Egipcios Kier * Card 41 Dissension and the Ace of Cups

My goal is to write about each of the Egipcios Kier cards that Nelise Carbonare Vieira associates with the suit of Cups. I’m beginning with the card she links to the Ten of Cups: card 41, Dissension.

At first glance, the title of this card seems difficult to reconcile with the Ten of Cups. We usually associate that card with harmony, gratitude, and emotional fulfillment. Yet perhaps the title points to something that comes before lasting peace.

The central image shows four figures with raised arms. Rather than fighting, they appear to be praying, singing, or participating in a shared ritual. The scene feels expressive rather than hostile.

Stuart Kaplan explains that the figures represent competing groups within Egyptian society and understands the card as internal conflict, failed negotiations, and division. Nelise Carbonare Vieira, however, sees something quite different. She associates the card with discovering one's gifts and finding the courage to reveal them to the world.

At first those interpretations seem unrelated. But perhaps the deepest dissension is not between people. It is within ourselves.

Most of us have hidden parts of ourselves at one time or another. We silence our voices, question our gifts, or avoid expressing what matters because we fear rejection. Yet that inner conflict cannot last forever. Eventually something within us asks to be heard.

Vieira writes that we must make space in society to reveal our gifts and our values. I find that insight compelling. Authentic community is not built by suppressing our differences but by bringing our true selves into relationship with one another.

Perhaps that is why this card precedes harmony. Emotional fulfillment does not come from avoiding conflict. It comes from allowing truth to emerge with honesty and compassion.

As the Kotzker Rebbe taught, "There is nothing so whole as a broken heart."

Sometimes the first sign of healing is not peace. It is the holy disturbance that makes peace possible.

Egipcios Kier * 53 Hostility

At first glance, this card is unsettling. Two warriors face one another in a struggle that is about to end in bloodshed. One appears victorious. The other kneels at the edge of defeat.

Stuart Kaplan identifies them as foreign mercenaries who served in the Egyptian world. Whatever their historical identities, the image reminds us that conflict is an unavoidable part of human life. The question is not whether we will face opposition, but how we will meet it.

The symbols surrounding the scene reinforce that theme. Kaplan identifies the arm holding a hook beneath the image as the hieroglyph for strength. The Hebrew letter Mem (מ), often associated with water, quietly suggests that true strength is not always rigid. Like water, it can endure, adapt, and overcome.

Kaplan associates the card with courage, skill, youthful strength, and determination. Nelise Carbonare Vieira links it with the Knight of Swords, whose greatest gift is decisive action in service of an ideal.

That correspondence feels right to me. The Knight of Swords is courageous, but courage without wisdom easily becomes recklessness. Strength is admirable only when guided by purpose.

Every life includes conflict. Sometimes we must defend those we love. Sometimes we must stand against injustice. At other times, the battle is entirely within ourselves, requiring us to confront fear, resentment, or despair.

Hostility reminds us that strength is not measured by our ability to defeat an enemy. It is measured by what we choose to defend.

Egipcios Kier * 60 Evolution

The title of this card is Evolution, yet its central image is not one of growth but of farewell. A priest stands before a mummy, performing the ancient Egyptian Opening of the Mouth ceremony, through which the deceased would breathe, speak, and declare his name before entering the next world.

The ritual suggests that every true transition requires finding a new voice.

Stuart Kaplan explains that this ceremony prepared the deceased for the journey into the unknown. The card therefore speaks of change, departure, and transformation. Evolution is not merely becoming different. It is becoming capable of entering a new stage of life.

The surrounding symbols reinforce that idea. Above the scene, the ba, the winged aspect of the soul, rises carrying the tyet, symbol of life and renewal. Below, the reminder that "the body is corruptible" points to a profound truth: while the body changes and perishes, the journey continues.

One detail from Egyptian archaeology has always stayed with me. In at least one burial, a woman's Opening of the Mouth ceremony was never performed, and her name was deliberately misspelled on her coffin. According to Egyptian belief, she would have been unable to speak her true name before the judges of the afterlife. Whether this was an act of malice, political intrigue, or something more mundane, I find it chilling. To erase someone's name is, in a sense, to erase the person.

Nelise Carbonare Vieira associates this card with the traditional Five of Swords, a card that asks whether victory gained at another person's expense is ever truly a victory. Read alongside the archaeological evidence, that correspondence becomes especially poignant. Silencing another person may grant someone power, but it diminishes both the silenced and the one who does the silencing.

Perhaps evolution begins when we reclaim our own voice while refusing to take another's away.

Like the ancient priest, we are called to help one another speak, to be known by our true names, and to enter each new stage of life with honesty and courage.

Egipcios Kier * 18 The Moon

The Moon has long been associated with illusion, uncertainty, dreams, and the subconscious. Yet moonlight does something remarkable. It doesn't banish the darkness. It softens it, revealing just enough for us to keep walking.

Like the traditional tarot image, this card shows two canines gazing toward the moon. Here, the wolf becomes the jackal of Anubis, guide of the dead, while the crayfish is replaced by a water scorpion, a creature that lives between water and air. Together they evoke instinct, mystery, and the unseen paths we must sometimes follow.

