Tarot: To read or not to read?

I'm hesitating a little to write this post, mostly because it feels incredibly personal, and I think that the comparisons I make in it may feel too strong for some people.  Please bear with me as I share my real feelings and experiences. :)

Some of you may know this already - though many of my online readers probably don't - but I *HATE* doing tarot card readings.

I love tarot.  But I hate readings.

I talk about it all the time with people close to me, and anyone that gets in a general discussion with me about tarot.  I love the symbolism of tarot, the system of it, the way that the images on the cards can relate with so many thoughts, feelings and experiences in my life.  I love how in a tarot spread the pictures dance together to form thoughts and ideas and stories.  I sometimes say that for me tarot is like the most amazing and complex filing system: when a card comes up, I check the file in my brain assigned to it, and find I can access more information, ties, ideas and experiences from my memory because I've related it to symbols and images, than I can with just simple memorization of facts.

The other day I was talking to a friend who was explaining some spiritual lessons she was going through, and talked about how she's learned that "deadly sins" (read that term loosely, since "sin" isn't exactly anything I believe in) take residence in us and choke us, but we let them in, we allow them to do that.  I smiled at her and said, "I don't believe in sin, but what you're describing to me is the Devil card."  Then she talked about needing to find balance in an alchemical dance between openness and boundaries.  "Yeah, that's the Temperance card," I said.  Then she explained how when we free ourselves from habits that are hurtful or self-sabotaging it's like we rise from the dead.  Again, I smiled, "That's the Judgement card."  Just about everything in life, especially involving spirituality, matches one of the files in my mind that is labeled with a tarot card.  That's why I love tarot.

So why do I hate readings?  I've hated doing readings almost ever since I first became acquainted with tarot.  When I think back on it, I didn't mind doing readings for people when I was just practicing, or the online readings I did on the tarotforum.net page for strangers.  I don't mind getting involved in discussion and commentary about readings.  I just hate doing readings.  People always ask me why?  Why do I hate doing readings?  Over the years, I've given a lot of answers, but they generally boil down to these:

1. I feel like when I do readings people come with expectations, and I don't know how to meet them.  I just read what I see in the cards, and I have no idea how to make it meet any kind of expectation.  I've done a lot of different things to try and give people the right experience, and overall I've gotten golden reviews about my readings; so the expectations I'm worried about probably don't exist.  But my stress and tension over them do, and I hate feeling that way.
2. I don't love getting so personal and intimate with people, even if we're really only talking about their personal and intimate details.  When I read cards for someone, I usually get a lot of insight into their lives - from the cards themselves and from discussing the reading with them - and I find it taxing to be so intimate so quickly.  A lot of people tell me: you need to shield your energy, or make sure you aren't taking on people's problems, etc.  That's not what this intimacy issue is.  The issue is that most people I read for are complete strangers to me, and I feel uncomfortable being so rashly exposed to their lives and energies when I don't know them at all, and they don't really know me.  It feels intrusive, even if I'm an invited guest; kind of like staying at a complete stranger's home for the weekend.  Even if it's safe or fun or whatever, I don't like being immersed in other people's worlds.  I'd rather stay at a hotel, so to speak.
3. I usually don't feel sufficiently "in" to people's readings.  The best way I can describe it is with an analogy.  For me, each card reading is like going to a funeral.  I know that sounds drab, but bear with me.  Funerals are personal and emotional events, where people come into contact with things that are painful, traumatic or oddly liberating.  They are dealing with their emotions, and the entire event holds deep meaning.  But if I'm a stranger showing up at your grandma's funeral, I may be touched and cry or whatever, but I also may feel nothing.  And then I'm the weird person who's sitting comfortably in a room of emotional people feeling like a sociopath because I'm not moved at all.  Often, when I give readings, I find myself just reading away like I'm reading a newspaper or something, and my querents are very emotionally touched or moved; then I look up and I'm like, "Oh, yeah, I should wipe the casual smile off my face probably..."  It's not a big deal, but I feel awkward and uncomfortable in such situations.  I'm not actually very empathic, so when people are struggling I often can't match the vibe authentically.  And faking a match feels terribly fake, which fakeness I try to avoid in my life.  
4. When people want readings - and I know this because I feel the same way when I want a reading, and I do sometimes want readings - they want them RIGHTNOW.  Not tomorrow, not next week, they want a reading at that very minute.  That means that my appointment book was always empty, but my phone and email are constantly buzzing with people in emergencies, and I constantly have walk-ins asking if I can drop everything and read cards.  For most people that would probably be cool, no big deal.  For me, it felt like I was always on a leash that someone would be coming to yank.  

