okay? Wasting divine intervention on something like this is ridiculous. It's like using one of your three wishes to make the genie do your laundry.

As an emissary of the Fortune card, this fable reminds you of the role you play in the formation of your own destiny, whether or not you believe in any higher power. You have to meet all opportunities half way. And when it comes to people (or demigods) assisting you in your struggles, they'll be more impressed by the evidence of your effort than by the sound of your whining.

Previously On Arcanalogue: The Wheel Of Fortune

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Aesop's Fables - The Hermit

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As a child I had great sympathy for the bat; if there was truly to be no conflict between the birds and the beasts, he should have been welcome at either table. The hypocrisy on both sides was appalling.

As an adult, I've reconsidered my stance. The bat's identity politics are rather frustrating -- why would he tell the birds he's a beast, and then still go try to party with them afterward? It's one thing to deliberately test social boundaries, but his self-pitying sigh at the end seems to indicate he has taken all this rather personally, and I find this kind of contrariness to be exhausting in people as well as bats.

Like in the fable I associated with the Lovers, what we have here seems to be an inability to commit to a single course of action. Does the bi-curious bat really feel he is neither here nor there, or is he simply unable to make up his mind? His actions after peace is declared suggest the latter. One also has to wonder why he hasn't initiated any friendships with other bats. Or flightless birds, for that matter, or even octopi.

So it appears to me that the bat's solitude is a self-induced condition, whether or not he'd care to admit it. Meanwhile, he has all the makings of an Aesopian hero of independence and specialization -- now all he has to do is realize it, and act accordingly.

Walking the Hermit's path is hard work, and it's not for those who rely on attention (positive or otherwise) from others to fuel their introspection. Reach inward! For those already on the path who are looking for the off-ramp, remember this: we often actively contribute to our own isolation from others in ways we're not altogether aware of, even if it's companionship or understanding we crave. Reach outward!

Previously On Arcanalogue: The Hermit

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Aesop's Fables - Strength

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One thing about these fables that blew my mind as a kid was how certain astonishing details were presented casually, with zero explanation. For example, you are just grubbing along trying to make a living and then one day a lion decides he wants to marry your daughter. It's the kind of thing that would never occur to a parent to worry about. Or, as the story tactfully says, "The old people did not know what to say."

Even as a child I knew I'd like this story more if the lion had actually gotten the girl in the end. It is never really explained why the lion is considered an unsuitable mate; he's a king, he socializes with humans fairly well, he goes to great lengths to prove his devotion. In fact, the girl's feelings for the lion are never mentioned, and no contact between them is ever described. I'd like to consider the Strength card either a prequel or sequel to the actual tale, in which we witness their initial meeting -- or perhaps their elopement.

Previously On Arcanalogue: Strength

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Aesop's Fables - The Chariot

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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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Aesop's Fables - The Lovers

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"The Man and His Two Wives" impressed me as a child because of the polygamy angle, but I have a particular appreciation for it now as an adult coping with trichotillomania.

I've posted before about how early versions of the Lovers card showed a man choosing between two women (as opposed to the done deal portrayed in other decks). If the card is meant to signify choosing between Virtue and Sensuality, then it appears that the man in our fable has waffled on the question and failed to make that choice. Having surrendered, he is subject to the caprices of both women, passively allowing himself to be plucked bald.

Thus, the fable offers an interesting elaboration on the card's challenge: whatever you're going to choose, you'd better get around to doing it while the matter is still in your hands. Everyone knows that of the two we're supposed to choose Virtue, but perhaps it's less damnable to actively explore the wrong choice than it is to lose the agency required to make any decisions at all.

Previously On Arcanalogue: The Lovers

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Aesop's Fables - The Hierophant

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This is one of the few tales in the book that does not provide a succinct moral in medieval typeface at the end. If I had to write one, what would it be? How about this:

"Our successes often arrive at their expense of our beliefs."

I'm reminded of Laurie Anderson's story about the Egyptians using mummy rags to power their steam engines:



"They burned their ancestors for fuel." It sounds so disrespectful, but time is such a erosive force that virtually anything from the past that adds momentum to the present must be considered a viable resource. The Hierophant is any figure who arbitrates this process, bridging the gap between history and the current moment, between the esoteric and the immediate.

He's not what you'd call a safe and transparent figure, because he will never offer any information that could possibly lead to his being deposed. In this way, he often serves just as much as an obstacle as he does as a conduit. Sure, those coins emerged at a crucial moment, but they'd also been sitting there uselessly all along while the man endured constant hardship. Eliminating the middle-man was obviously a wise decision in this case.

Previously On Arcanalogue: The Hierophant

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Aesop's Fables - The Emperor

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A fairly self-explanatory read for the Emperor card, which itself encourages the exertion of authority, wealth, judgment, and reason. You could substitute any of those words into the moral and still be thinking like an emperor: "______ unused might as well not exist." No one who sets out to build an empire ever knows peace for more than a few days at a time; each new campaign carries forward into the next one, and so forth until the last proud, ragged breath.

If the miser had begun investing his gold as he earned it, perhaps he'd be a mighty nobleman by now. Of course there's always the chance he would have lost everything along the way. But since he did anyway, it was hardly a risk he couldn't afford to take.

Previously On Arcanalogue: The Emperor

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Aesop's Fables - The Empress

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I find the moral of this tale to be deliciously ironic coming from Juno, one of the most fiercely competitive females in the history of folklore. She urges a contentment and humility that she famously lacks -- "Do as I say, not as I do!"

That said, Juno was also the patroness of marriage and could be exceptionally generous when it suited her. As the queen of heaven itself she exemplified feminine power and vulnerability. I often describe the Empress card as being the "Queen of Queens" -- she contains the traits of all four of the deck's leading ladies. A meta-queen, if you will.

And in case you didn't know, this (no thanks to Juno) is what a peacock actually sounds like:

Previously On Arcanalogue: The Empress

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Aesop's Fables - The High Priestess

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The moral here, "Nature will out," ought to sound incredibly encouraging. But to the extent that our culture depends on repression as a cure for most of our problems, personal and otherwise, it is a terrifying thing to hear.

The Priestess card represents a secret that will reveal itself to anyone who pays special attention. It may be a quiet truth, easily drowned out by the volume of every day life, but it is there all the same, waiting patiently to meet us when the noise dies down. Unearthed details have a way of hiding in plain sight; the idea that a man could unwittingly marry a woman who had recently been a cat says far more about him than it does about her.

Previously On Arcanalogue: The High Priestess

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