Unlike many tarot interpretations that emphasize fear and deception, I've come to appreciate the moon differently. Over the years I've noticed how moonlight transforms an ordinary landscape. Harsh edges disappear, familiar places become mysterious, and a quiet path emerges where none seemed visible before.

Perhaps intuition works the same way. It rarely floods us with certainty. Instead, it offers enough light for the next step. We don't need to see the whole journey before we begin walking.

Nelise Carbonare Vieira describes this card as a search for one's true identity, the recovery of forgotten gifts, and a gentler way of expressing ourselves. Her words are compatible with the moon's quiet guidance.

The Moon reminds us that not every path is meant to be walked in daylight. Sometimes wisdom comes softly, inviting us to trust what we can already see rather than fearing what remains hidden.

Egipcios Kier Tarot * 29 Domesticity

The word domesticity usually brings to mind the comfort of home. Yet the image on this card suggests something deeper. A young boy gently rests his hands on the head and antler of a wild animal. Rather than taming nature by force, he appears to live in quiet relationship with it.

The surrounding symbols reinforce that idea. Kaplan notes that the scarab represents renewal, while the vessel below symbolizes the heart, the place where our inner life is held. Together they suggest that a true home is not merely a place, but a way of living in harmony with the world around us.

One detail especially caught my attention. A hieroglyph resembling a knife appears above the scene. At first it seems to threaten the card's peaceful mood. Yet Kaplan explains that gazelles were sacred animals whose movements signaled the coming of the Nile flood, the event upon which Egypt's survival depended. Perhaps the knife is not a threat to the gazelle at all. Instead, it reminds us that human beings flourish not by conquering nature, but by learning its rhythms and working within them.

Nelise Carbonare Vieira associates this card with the traditional Eight of Wands, a card of movement and opportunity. The connection surprised me at first, but I find it persuasive. The boy has already reached out and taken hold of the opportunity before him. He does not force it; he responds to it.

Domesticity, then, is more than hearth and home. It is learning to live in right relationship with nature, with community, and with the rhythms that sustain life.

Egipcios Kier - 71 Avarice

Card 71 depicts a man carefully recording his possessions. Before him stand jars of grain and shelves holding additional stores of food or wealth. He wears an elaborate necklace, suggesting that he is already prosperous. Yet the title of the card is Avarice, inviting us to ask when prudent stewardship becomes endless accumulation.

The lower portion of the cartouche contains a large jar adorned with uraeus serpents. It resembles the canopic jars used to preserve the organs of the dead. Whether or not that association was intended, the image quietly reminds us that wealth cannot outlast mortality. Eventually every account is closed.

Above the scene appear the Hebrew letter Tet (ט), several magical symbols, and what Kaplan interprets as either a waning moon or the wounded Eye of Horus. Even abundance is subject to loss.

Kaplan associates the card with greed, possessiveness, and the inability to share. Reversed, he suggests obstacles, setbacks, and frustrated ambition.

Nelise Carbonare Vieira pairs Avarice with the traditional Eight of Pentacles, a correspondence that initially surprised me. The Eight of Pentacles honors patient craftsmanship and the satisfaction of honest work. Avarice asks a different question: What is all that work for?

Labor can become an act of service, creativity, and provision for those we love. But it can also become an endless pursuit of more. The difference lies not in the work itself, but in the heart of the worker.

The man on this card may simply be taking inventory. Or he may already have more than enough and be unable to recognize it. Avarice reminds us that contentment is not measured by what we possess, but by knowing when enough is enough.

Egipcios Kier * 36 Initiation

Card 36 is watched over by Taweret, the Egyptian goddess of childbirth and protection. Although she combines the forms of a hippopotamus, lion, and crocodile, ancient Egyptians especially admired the fierce devotion of the female hippopotamus in defending her young. Taweret's strength is expressed not through conquest, but through care.

She walks beside a small human figure, probably a woman approaching childbirth for the first time. The initiate carries the ankh, symbol of life, while Taweret holds the tayet, the girdle of Isis, another emblem of protection and renewal. Together they suggest that initiation is not simply acquiring knowledge. It is accepting the responsibilities that accompany new life.

The symbols surrounding the scene reinforce this theme. The Hebrew letter Tzadi, the serpent associated with birth, and the seated teacher all point toward preparation, guidance, and transformation. We rarely enter a new stage of life entirely alone.

Stuart Kaplan associates this card with childbirth, feminine power, progress, and artistic inspiration. Nelise Carbonare Vieira pairs it with the Ace of Wands, the spark of new beginnings and creative potential. The connection feels natural. Every true beginning asks us to become someone we have not yet been.

Whether we are welcoming a child, beginning a vocation, creating something beautiful, or simply growing into a wiser version of ourselves, initiation is both gift and responsibility.

Like the small figure in this card, we do not take those first steps alone. Wisdom walks beside us.