Ok, those are all mediocre excuses.  It would make sense that I would dislike doing card readings, but to hate doing them?  Make no mistake, I hate doing readings - even when I make money at them, even when its for close friends, even for fun at a party, I hate doing readings.

Well, today I realized why I hate them, and because of this realization, I've decided on an immediate cease-fire for all tarot reading practice, because it's actually extremely traumatic.

In order to understand my feelings about card readings, we have to take a trip down memory lane.  When I learned to do tarot, I was immediately very good at it.  I started giving readings to friends and family, and they encouraged me to go pro and start charging to do readings for strangers.  I didn't want to.  I felt uncomfortable with the idea.  In fact, often the friends and family that I read for pressed me for readings I didn't want to give - but I'd do the readings because I felt bad withholding answers they desperately wanted.

Soon, the pressure to read professionally and for strangers got hotter.  People started begging me for readings.  I felt bad saying no, even though I really didn't want to do them.  Friends of mine would refer their friends, and I did my best to say no, but would often give in and read for them even though I didn't want to.  At the time, I owned a retail spirituality shop with my sisters, and me reading cards was often a throw-in at events to get people to come.   I didn't love doing them, in fact, I still suffered from medium-grade social anxiety, and the one-on-one nature of a card reading made me feel dread and resentment; but I was good at it, so I felt bad depriving the world of my talents.

Sometimes a reading here and there was fun.  I liked reading at parties where people would just blow through for quickie 15-minute flops.  But for the most part, I would hope for a reading because I needed the money and simultaneously pray that no one bought one.

Then one day, I decided to be done with readings.  I had a kind of traumatic experience with this stalker lady and a crazy love triangle.  I needed a break, I decided, and put my cards away.

Over the next three years, I'd keep my tarot cards close and on-hand, but only because I liked them, I liked to look at them - I always turned down readings.  I would read for my sisters here and there, or close friends upon request, but I still resented doing it.  I never read for myself.  It usually never occurred to me to even try.

Keeping my cards handy would put me in tricky situations.  My sisters loved telling people what a talented card reader I was, because they were proud of me for having such an awesome skill; then those people would invariably ask/beg me for a reading.  "No," I'd say kindly.  Then, "NO."  Then, "SERIOUSLY, PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME DO THIS."  Then with pressure from people's dire need or my siblings who were excited for me to show off, I'd give in and resentfully do a reading.

For three years I tried to avoid readings, and was pretty successful at avoiding them except maybe once every few months.  But every time it came up, every time someone asked for a reading, I felt dread and resentment.

Then I began working at another spirituality shop with friends who are some of the biggest fans of my readings.  They'd ask me for readings here and there, and I generally liked giving them readings because they were my friends.  These friends were so excited about my talent, and so proud of me, that they insisted I must begin doing readings again professionally.  I said no.  And they continued to press the issue.  I explained that I really hated doing readings, and they teased me.  Soon they started sending people to me for readings, whom I tried to send away or turn down, but ultimately I would have to read for them.  Then they'd send more.  I figured I should try to make the best of it, and since the little income would help, I'd embrace the idea of being a professional card reader.  So I did, I went for it full-force, and did pretty well for eight months.  Yay me.

Except every reading I did, I pretty much hated.  I know that sounds mean and harsh, probably especially for those of you who have gotten readings from me.  Please know that it isn't about you; I hated doing readings for my best friends. I don't usually hate the readings while I'm doing them, but I hate the lead-in to the readings and the post-reading chit-chat.  The intimacy of the readings, the urgency, the thick and heavy meaning behind them - all of those factors I dread, day in and day out.

