A Medley of Body Parts

The legs take their cue and derive their momentum from eyes half transfixed on the body's ultimate destination; otherwise they would surely prefer to sashay to disinterested shrills from a non chalant wind. Arms never believed in old myths surrounding an upright posture, else they would not have found artistry in an ape instead. I recount nauseatingly familiar sights and patterns - green line, red circle, tallish wannabe chandeliers, murky waters on both sides, doors that lust after rust and dust. Can any of these lift as much as a finger, not to mention the weight of a drooping head bubbling with a pungent fermented liquid some call 'memory'? Still the ears catch wind of forgotten, disembodied melodies, and lament the want of a mouth to hum along. Sound the trumpet, confer the trophy of rhetoric, commence the party where drudgery and irony become my dearest guests! Hearts may crumble at their behest; what more of a fling with destiny can the Greatest Director suggest?

Will the Buddha Shuffle the Tarot?

There has to be a time when each of us starts to contemplate our place in the grand narrative of this unceasing stretch of reality. We might then be tempted to arm ourselves with some diagnostic tool in an attempt to negotiate with whatever force or entity that suspends us in this existential gravy. Some prefer to adopt a passive approach, submitting waves of queries and petitions upwards. Others refuse to surrender agency, hence the emergence of fascinating systems of divination that whet our spiritual appetites, and an endless quest to seek real or imagined connections between diverse beliefs and traditions. Aspiring artists of the Tarot must be familiar with the Celtic Cross, but what better way to exercise the limits of our intuition than to import more culturally distant interpretative schemas into our practice? My slight familiarity with Buddhism becomes useful here, as I am attempting to construct (it is not my wish to taint the process with unnecessary 'scientific rigour', but what better word is there?) a frame for Tarot interpretation based on the Buddhist Twelvefold Chain of Dependent Origination. The inspiration came from a candid observation of the obvious potential in the chain, which ostensibly outlines the entirety of our lived experience. In an endless pursuit of spiritual enrichment, this should be a hearty breakfast minus the harmful cholesterol.

When the Crest Falls

I've seen how the mournful beauty of final moments of autumn succumb to the numbing winds of winter; cruel snow unrelenting in its denial of even the simplest of memories. I know how meandering rivers run dry, these messengers of renewal betraying their thirsty recipients. I have heard of the devastated mother of a screaming toddler trapped beneath the rubble at a street corner in Hiroshima; the rancid flavour of fear drowning a vow of love that should never have been uttered, lest it be severed. I've lived and breathed the caress of a shadow above the clouds, but have come to realise the tragedy of speaking too much and hearing too little. I have memorised the colours of the rainbow, and held my palette against the sky, only to spin my wheel and discover that there is afterall nothing but silent whiteness. I have composed a mosaic of your face in my mind, all through my favourite valleys and wastelands, yet I know that all treasures I behold shall race towards the horizon, and vanish before my time, when the Sun begins to shine again.

Animal

If Divinity one day decides to vanquish all souls, reserving a trickle of compassion for you and a beast of your choice to while the remaining years away, how would you play your cards, O Noah incarnate? Know that desperation is a leveller of power and a filter of egos; through the lenses of dependence and despondence our supposed dominion becomes worthless. What will it be then? The magnificient Red Hare, robbed of its majestic owner by troubled circumstances; the eminent stallion who shines with battlelust; who grinds the tangy salt of blood and dust? Can he grind your solitude too, for all eternity? How about the legendary tiger of Blake's fantasies, incandescent throughout the jungles, its existence merely to satisfy some bizzare rhythmic desire? Perhaps when you come face to face with the tiger, you might realise the same of your own existence. But a lonely scream, no matter how thunderous, can only be deflected back unto a lonely soul. Blessed beasts of the world, must our happiness be destroyed as such, before the beauty of your spirits shine through?

Around the Hearth

As we gather around the hearth
Breathing love from the earth
Watching the Ancient soup froth and bubble above
While our ladle journeys the table
I honour the memory book, and flip to a page
Rites of passage kindle the fires of age
Directions are sought, rich blessings wrought
And the circle is opened, amidst the joyous and broken
May peace be with you, Maid, Mother, Crone
Around the hearth we shall never be alone.