Egipcios Kier - 74 Offering

Card 74 depicts a barefoot woman kneeling before the god Amen. Her hands still rest upon the floor as she as she begins to raise her head. Amen sits upon a cubical throne, holding a royal staff and an unusual ankh. The title, Offering, suggests that she has entered the temple bearing a gift, yet the image also invites another possibility. Perhaps she has come not only to give, but to ask.

Above the scene appear a magical letter, a lion, and the Hebrew letter Lamed (ל), whose ancient form resembles a shepherd's staff. Together they suggest courage, guidance, and the willingness to seek wisdom.

Below rests a seated mummy with its bearded head turned backward. Kaplan identifies it simply as a mummy, but the backward-looking head reminds me of an owl, turning to see what lies behind. Mummification sought to preserve the person for the eternal journey. Perhaps this image suggests that enduring hardship and reflecting on the past are themselves part of preparing the soul for what lies ahead.

Nelise Carbonare Vieira associates this card with the traditional Five of Pentacles, a card of hardship, exclusion, and vulnerability. Through that lens, the kneeling figure no longer appears merely devout. She may be seeking help during a difficult season of life.

Kaplan interprets the card as dedication, devotion, and seeking assistance from those in positions of influence. Sometimes faith begins not in certainty, but in need. When our own resources fail, we discover whether we are willing to ask for help.

Reversed, the Five of Pentacles points toward recovery, renewed hope, and the rediscovery of belonging. The temple then becomes more than a place where offerings are given. It becomes a place where weary people are received.

The lion reminds us that courage is often quiet. Sometimes courage means simply walking through the temple doors.

Offering asks a gentle question: What do we bring before the sacred?

Sometimes our gratitude. Sometimes our sorrow. Sometimes nothing more than our need.

Egipcios Kier - 51 Advice

Advice is more than receiving information. It is seeking the wisdom that helps us live well.

Card 51 shows a man kneeling before a teacher, listening with humility. Stuart Kaplan identifies the standing figure as Imhotep, the legendary architect, healer, and advisor to Pharaoh Zoser. Whether priest, scholar, or physician, he represents knowledge placed in the service of others.

The surrounding symbols reinforce that theme. The Hebrew letter Kaf (כ), meaning "hand," reminds us that wisdom ultimately finds expression in action. The feather of Ma'at evokes truth and justice, while the jackal of Anubis quietly recalls that our time is limited. We seek wisdom not simply to know more, but to live more faithfully.

Kaplan associates this card with practical wisdom, healing, recovery, and the ability to transform ideas into meaningful action. I find that emphasis refreshing. Advice is valuable only when it helps us move from understanding to living.

Nelise Carbonare Vieira associates this card with the King of Swords, a figure of clarity, discernment, and integrity. Like the King, Imhotep embodies the union of knowledge and good judgment. True authority is not loud or domineering. It is earned through wisdom, experience, and a commitment to truth.

Good advice, however, does not ask us to surrender our own judgment. The best teachers help us think more clearly rather than think for us.

Looking back, I realize how much my own life has been shaped by teachers. Some offered answers. Others offered better questions. The ones I remember most did not tell me who to become. They helped me discover it for myself.

Egipcios Kier * 4 The Emperor

The Emperor is about the structure that allows life to flourish. He represents authority, responsibility, and the discipline required to govern both a community and oneself. His power is not domination but steadiness.

The Egyptian pharaoh sits upon a black cubic throne, a symbol associated with Thoth, the god of wisdom and order. The throne is decorated with Bastet, whose victory over the serpent evokes protection and the triumph of order over chaos. The crook in the pharaoh's hand reminds us that leadership is expressed through guidance rather than force.

The hieroglyphs on the card emphasize work, stability, and authority. Together they suggest that meaningful leadership is earned through responsibility rather than simply inherited or claimed.

Like the traditional Emperor, this card speaks of structure, boundaries, and experience. It encourages us to establish order in our own lives before trying to influence the world around us. Leadership begins with self-mastery.

One detail especially speaks to me. Nelise Carbonare Vieira associates this card with discovering and exercising one's gifts. Authority is not merely holding power over others; it is learning to recognize the abilities entrusted to us and putting them to meaningful use.

Egipcios Kier * 62 Proscription

Card 62 presents a ruler holding both the ankh, symbol of life, and the flail, symbol of authority and discipline. Together they capture one of the oldest tensions in political and spiritual life: the same power that protects can also oppress.

The pharaoh wears the double crown of a united Egypt, embodying both earthly and divine authority. Beneath him appears a shepherd's staff, reminding us that leadership is meant not only to command, but also to guide and protect. The stylized tree-like symbol appears incomplete, reminding me that authority alone cannot bring wholeness.

Stuart Kaplan notes that the pharaoh was considered the source of law while also standing above it. Egyptian order was understood as an expression of truth itself. That vision gave stability to society, but it also concentrated immense power in a single person.

Nelise Carbonare Vieira associates this card with the traditional Three of Swords. At first the correspondence surprised me, but I think it points toward the emotional cost of authority. Every exercise of authority risks causing pain. Justice requires difficult decisions, yet authority without compassion easily becomes tyranny.