So, I decided about a month ago that I needed a break from readings.  I told my friends to refer any old clients or walk-ins to a friend of mine who reads cards, and took down my signage and my business cards from anywhere they were displayed.

And you know what happened?  I had about 40 people over a two week period show up and ask for readings.  Arg!  Constantly having to turn people down, turn them away, say no, and no again, and no-seriously-NO!  And I read for some friends because I felt terrible turning them away in their time of need, and regretted it and become even more resentful of people asking for readings.

After discussing this issue at length with friends and family members, who are all baffled by why I hate readings so much - because everyone thinks my reasons are stupid (which in a way I agree with them), I finally said, "I just feel wrong about it.  I feel forced into being intimate with people.  I feel like from the moment I picked up a tarot deck, I've been pushed and prodded and forced to be in intimate personal settings with strangers that I don't feel comfortable in, and that because they're paying me and because I'm making them feel so happy, I should ignore my discomfort."

Guess what that sounds like, folks?

Prostitution.

Now, I'm not saying that card readings are the same physical thing as prostitution, but that's what doing card readings feels like to me.  Not because anything is wrong with readings (or prostitution per se), but because I have felt from the moment I started tarot, forced into intimate settings with people I don't know.  Forced to bear my soul, bear my talents, bear my feelings and personal relationship with tarot to people whenever they demand it.  And I hate it, but I need the money; or I hate it, but they need answers so bad; or I hate it, but I can't let my friends/family down.

Well, that's STUPID!

I realized that 95% of all readings I've done, I've done under duress.  And even when I was "taking it on" and trying to be all positive about reading cards, it didn't change that my entire being was begging me to stop doing it and I fought myself because I didn't want to let my pimps or Johns down.  LAME!

And so I've taken down all of the buy-a-reading links on my website.  Yay - I felt so happy and liberated the moment I did it.  And almost immediately I had the option of applying for an awesome grad school program - something new to dedicate my time and energy to.  Yay!  And because I have a friend who reads cards and is happy to take the referred clientelle, I just send people her way any time it comes up.  I am so happy to be done with readings.

But I'm not done with tarot.  I've got some teaching plans in the works right now, and I plan to pick up on my Spiritual Memoir posts again.  Tarot is my buddy that will stick around, and that makes me really happy.

So - there we go!  I'm wondering - do any of you have talents that you simply don't enjoy engaging in, but feel like you have to do them because you're so talented?  Or in what ways do you feel you prostitute your time, talents, energy and ideas out for money?

Spiritual Memoir #9: Drifting Away to New Worlds

For an explanation of this Spiritual Memoir

blog series, see THIS post.

Radiant Rider Waite deck

Tarot Card: Four of Swords

(See pics in this post from various decks)

My Interpretations of the Card

"Rest in the stillness of the Divine, by silencing thoughts and words."

Isn't tarot so weird?  Last time I wrote on the five, six and seven of swords, and today I pull the immediately preceding card: the four of swords.  I have to admit, I'm kinda wishing I could get another Major Arcana card ... but they just aren't coming.  Oh well.  This is a really good card, and I have a good memoir to go with it!  :)

I feel like the four of swords is easily misunderstood.  I find it to be by far the most peaceful swords card, and my first gut instinct every time I see it is: rest.  Time to rest.  

In the Rider Waite symbolism there is a golden coffin in a church or castle (as evidenced by the stained-glass window).  The coffin has a statue on it representing the figure inside - a soldier.  There is also the symbol of a sword on the side of the coffin, and three swords on the wall.  I imagine this is the funeral of a great warrior, who won three battles (swords on the wall), and surrendered nobly in the forth battle (sword on the coffin).

Of course, the card doesn't symbolize death or "the end", because it's only card four - six more swords cards follow it.  So why does it look like death?

