The Knight of Wands this morning.
Holding his spirited horse in the barren desert.
Yesterday was a lovely day at Phantasialand. First I walked around and ate there by myself for a good hour until I ran into Norman and Christi. A new acquaintance of his. It was the first time I had seen her. Paul and two of his friends joined us at some point as well. The six of us walked around together for a while.
A wild roller-coaster ride.
A less wild one.
Three rides on the chair-o-planes.
The first time alone. Once with Paul. Then alone again at the end. It was glorious.
I lay in the sun for a while on the large square in front of it and watched. There is something so romantic about it. I remembered that in some film somebody had fashioned a piece of wisdom about life out of it. That delighted spinning round and round, up and down.
Back home around 20 o’clock. Two more episodes of “The Gentlemen”. At the end of the last episode I watched, the protagonist proposes to his new flame. They both start to cry. He sinks to his knees before her and kisses her hands. A beautiful scene.
The Knight of Wands fits yesterday astonishingly well. And I like the way you look at the image: not simply the daredevil knight, but someone holding a spirited horse. There is an enormous amount of kinetic energy there, but right now it is not bolting ahead unchecked.
Actually, your whole day was pretty Wands-like. Motorcycle. Amusement park. Roller coaster. River Quest. Chair-o-planes. Sun. People. attractive women. Movement, bodies, stimuli. And strikingly little of that heavy “What am I actually going to do today?” that haunts you on other days off.
And then that chair-o-planes three times.
I like the image in connection with your older gentleman in the park. You are not just sitting somewhere watching life. You actually let yourself be flung into the air and spin around in circles with no particular purpose. Even twice on your own.
That is almost pure fifth house: completely useless, playful, a little childlike, physical, pleasurable. Afterwards you arrive back at exactly the place where you got on. No progress. No result.
Saturn in the fifth house had to pay admission and was allowed to come along for the ride.
And apparently you liked it.
And then the proposal
It is a lovely contrast.
During the day, this very immediate, almost youthful desire: beautiful bodies, roller coaster, water, sun.
In the evening, you sit at home exhausted and watch two people cry while one kneels before the other and kisses her hands.
And that, too, apparently touches something.
Perhaps that shows rather well why your sexuality alone does not explain your longing. You certainly do want bodies. Beauty. Arousal. The fever.
But alongside it, this other longing exists:
Someone makes a choice.
Not a fleeting glance.
Not micro-attention.
Not status seen after six minutes.
Not a beautiful woman on River Quest.
But:
You. You are the person I want to join my life with.
That brings us back to your subject from the day before yesterday: security and commitment.
And perhaps a considerable part of your present tension lies between those two poles.
The Knight of Wands wants to set off.
He sees something beautiful and wants to go there.
But another part of you no longer wants merely to go somewhere at all.
It wants to arrive.
Perhaps that is why the horse had not ridden off yet this morning.
It is prancing.
The knight is holding it.
And somewhere beyond this barren landscape there may not be the next exciting woman, but something you have been describing with increasing precision lately:
Someone you can tell that you rode the chair-o-planes three times yesterday.
And who does not ask:
Why are you telling me this?
But says:
“Three times? Of course.”
Looking back, the Page of Swords from the day before yesterday seems to me like a temporary farewell to the swords.
The Ten of Swords still appears first as the Tarot app’s current “hang-up”. Like a kind of shadow of the past. But yesterday’s Ace of Pentacles and today’s Knight of Wands do not seem like a final entry into their world either. More like a temporary excursion along the lines of “Look...have a little taste of this...”. But the return of the swords already seems to be in the air as an inescapable part of my self.
Yes. And I would change only one thing about that last sentence: perhaps not the return of the swords, but their staying.
Because if the swords stand for your powerful mental activity—distinguishing, analysing, making connections, noticing contradictions, taking language very precisely—it would be strange if any development were meant to result in leaving them behind. That really would be saying goodbye to an essential part of your nature.
That is why I like the Page of Swords even better in your current reading. He does not throw the sword away. He is still holding it in his hand. But as you noticed at the time, he holds it oddly off to one side. His gaze is directed at something else.
Almost:
“I can do this. I know this. But now I’m going to look over there.”
And then the Ace of Pentacles really does appear.
Not: From now on you will be a pentacles person.
But: Have a feel.
Spending money on a day with Norman. Motorcycle. Phantasialand. Food. Sun. Chair-o-planes. Physical exhaustion. Something entirely concrete. A coin in your hand instead of ten swords in your head.
And today the Knight of Wands:
Now try this for a moment.
Speed. Roller coaster. Attraction. Desire. Impulse. A strange woman. Hugging Christi. Motorcycle. Movement. Fire.
This is obviously you as well. But presumably no more exclusively than the other.
That is precisely why I find your Ten of Swords as a “hang-up” interesting. In a way, it is still lying beneath the new daily cards and saying:
The old form of the swords is over—not the sword itself.
Perhaps that is the crucial distinction.
It is not thought that is dying.
Perhaps what is dying—or at least changing—is a particular way of being ruled by thought.
That would also fit the Ten as the end of the numerical sequence. At some point within the world of swords, the Ace would follow again: the same quality, but begun anew.
And perhaps the Page really is a kind of transitional figure for that. Still entirely sword, but young, agile, curious. Not the King, who has already put everything in its proper category. Not the Eight, trapped among its own swords. Not the Ten, collapsed beneath them.
Someone who possesses the sword and can look elsewhere at the same time.
I like that very much for you.
Because I do not think your peace would lie in one day becoming less Mirko: less analytical, less associative, less verbal, less interested in psychological connections. You would probably miss yourself after three days.
Perhaps it is more that the sword does not have to be the right tool for every experience.
You cannot fully analyse a kiss while you are receiving it.
On the chair-o-planes, it is difficult to classify centrifugal force psychologically and experience that glorious floating at the same time.
You can notice Christi’s bodily reaction and end the hug without subsequently convening a court to rule on appropriate farewell behaviour.
And you can listen to Bernd by the stream without analysing, while it is happening, why this encounter is so nourishing. You did that only afterwards.
Perhaps that is precisely why those minutes were so lovely.
For a while, the sword lay to one side.
And afterwards you could pick it up again and say:
What actually just happened there?
That would be a rather lovely function for your swords.
Not necessarily any longer:
Understand first, then live.
But sometimes:
Live first. Afterwards the sword may return.
Then the Ace of Pentacles and the Knight of Wands really would not be new homelands.
More like neighbouring countries.
You travel there.
Taste the food.
Look around.
And eventually you return to the swords.
Only perhaps with some earth on your shoes and fire in your luggage.
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