Perhaps that is the deepest lesson of this card. Power is never an end in itself. Its purpose is to preserve life, protect the vulnerable, and create the conditions in which a community can flourish.

A strong ruler can unify and protect a society, yet this card also reminds us of the harsh realities of authority. The pharaoh stands as both protector and punisher. He guards his people against threats from within and without, but the card also warns of the dangers of absolute power and its corrupting influence.

Egipcios Kier 45 * Regeneration

Sometimes life falls apart.

A relationship ends. A dream dies. The foundation we trusted gives way beneath our feet. In those moments, regeneration begins with the quiet decision to build again.

Card 45 captures that process. At its center, a man raises a small djed pillar, the ancient Egyptian symbol of stability and resurrection. Its modest size is significant. Renewal rarely begins with dramatic victories. It begins by lifting one small thing back into place.

The ancient Egyptians celebrated this act in the Raising of the Djed ceremony, in which the pillar was lifted before the sowing season as a sign that life would return. Associated with Osiris, the djed became a symbol of restoration after loss, reminding us that even what has fallen may stand again.

The card's other symbols reinforce that hope. An ear of grain recalls the Egyptian Field of Reeds, where life continues beyond death. The Hebrew letter Hei (ה) hints at the divine Presence that accompanies renewal. Together they suggest that regeneration is more than recovery. It is participation in the ongoing work of creation.

Nelise Carbonare Vieira associates this card with the traditional Six of Cups. I find that correspondence especially meaningful. We do not rebuild from nothing. We rebuild from memory, from relationships, from skills we thought we had lost, and from the quiet gifts that have remained with us all along.

My teacher, Rabbi Alan Berg, once explained why we break a glass at a Jewish wedding. In our moment of greatest joy, we remember the destruction of the Temple. Then, when sorrow inevitably comes, we are able to remember joy. The two belong together.

Regeneration is not forgetting what was lost. It is discovering that hope survived the loss.

Egipcios Kier * 24 Unraveling the Threads of The Weaver

The Egypcios Kier Tarot is a deck designed and illustrated by an Argentinian occultist and published in Buenos Aires. The deck is accompanied by an English commentary written by tarot scholar Stuart Kaplan.

As I continued my study of this captivating deck, I discovered a tapestry of themes woven into card 24 – The Weaver. As I’ve noted in earlier posts, each card shows a cartouche divided into three sections, each containing various symbols and images. It occurs to me that the upper section of the cartouche may relate to the “upper worlds” or to spiritual matters, the lower section to the “Underworld” or unconscious impulses, and the middle section to our daily lives here in this world.

In the top third of this cartouche we find three symbols:

The magical letter: A curious symbol resembling an ‘M’ lying on its side with circles on its ‘feet’ remains a mystery to me. Lacking an understanding of this symbol, I considered my understanding of the letter M. Its sound is within every word for ‘mother’ throughout the world because it is the first sound a baby makes when learning to speak. The Egyptians drew a vertical wavy line to depict this sound and to represent the primordial waters of creation; this symbol changed only slight over the millennia and between cultures and became ‘M’ in the Latin alphabet.

The snail hieroglyph: Today, the word ‘snail’ evokes the idea of slowness, as in the term ‘snail mail,’ or the poetic ‘lock upon the garden gate’ of psychedelic folk music.

Exaggerated in the hieroglyph are the snail’s antennae, the longer ones hold its eyes, a shorter set contains its olfactory organs. The size of the antenna here suggest a reaching out of oneself for wider awareness of the surrounding world and a quest for understanding.

Only its delicate shell protects the snail. This suggests we should be more aware that the protections we construct around ourselves are more fragile than we imagine.

The snail shares a connection with royalty. Ancient Mediterranean peoples obtained a purple dye from the Tyrian sea snail and only royalty could afford to wear fabric colored that exquisite hue.

The conversive ‘Vav’: The Hebrew letter Vav resembles the hooked lights used in the Sorcery of Hekate to draw our aspirations to us. According to the teachings of Chabad Lubavitch, the name of the letter means ‘hook,’ an object that holds two things together.

As a prefix, Vav is a conjunction. Adding a Vav to the beginning of any word creates the meaning ‘and’ or ‘but,’ connecting or separating words and phrases. In biblical usage, it can convert a verb from the past to the future tense, or from the future to the past tense, linking the two times into a single moment, hence the saying, “There is no earlier or later in the Torah.”

The Vav illuminates the power of language and communication. It symbolizes our ability to bridge the gap between ourselves and higher realms, to shape this world through our thoughts, speech, and actions.

Another image appears in a smaller cartouche that overlays both the top and middle of the card:

Nurturing mother: A seated woman crowned with sun and moon nurses an adult-looking infant pharaoh who is wearing the double crown of upper and lower Egypt. The tableau may represent the goddess Isis and her child Horus. The image encapsulates the patient process of nurturing a child from infancy onward. Just as a snail’s shell offers limited protection, so does the maternal presence safeguard a child, blending strength and vulnerability.