Sun and Moon Tarot

My answer is that it isn't showing death, but the peace that comes from surrender, and that winning with swords (or words and thoughts) is not nearly as noble as laying them down, and shielding ourselves from battle ... say, by covering ourselves in a sarcophagus.  I like to imagine that this soldier is going to be buried with the last sword - buried with a single thought, a single word.  Buried not in total silence, but in pure focus, pure commitment, to the solitary sword he values most - that solitary thought.

Look at the gorgeous Sun and Moon Tarot's depiction - ah, yea!  Blue skies, open possibilities, and instead of the swords being on top of the character in the picture, she's resting on top of them.  This makes me think of "sleeping on it", or not arguing or thinking about a problem without a night to sleep and process the situation subconsciously.  I also like this picture, because it makes me think of yoga. 

Spiritual Memoir: Four of Swords

Around 2008 or 2009, I was invited to attend a discussion with "The Avarians".  I had no idea what that meant, except that my friend Holly Semanoff and her husband, Mike Semanoff, were going to talk about some spiritual experience they had with connecting to higher beings - to angels or ascended spirits.  I went with my sisters to the discussion event.

It turns out, Holly and Mike actually channel the words of a group of ascended beings, who call themselves the Avarians.  When you go to an Avarians event, you sit with a group of people, with Holly facing you, and she and Mike take a few deep breaths and focus/meditate, and then Holly speaks the words of the Avarians, in their delightfully accented voice.  If you'd like to learn more about them (and I recommend you do!), you can see their website here: http://www.theavarians.com/.  

So I'm at this event, and Holly and Mike do their thing, and Holly starts talking for the Avarians, and they have all kinds of messages of love and hope and peacefulness, and it's cool.  Then, they say, "We want to share a tool with you - a meditation."  As directed, the whole room closes their eyes and focuses on their breathing, and so on.  Throughout the whole meditation, I feel only half-focused, because I wasn't really listening to what they were saying, or thinking about anything else.  I think I was just really tired.  Eventually I started to doze off.  After a few minutes, I heard the Avarians (through the voice of Holly), say something like "And now, feel your consciousness come back to this room...," and they guided us through slowly waking up, blah blah blah.  I, personally just pepped right up, thinking, "Woops, that was a waste of my time, I just dozed off."  Then after everyone else was back, the Avarians said some more stuff.

I don't know exactly when I realized it, but it was while I was still at the Avarians session, I know for sure ... I suddenly, somehow, had a realization that I had not dozed off or fallen asleep.  I had, suddenly, a stream of memories of thoughts I'd experienced during the meditation.  I remembered, suddenly, that I had been "thinking" about being swaddled or wrapped up in a warm blanket, while in a dark room or cave with indigo/black walls, and cradled in the arms of someone.  Or someones.  Even now, I can see/feel it in my mind.  The person(s) holding me was lighter blue in color, and brighter than the bluish-purple-black walls, but not bright like a light.  Just lighter, like normal light.  I had felt warm and comforted and relaxed...

So... what the fuck?  What the hell is that?  I have no memory of actually thinking that, but a "memory of having thought about it..."  - like, what does that even mean?!?!  I don't know.  I just don't remember thinking it, I don't remember "being" somewhere else, I don't remember seeing anything like it ever before in my life (like in a movie or something).  But it was clearly in my memory - fresh.  It felt very real, very personal, and actually very subtle.  Maybe it was imagination ... but no, it was a memory.  I can tell the difference between imagination and memory in my mind.

All of this "remembering" happened while I was still sitting and listening to the Avarians/Holly.  As I tried to figure out what the hell was going on, I had a clear, confident knowing in my mind: I just had an out-of-body experience.  My consciousness experienced something that my body didn't, and I haven't experienced it in this life before, so I didn't know what to call it.  It wasn't a thought and it wasn't a physical experience.  The best label I have for it, "memory" is nice, but not accurate.  My consciousness left my body.  

Whoa.

