Wild Awen

Story Telling Through the Tarot

A few stories from the tarot deck I am currently creating...

The Hierophant

“I am certain” said the Hierophant, “This is the ultimate truth.”

The moment he said it, he knew it was wrong. He could feel it in his belly, in his bones. But somehow, he couldn’t take back the words. Over the years he heard disciple, after disciple repeating his words with such conviction in their voices. They never wondered, wandered or questioned.

Eventually, death came softly knocking, though some thought him beyond death’s grasp. And on his deathbed, the Hierophant whispered, though no one was willing to hear it…

“Kindness is the only truth we ever needed - and we traded it for certainty”

Wheel of Fortune

The old woman chewed on a twig as she spun her wool. Her rhythm as steady as the turning of the moon. As she spun, her companion (every bit as leathery as herself) knit and weaved it into a fabric.

Neither woman took any notice of the fact that the fabric was so long that they could see no beginning. Nor did they notice it subtly fade back and forth between the colours of the seasons. They just spun, and weaved. Spun, and weaved.

Every so often the weaving woman would fall asleep and her companion would unceremoniously smack her with the twig, waking her with a start. And in her start her yarn would tangle and knot but the weaving woman would just shrug and weave the knot right into the fabric. None of her concern, after all.

And every now and again someone would knock on the door, and say "Grandmothers, have you finished the fabric of time yet?"

And the women, without even looking up, continued their spinning and weaving.

Ten of Swords

The old man, wise in the ways of the world said:

“Some endings are soft and gentle. They die silently and drift off into the night. Some endings are abrupt like a dead end road, they leave no question of the way out. There’s a clean-ness about that, isn’t there?”

The old man paused for a moment to look right at his son, and said with a perhaps a bit more sharpness than he intended:

“Some endings, like this one, are messy, Son. Sometimes it’s hard to believe it’s truly the end so we kill what is already dead, over and over. We chew on it relentlessly, even though we know it’s poison. And rather than spit it out, we swallow bit by bit just to prove… what? That it wasn’t our fault? That it should have been different?”

The son, indignantly, replied “But what if it should have been different? Do I just accept it, even though it is completely and utterly wrong?”

The old man looked him straight in the eye and “Son, what’s done is done. It’s over. Your choice here is to keep beating a dead horse, or to dust yourself off, lick your wounds, and choose a different path.”

Ace of Wands

"There's a place, you know, where all things are possible and every spark of inspiration exists at once" said the storyteller. "A place where the sky is green and the grass is blue. Where raindrops are bubbles and fire is soft like silk" he went on.

A child piped up and said "Sure mister. If that's true, how do we get there?"

"Oh! So wonderful you should ask, young man! I will tell you!" Said the storyteller, with a grin.

"There's a door way, you see. You'll find it just on the other side of a day dream, or you might slip through in that moment between sleep and waking. You might also find the doorway through the dance of aurora borealis, or a baby's first breath.

But whatever you do - don't hesitate. If you see that door, walk through it. For almost as soon as it is there, it is gone again"