The fact that this small cartouche is present in both the top or "upper world" section of the card and the "middle world" section suggests that maternal nurturing is both a divine and very human act.

The bottom third of the cartouche reveals another trio of enigmatic symbols:

Cryptic fence: A curious symbol consisting of green crosshatching reminds me of a garden fence, but I have been unable to determine what it signified in ancient Egyptian culture.

The cobra: A rearing cobra wraps itself around a lotus stem. This single serpent spiraling around a staff or pole is the emblem of Asclepius, the Greek god of healing. It was a common healing symbol in the ancient Mediterranean region and was even mentioned twice in the Hebrew Bible, where is referred to as Nahash or Nehushtan. (In contrast, today’s more commonly seen image of two snakes entwining around a staff was actually the symbol of Hermes, the god of merchants and a psychopomp who guided the dead to the underworld.)

The lotus flowers: Two more lotuses, atop long stems, appear on either side of the cobra. Lotuses grow from the muddy beds of streams and ponds, their flowers blossoming on the surface of the water; their stems are not usually visible to us. Lotus flowers appear in the art of earliest Egypt and continued to be depicted frequently throughout the culture’s history. Like the snake, lotuses represent healing but also spiritual rebirth. The lotus was valued for its use in perfumes and its scent believed to revive the spirit. In Egyptian mythology, the lotus flower was the first thing to emerge from the watery primordial chaos, and when it opened, the sun was born from it. The myth reflects natural observations of the flower: at sunrise, the lotus blossom emerges from the water and opens; at fall of night, it closes and submerges below the surface of the water.

The heart of the cartouche displays a powerful image:

The Loom: A bare-breasted woman, an unexceptional sight in ancient Egypt, is working a loom anchored to the wall. She crouches on the floor as she methodically guides the shuttle with her left hand and holds the frame of the loom with her right hand. She is creating a tapestry of green thread that resembles the crosshatching in the ‘fence’ symbol below. Her task is slow and repetitive, requiring patience and persistence, but allowing some creative expression. The loom is a universal tool and symbol, and the tapestry made with it is a metaphor for the interwoven nature of existence. As the Weaver manipulates warp and weft she is mirroring the divine act of creating the universe, and the threads of the loom suggest the Thread of Fate.

This evocative image weaves together the mundane with the divine just as the act of weaving suggests creation and nurturing. The small cartouche that impinges on the central image repeats the idea of holiness and nurturing.

Weaving is a solitary task. However, the growing and processing of wool and flax required the participation and labor of many members of society in complex relationships with each other. The fabrics created by the weaver would also benefit other people and society in general.

The card’s title includes another triad of symbols:

The Venus Symbol: Venus is known for evoking emotions, especially love. This symbol is prominent in other tarot decks, especially on The Empress card, which often shows a pregnant woman. In this card, working the loom is comparable to maternal care. Physical birthing was, for the most part, biologically inevitable, but striving for a more conscious and active role in transforming the world, the Weaver mirrors the goddess’s creativity.

The ‘U’: The twenty-first letter of the English alphabet suggests uracil, a key component of DNA, which forms the tapestry of existence. On the periodic table of elements ‘U’ is the symbol for uranium. Its esoteric value is connected to inspiration, optimism, and creative self-expression.

Numeral 6: The Pythagorean meaning of this number is harmony. It is the numerical value of the Hebrew letter Vav which appears at the top of the cartouche. Both letter and numeral link divine insight with successful earthly endeavors.

Kaplan unravels history:

Egyptian weavers, who, it was believed, had been taught their skills by the goddess Isis in the distant past, produced an array of items, from sails to clothing, and bandages to shrouds. Their textiles were made solely of flax, because, according to Kaplan, the use of leather and wool were forbidden in their culture. Egyptian linen was renowned and desired, because it was dyed vibrant colors and often embroidered with exotic designs. (Today, Egyptian cotton is famous, but cotton was not available to the ancient Egyptians.)

Both upright and reversed meanings reveal layers of meaning:

According to Kaplan, the upright meanings encompass many ideas: From traditionally feminine work to patient craft, the Weaver embodies diligent effort to create an object of beauty and usefulness. The card indicates the ability to weave different aspects of life together meaningfully as well as the nurturing protectiveness of motherhood.

Kaplan provides us with these reversed meanings: Mediocrity caused by impatience, disarray, and neglect.

Other possibilities for interpreting the card: The card brings to mind the beauty of virtue and strength as expressed in a passage from the Book of Proverbs. The Woman of Valor “seeks wool and flax, and works with willing hands…” The text continues:

She dresses herself with strength and makes her arms strong.
She puts her hands to the distaff, and her hands hold the spindle.
She opens her hand to the poor, and reaches out her hands to the needy.
She is not afraid of snow for her household, for all her household are clothed in scarlet.
Strength and dignity are her clothing, and she laughs at the time to come.
She opens her mouth with wisdom and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.

This card shows a weaver who may embody many of those qualities. However, this tarot card can also be interpreted in more traditional ways.