I know all of this happened still during the event, because at the end of the event, Holly said she had some CDs that explain more about what the Avarians are, and a special meditation essential oil blend.  I was so stunned by that weird "blacking-out-just-kidding-that-was-superconsciousness" experience that I bought one of everything, went home listened to everything religiously, did all of the meditations on the CDs every day for a few weeks ... and never was able to duplicate the experience.  I have attended over a dozen Avarians events since then, and never experienced anything remotely like that again.

Until about a month ago.

April 1, 2012, the same Holly invited me to take her Conscious Breathing for Enlightenment class, which is a mix of her years and years of experience with yoga, and the input and recommendations of the Avarians.  I was really excited about the class - and even cut down my smoking tremendously to prepare for it (didn't quit though...ha ha!).  At the end of the class, we did a 30-minute Chakra Dhyana meditation.  All during the meditation, I remember being conscious, hearing everything, participating in all of the chants and breathing, etc.  I remember when we were at the heart chakra, Holly came up and was touching my back, and I'm pretty sure she was sending me Reiki or something similar.  It felt easier to breath all of a sudden, and my muscles felt less tired (I have terrible posture, so sitting up straight makes my back muscles burn pretty quickly).

I remember the meditation ending.  And I remember being disappointed that nothing "big" happened (like, you know, an explosion of Kundalini or a visitation from God).  Then as other people were talking about their experiences and the electricity they felt through their bodies (which I did not feel), I experienced a memory.  A memory of being back in a purple-blue-black cave room during the meditation.  I saw random flashes of thoughts and experiences.  None of it made sense.  A person, a war, voices, fire ... just little muddled flashes in the indigo cave.  It was like a memory within a memory - I had a memory of being in this cave place and flipping through memories in my mind - memories that are totally foreign to me and my life.

What does all of this mean?  I have no idea!  Ha ha!  I have two guesses, that may be simultaneously right or individually right, or dead wrong:

1. I'm just experiencing different levels of consciousness.  The "indigo cave", actually feels like it could be inside my mind, and indigo is the color of the third-eye chakra, so maybe in my mind I've experience some type of intuitive consciousness or something.
2. I actually think it's possible I may be accessing past life memories or experiences.  Yes, I believe in reincarnation, and I believe in being able to tap into consciousness of the "big picture" and not just this life's experiences.

One thing I know for sure though, I didn't imagine it.  And I don't know how to replicate it, except possibly through better, more intense meditation exercises.  (Read: Holly Sue ... get ... off ... ass ... and ... start ... meditating ... more ... regularly).  I am excited for my meditation retreat next month - maybe I'll get a better idea of what's going on here!  Oh, and next week, I'm getting a first Reiki attunement, and maybe that will help bust down any grime in my energetic system that blocks me from accessing this on my own.

Arcus Arcanum Tarot

Ok, now tying it back to the four of swords - I like the card in the Arcus Arcanum tarot.  Here, the man sits and thinks, and the sentinels of his mind step aside, so that he has access to the wisdom of a High Priestess.  His thoughts part, and he accesses a divine source of knowing, which supersedes his logical thinking.  Beautiful imagery!

And, going back to the Rider Waite imagery, when I entered these trance-like meditative states, it was like I went into the sarcophagus - isolated from the myriad thoughts bouncing off the walls, and sat with one thought, one intention, one purpose.  I sat in silence, and was inside my mind - the home of thoughts - but out of range of the thoughts themselves.  And I found peace, connection, knowingness.  But before all of that came the stillness.

A final thought ...  I think a lot about how Gandhi did one full day a week of silence.  

"In the attitude of silence the soul finds the path in a clearer light, and what is elusive and deceptive resolves itself into crystal clearness."

-Mohandas "Mahatma" Gandhi

Caroline Myss talks in her book Entering the Castle about silence (p.39): 

"This quality of silence allows you to engage in discernment.  You carry this silence within you, even when you are with others.  It allows you to hold your center amid the chaos in life; it keeps you clear so that you do not do or say things you will regret or make decisions out of fear.  Silence is a learned practice that requires far more than just not talking..."

I think of this four of swords card as the card of internal silence.  Quiet and resting on the outside too, but also parting the swords in our minds, sealing the sarcophagus around us, and experiencing that powerful, beautiful silence that has a new, completely different experience to show us.  I'll let you know when my new experiences start making a little more sense... :)

Spiritual Memoir #4: Leaving the LDS Church

For an explanation of this Spiritual Memoir 

blog series see THIS post.

Radiant Rider Waite Deck

Tarot Card: Eight of Cups
(See pics in this post from various decks) 

My Interpretations of the Card
"I seek love without boundaries, and freedom from codependency"

A lonely traveler walks away in the night from his eight shiny, stacked chalices.  Why does he walk away, and at night - is he sneaking away?  Why leave at all?  The moon witnesses the event with serene neutrality.

Eight is a number that represents creativity and infinity.  The spider has eight legs, and weaves infinite webs of power and wisdom.  The number eight is simply the same symbol as infinity.  Two, eternal circles are joined together to form an eight, so it is a number of joining and uniting.  Cups represent emotions and relationships.  So the eight of cups would represent an infinite and creative aspect of emotional connection...

So .. why is the card depicting something that looks like abandonment?

In the tarot's Minor Arcana, for some reason, the eight cards all look to me like the big, eternal challenge for each suit.  For the eight of cups, I feel like the card speaks of the infinite challenge with emotions and relationships of preventing codependency.  In relationships, and with emotions, it's healthy to take regular breaks, even if things are going perfectly well without them.  It goes back to the old adage  "If you love something let it go; if it loves you it will come back."  (Or something like that).  The counter-intuitive key to eternal relationships is avoiding codependency, to neutralizing the strong feelings every now and then.  I like how the Fantastical Creatures deck looks like some spirit-ladies are passing the cups around, like this flurried whirlwind of emotion.  To me, it looks like emotions are healthiest and most powerful when in motion.  Emotion.  Not stagnant, stuck or "committed" - but fluid, honest and trusting.

Fantastical Creatures Tarot

Also, the greatest love is self-love.  When people truly love themselves, they will automatically experience compassion and respect for others - because the greatness and weakness of others are not threatening, since self-love is the ultimate reassurance.  I feel like the eight of cups also carries an energy of putting oneself first, even if it means leaving behind a perfectly good relationship.  Maybe I'll post about this in a future blog, but I once had a perfectly good relationship that simply didn't feel challenging and fulfilling, so I left it.  Today's post will tell a different story ... :)

Spiritual Memoir: Eight of Cups

I served a Mormon (LDS) mission when I was 21-23 years old.  I lived in Chile for 18 months, and spent every waking minute of every day under a regimented schedule to make me a lean, mean, bible-(bookofmormon)-thumping machine.  We'd just walk the streets all day and ask people if we could come to their houses and teach them about our church.  It was pure hell for me.

I never wanted to serve a mission.  In fact, when I was 18 and my boyfriend decided to go on a mission, I literally said to him in these very words, "If that's what you want, dude.  I would never do it.  If God descended out of heaven and commanded me to serve a mission, I still wouldn't do it."  Then three years later I did.

I decided to serve a mission because I had just graduated from college and had no interest in getting a job or starting a career.  I didn't have any prospects for marriage ... so ... I didn't know what else to do with my time.  "I'll give my life to God for 18 months, and He'll show me the way from there!" I concluded.  Since a mission was the last thing I wanted to do, I figured it would be the ultimate way to connect to God - making a big sacrifice.

It was hell.  It was a terrible idea.

I finished my mission, went home and still had no idea what to do with my life.  Worse, though, I'd spent the last 18 months studying and preaching Mormonism (which I had been raised in), and became pretty certain that the religion had nothing whatsoever to do with the man Jesus, or any of his teachings, and I had way too much exposure to "higher ups" in the religion who were just mean and grouchy old men.

But I couldn't just leave Mormonism.  I lived in Utah, I had a mostly Mormon family, all of my friends and acquaintances were Mormon, and to boot I'd just spent 18 months of my life forging relationships with people based on this religion.  I'd just spent 18 months of my life sacrificed to this religion.  So I kept going to church, obeying all of the rules, and telling myself it would get better.  It didn't.