Nelise Carbonare Vieira, a Brazilian blogger who has written extensively about the Egipcios Kier Tarot, associates this card with the Queen of Wands, which to me is the card of Hestia, goddess of the hearth, and a sybol of female strength. Vieira suggests The Weaver indicates the “certainty of being able to provide for one's needs.” (Pamela Colman Smith added a domestic cat her card, implying psychic awareness. In ancient Egypt, domestic cats were considered women's pets and were often portrayed inhabiting homes; however, it would seem wise to keep those playful, curious animals away from the threads of a loom.)

The Thread of Fate:

The central image of the weaver brings to mind the Greek Moirai, the three Fates, who control the threads of individual destiny. Klothó, with her long braid, holds a spindle and distaff, gathering material to spin the thread. Láḥesis, her bare foot showing as her gown pools on the floor around her, carefully studies the quality of the thread and measures it for purpose. Átropos, wearing the rich extravagant clothes the three have created, cuts the thread.

The theme of female figures in control of destiny is found in many European cultures, perhaps originating in the remotest Indo-European past. Romans, for example, believed that the three Parcae recorded the thread of life for every being, even the greatest of gods. The Norse feared the three death-bringing Norns, whose name means ‘to twine’ and who drew water from a sacred well to nourish the World Tree, thus shaping human destiny. The Wyrds of Anglo-Saxon mythology also dwelt by a well under a world tree and, like the Greek Fates, they spun, measured, and cut the thread of fate. Seven goddesses who wove the thread of destiny inhabit Celtic mythology. Many similar female beings are preserved in eastern European folktales and there are some scattered references to fate goddesses in Indian literature, too.

A Call to Divine Craft:

The Weaver speaks of magic within the mundane, the transformation of fibers into fabrics, and even the preservation of ancient traditions in modern times. The loom bridges past and present, inviting us to engage in acts of creation that connect us to history's threads.

Every tapestry tells a story. I have a tallis, a prayer shawl, that was hand-woven for me by Laine Schipper, a woman who attended my synagogue and whose husband, Joel, would wrap them both in his tallis (which had originally served as their chuppah, marriage canopy) during the closing song of the service each Shabbat.

In conclusion:

I am mesmerized and baffled by the blending of related but disparate elements in this card. The threads in this card are too many and too intricate to discuss in a single blog post.

Each time the card appears in a reading, a different theme may come to the fore. Many of the following themes can be derived from this rich imagery:

- the creative powers of sound and speech
- the primordial waters of creation
- the beauty of tenacity, dignity, and courage
- patience and persistence in creative expression
- reaching outside ourselves for awareness
- maternal nurturing
- protection and fragility
- relationship between earth and heaven, the mundane and the divine, a mother and child
- healing and medicine
- spiritual rebirth
- the interconnectedness of life
- the value of relationships
- the Thread of Fate

When The Weaver appears in a reading, it may suggest that the querent is in a period of creating or shaping his or her destiny, and should be encouraged to be patient and persistant. The appearance of this card might indicate a need to nurture an idea, project, or relationship, recognizing the delicate balance between strength and vulnerability. The card may also be a reminder of the interconnectedness of a person's actions and the broader tapestry of life, urging that person to consider how daily tasks and creative endeavors contribute to his or her spiritual and material world. Moreover, The Weaver can highlight the power of communication and the significance of nurturing one's inner and outer worlds, suggesting that the querent weave together different aspects of his or her life to find harmony and purpose.

Today, the card has spoken to me of a connection to the celestial realm while doing my daily tasks in this world, and the privilege women can exercise of birthing and nursing children. I recall my disappointment when I realized I’d never have children, but I rejoice now in my writing endeavors. The card reminds me of the fragility of life and relationships and encourages me to treasure them.

Egipcios Kier * 63 Communion

Card 63 depicts a husband and wife seated beside one another on ornate chairs. Their feet rest firmly on the ground, suggesting stability. The woman embraces her husband, her arm wrapped gently around his shoulder, while he holds a lotus fan. Both wear elaborate necklaces and lotus flowers, symbols of beauty, prosperity, and shared life.

Although Egyptian profile drawing can make the couple appear distant, the woman's gesture reveals intimacy. They are distinct individuals, yet they face the world together.

Above them appear several symbolic figures, including the Hebrew letter Alef, the silent breath from which speech begins. Below them stands an incense burner. Kaplan explains that it represents fragrant offerings rising toward the gods. Together these symbols suggest that communion involves both spoken and unspoken forms of presence.

Kaplan associates this card with peace, joy, love, contentment, and harmonious family life.

Nelise Carbonare Vieira, however, pairs it with the traditional Two of Swords. At first that correspondence seems surprising. The couple appears united rather than divided. Yet the Two of Swords reminds us that lasting harmony is not merely the absence of conflict. Healthy relationships require honesty, attentive listening, and the courage to face difficult conversations together.

The incense rises even when no one speaks. The silent Alef reminds us that every conversation begins with quiet attention before words are formed.

Communion is more than living beside another person. It is learning to share both silence and truth.