Maybe it was Utah?  So I moved to California with my friend, and tried going to church out there.  There's this belief in Mormon culture that Utah Mormons are different from other Mormons, and that if you leave the nest you'll find more dedicated and friendly peers.  I didn't.  Institute (religion classes for young adults) was painful, and I kept getting in fights with people.  Church was nightmarish, because asking the "hard questions" landed me in interviews with the local leaders who thought my asking questions was a sign of guilt for disobedience.  So I moved back home to Utah.

I attended a self-empowerment training with some of my family members, which really encouraged me to get honest with myself, and then be honest with the world.  I realized that I wanted God in my life desperately, but that it felt like the religion was getting in the way; but the religion taught that it was my only path to God, so to discard it would put me in a hopeless situation.  What to do, what to do?

Tarot of Dreams

One day, I made my decision.  I said a little prayer: "God, I'm looking for You, and I'm not seeing You.  And I feel like the signal's getting fuzzy because of this religion.  So I'm going to step away from it for a while.  If I don't feel better after leaving, I'll go back.  I hope You can understand, though, that this isn't me walking away from You, even though it is walking away from the only thing I've ever been told represents You."  God had to understand, right?  I mean, I had to know if the institution and dogma were getting in the way of a true relationship with Him/Her/It.  I like this quote from Neale Donald Walsch's website: "Put your foot down on one side or the other, swing the opposite leg over and start walking.  You'll know before you take ten steps if you're going in the right direction."

I was scared, though, because I'd been told that if I stepped out of the church, it would be a long, hard road to get back in, and that I would experience so much guilt and lack and regret for leaving, I would definitely want to get back in - better to never leave and keep it simple.

*GULP*

So I looked at the eight shiny cups, the only source of access to the Divine that I'd ever known, turned, and walked away.  I showed my love for God by walking away from religion.  It seemed counterintuitive, but it actually made perfect sense.  I like the eight of cups in the Tarot of Dreams deck.  On the ground are eight shiny goblets, beautifully arranged.  They're fancy and classy and very appealing.  But the spirit in the card leaves those goblets behind and chooses instead the eight goblets that provide a pathway for higher knowing.  These "stairway" cups are not as fancy, and even a little cold ... but they provide an opportunity, not just a status.  Of course, they lead to the moon, that astronomical body that represents intuition, mystery and forbidden journeys.

Yes, I took a forbidden journey.  I took a different path.  And I walked away from eight neatly stacked cups that represented cultural acceptance, my parent's pride, "righteousness", and myriad other comforting, but codependent things.  The stacked cups of the Rider Waite deck represent to me the institutionalization of emotion and relationships.  Notice that the man leaves the institution behind, but actually comes upon a lake of free flowing water.  Who needs 8 cups when there's a lake at your disposal?!?  Instead of simply drinking the water provided in the cups, the man can bathe, fish and drown himself to his heart's content!  His access to water (spirituality) has become unconditional and unbound.

It's been six years now since I left.  Every single day, I have felt that it was one of the best decisions I've ever made in my life.  And since then, I still get only approving winks from God ... but I get them more often.

The Rebellion is Over - or - War is Obsolete

When I was about 12, I complained to my mom about a class or teacher or something, and she told me the following story:

When your big sister was in AP History, she struggled a lot.  And one day I walked into her room and saw that she'd hung a banner on her wall that said "WAR ON HISTORY."  Instead of complaining or giving up, she decided she'd fight to get an A in that class, and you know what?  She did.  


I, of course, was irritated by the story at first, because that is how 12 year-olds respond to parental guidance, and then after a day or so I was like, "Yeah!  I can do this!  War on *whatever it was*!"  And I'll be damned if it didn't work - because it became a standard tactic in my toolbox for overcoming things.

When I was 13 at boarding school, I employed War on History to my Algebra 2 teacher, because she made me crazy.  By the end of the class, we were best friends.  I made her love me.  I decided I would make any sacrifice - even getting F's in all other classes to make Mrs. Macintosh love me.  It worked.

I moved out belligerently when I was 17 because I was declaring War on my Parents.  I was going to show them how much I didn't need their expectations, their rules and requirements, or their love.

I would declare War on boys I was attracted to - "I will MAKE him love me."  It usually worked.

I would declare War to run faster, lose weight, eat healthy, starve-myself-for-Kenya-for-two-months, ad nauseum...

...and on and on for over a decade.  Declaring war was how I accomplished things.  It was how I decided what to go for in life.  Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it didn't - but in general, I controlled my life because if anything else even threatened power over me, I declared war on it and worked towards overpowering it.

Something has happened to me in the past 2 years though.  Suddenly, declaring war is harder to do.  Beyond simply being exhausted by living my life on a battleground, I realized that more often than not, the things I declare war about aren't worth fighting for.  It's not worth a gigantic emotional battle to try and control your love for me.  It's not worth sleepless nights, haunting schedules, and false personas to make a business succeed - I hate business.  I hate capitalism.  Wait ... what am I doing?  What is my life all about???

---

Fast forward, to last night.  Last night, my sister Sunny Jo was doing an emotional balance treatment/exercise with me.  As we discussed in particular my weight issues, she told me that she once had a client that realized she gained weight as a way to retaliate against her health-conscious parents.  And she realized, in her 40's, that there's really no point in rebelling any more against her parents.  "The Rebellion is Over became her mantra," Sunny explained.

I thought about that.

The Rebellion is Over.

It made me think of Charles Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities, and the Reign of Terror that followed the French Revolution, as I understand it.  People were due to revolt, to declare war.  But once the aristocracy was eliminated, these people were impassioned for battle -- bloodthirsty in general -- and began finding excuses to kill more, to hunt more, and to have more war in general.  Why did they not realize The Rebellion is Over? ...

When did they stop being peasants, and become warriors?  And if we are warriors, and there is no war, what are we to do?

I think society shows us what we do - we declare war on everything.  War on Islam!  War on Homosexuals!  War on Terror!  War on Drugs!  War on Poverty!  War on Free Speech!  War on Sharing!  War on Kindness!  War on Neighbors, Family Members, Friends and anything else that we come up with!  War on War!  ... War on Peace!

How ironic that my initial exposure to this very principle was "War on History!"

So ... when is the Rebellion Over?

It's been over for a long time.  And so many of us are still out fighting windmills.

---

As I was talking to Sunny Jo, she said, "Why don't you exercise and eat well?  Why not?"  I replied, "Because I don't want to be one of 'those people.'  I don't want image, and dietary restrictions, and I'm-so-athletic, and god-you-look-great to rule my life."  Sunny responded, "So ... you're rebelling against ... 'them'?  Whoever they are? ... Holly, the Rebellion is Over."

Oh.


So I'd love to hear what you do with this thought, and I'm contemplating what I do about it.  To this day, how many of my decisions do I make because I'm FIGHTING?  When will I know peace?  I'm tired of fighting for my rights, fighting my weight, fighting traffic, fighting for freedom, fighting until the end...  When will I know peace?

Now.  The Rebellion is Over.

Fighting is obsolete.

How?  Because every battle I fought yesterday was an imaginary battle that I created to validate myself as a tough, stripling warrior.


But if I want to know peace in my life, I have to stop fighting!  It isn't a change in behavior, but a change in attitude and thinking.  When things go wrong, instead of feeling threatened or ambushed or judged, I could just smile and think, "That's interesting.  Good thing the Rebellion is Over!"  And then what happens next doesn't matter.  I'm at peace.  That's all I care about.  When I beat myself up because I'm becoming a deplorable warrior, I can just stop and say, "How appropriate - given that the Rebellion is Over..." And then I'm at peace.  What follows doesn't matter.

What an astonishing revelation!  The Rebellion is Over.


(Many thanks to SunJo, dRM, and J for being Lights in my life and encouraging/helping me lay down my weapons.)