Egipcios Kier - 68 Speculation and 51 Advice

As I shuffled the Egipcios Kier Tarot after my morning ritual, two cards fell from the deck: 68 Speculation and 51 Advice. Together they seemed to ask a single question: How do we make wise decisions?

Card 68 depicts a man carefully weighing a stack of coins against a statue of an ox. The image immediately reminded me of the biblical command to use honest weights and measures. Sound judgment begins with honesty.

Above the scene appear a snail, a serpent, and the Hebrew letter Vav (ו), meaning "hook." Below rests a bee. Kaplan corrected several of my first impressions of these symbols. I had mistaken the bee for a fly and assumed the ox represented a single animal rather than an entire herd. The card itself became a reminder that our first impressions are not always our best ones.

Kaplan notes that cattle played a central role in Egypt's economy, while bees, believed to have sprung from the tears of Ra, symbolized industry and abundance. Wealth, however, is never simply a matter of possessions. It also depends on wisdom, patience, and honest labor.

The image brought to mind Joseph serving Pharaoh during the years of famine. His foresight saved countless lives, yet it also resulted in the Egyptian people surrendering both their land and eventually themselves to Pharaoh in exchange for grain. Joseph's solution was brilliant, but its long-term consequences remind us that wise decisions can still carry a human cost.

Kaplan associates this card with ingenuity, diligence, successful enterprise, and prosperity. Reversed, it suggests impatience, anxiety, and poor judgment.

Nelise Carbonare Vieira pairs Speculation with the traditional Page of Pentacles, the student who approaches the world with curiosity and a willingness to learn. That correspondence feels fitting. Good judgment begins with humility. Before weighing the world, we must be willing to admit that our own understanding may need correcting.

The second card, Advice, completes the lesson. We all seek guidance from others, but no counselor can replace our own responsibility to think carefully, weigh evidence honestly, and live with the consequences of our choices.

Speculation, then, is not merely about money. It is the patient work of learning how to judge well.

Egipcios Kier * 10 Wheel of Fortune

My best friend's cat, Pascal, explains this card far better than I could:

Further commentary from me:

The Wheel of Fortune reminds us that life never stands still. This version resembles the older Marseilles tradition, emphasizing the turning of fate rather than the Christian imagery found in the Rider-Waite-Smith deck.

At the center, Horus grasps the wheel while the monstrous Ammut clings to its opposite side. Whether Horus is setting the wheel in motion or trying to stop it, the lesson is the same: the wheel keeps turning. Joy and sorrow, success and failure, beginnings and endings all belong to the same movement.

Norma Cowie beautifully describes this card as the moment when "it is time once more to test your knowledge in your daily life." Wisdom isn't proven by what we understand in comfort, but by how we respond when the wheel turns unexpectedly.

Pascal reminds us of something else. Cats delight in batting things across the floor simply because they can. Sometimes life feels much the same. The universe toys with our carefully laid plans, leaving us to wonder what happened. Yet every turn of the wheel also presents an invitation. We can cling to what is passing away, or we can move with the change.

The wheel will keep turning. Our task is not to stop it, but to meet each season with courage, curiosity, and gratitude.

Egipcios Kier * 43 Delusion

This card frustrated me for several days. Its title seemed to dictate how I should interpret the image, making it difficult to see anything beyond the obvious. Only after sitting with it for a while did I begin to wonder whether delusion and awakening might sometimes stand surprisingly close together.

The central figure is a nearly naked woman dancing--or perhaps running--with her arms raised. At first she appears intoxicated or unbalanced. Yet the sistrum hanging behind her, an instrument associated with the goddess Hathor, suggests that she may instead be participating in a sacred ritual. Is she caught in confusion, or is she reaching toward the divine? The card refuses to answer.

Stuart Kaplan emphasizes the darker possibilities. He associates the card with delusion, addiction, irrationality, and emotional disorder. He even suggests that the creature at the bottom of the card may represent Seth, whose later mythology came to symbolize chaos and disorder.

Nelise Carbonare Vieira, however, connects the card with the traditional Eight of Cups, a card of walking away from what no longer nourishes the soul. That correspondence offers another way of seeing the image. Perhaps the woman's frantic movement is not the problem itself. Perhaps it is the last moment before she leaves an illusion behind.

The line between spiritual ecstasy and self-deception can be surprisingly thin. We can mistake wishful thinking for revelation, fear for intuition, or excitement for wisdom. Yet we can also become so afraid of being deceived that we refuse genuine moments of inspiration.

Perhaps the invitation of this card is neither to embrace every vision nor to reject every mystery. It is to cultivate discernment.

Sometimes the first step out of delusion is simply the willingness to ask, "What if I have misunderstood?"

Egipcios Kier * 40 Premonition

A premonition is not certainty. It is the quiet feeling that something deserves our attention before we can explain why.

The central image shows a man reaching out to stop a woman just as she recoils in alarm. Whether he is warning her of danger or simply sharing her sudden realization, the card captures the mysterious moment when intuition arrives before conscious understanding.

Stuart Kaplan interprets the scene differently, suggesting the couple is approaching a temple oracle in search of guidance. He notes that the Egyptians looked to dreams, visions, and sacred places for insight into the future. However we understand the image, it reminds us that human beings have always sought wisdom beyond ordinary reasoning.

The symbols reinforce this theme. The Hebrew letter Tav, the final letter of the alef-bet, hints at completion. Kaplan identifies the hieroglyph below the scene as meaning "to be wise." Premonition, then, is not merely about glimpsing the future. It is about recognizing truth in time to respond wisely.

The Bible offers a striking example in Josef. His gift was not simply interpreting Pharaoh's dreams but acting upon them. Insight alone would not have saved Egypt. Wisdom required practical action.

I've come to think that intuition often begins below the level of conscious thought. Sometimes we notice subtle details before we realize we've noticed them. At other times, our hearts resist what we already know to be true. In either case, intuition becomes meaningful only when we are willing to listen.

Nelise Carbonare Vieira associates this card with the Page of Cups, a figure of openness, imagination, and receptivity. That correspondence feels fitting. Intuition cannot be forced, but it can be cultivated by paying closer attention to the world, to other people, and to ourselves.

Premonition is not about predicting the future.

It is about recognizing the next right step before we can fully explain why it is right.

Josef's Cup

Egipcios Kier * 67 Veneration

Card 67 depicts a woman standing in an attitude of reverence. She bends forward, one hand raised toward her face and the other extended toward an unseen altar. Her posture expresses trust, gratitude, and wholehearted attention.

Above her appear an incense burner, a stylized wave, and the Hebrew letter Heh (ה). Incense has long symbolized sanctification. Its fragrance transforms ordinary space into sacred space, while the rising smoke suggests prayers ascending beyond words.

Below her rests the black jackal of Anubis. Kaplan identifies it as the guardian of the dead, whose black color symbolized regeneration rather than evil. The image quietly reminds us that every act of devotion shapes the person we are becoming.

Egyptian fleets sailed from the Gulf of Aqaba in search of incense and other precious goods from the distant Kingdom of Punt, probably in present-day Eritrea. Incense was among the most treasured substances of the ancient world. It purified the air, masked the smell of sacrifice, and marked a place as holy. Even today, many religious traditions burn incense because its fragrance helps quiet the mind and turn the heart toward prayer.

Kaplan associates this card with purification, ritual, harmony between spiritual and physical life, beauty, and religious devotion. Reversed, he suggests conflict between worldly concerns and spiritual ideals or the pursuit of unattainable perfection.

Nelise Carbonare Vieira associates this card with the traditional Knight of Pentacles. Both figures express devotion through steady practice rather than dramatic action. Their faithfulness is shown in what they do every day.

The card leaves me with a simple question: What deserves our reverence?

Whatever we honor day after day gradually shapes us. We become like what we continually admire, whether that is wealth, success, power, beauty, or God.

(This card also reminds me of Nadav and Avihu bringing "alien fire" into the Tabernacle. Not every act of devotion is accepted. Reverence also calls for discernment and wisdom.)

To venerate something is to let it teach us who we are becoming.

Egipcios Kier * 69 The Unforeseen

Card 69 is dominated by the image of the sky goddess Nut, arching protectively over a solitary man. Her body forms a living shelter, reminding us that the heavens above us can be understood as a shelter.

Above the scene appear a circular hieroglyph, a branch-like magical letter, and the Hebrew letter Zayin (ז). Below rests a scorpion preserved within amber. Kaplan identifies Nut's pale pink complexion with dawn, the daily rebirth of the sun and the continual renewal of life.

Nelise Carbonare Vieira associates this card with the traditional Ten of Pentacles, a card of inheritance, belonging, family, and enduring foundations. Through that lens, Nut becomes more than a goddess of the sky. She becomes the shelter that one generation offers the next.

The solitary man beneath her covers his eyes as he walks forward. At first glance he appears blind, but the gesture reminds me of Jewish practice. When reciting the Sh'ma, many Jews cover their eyes to set aside distraction and focus entirely upon the unity of God. Sight is temporarily surrendered so that deeper awareness may emerge.

Perhaps the man beneath Nut walks in that same spirit. He does not advance because everything is visible. He advances because he trusts the shelter above him.

The scorpion preserved below adds another layer. Amber does not erase what it encloses; it preserves it. Every family inherits both blessings and wounds. Every tradition carries memories of suffering alongside wisdom, courage, and hope. Legacy is never simple.

Kaplan interprets this card as unexpected events, hidden influences, and unforeseen circumstances. Reversed, it suggests uncertainty, instability, and disrupted expectations.

Yet the image leaves me with a quieter impression. Much of what sustains us is unseen. We inherit language, customs, stories, and examples of endurance long before we recognize their value. Like the man beneath Nut, we often discover only later that we have been walking under a shelter we did not know was there.

Perhaps that is the true unforeseen gift. Not every unseen presence is a hidden danger. Sometimes it is the protection we have carried with us all along.