The High Priestess card invites us to explore the origins of our sense that hidden knowledge exists just beyond our everyday awareness. This card urges us to reflect on how consciousness and soul emerge from our physical biology, challenging the dualistic idea that soul is entirely independent of the body.
In the Rider-Waite-Smith deck, the High Priestess rests on a cubical stone, while behind her a tapestry or veil is suspended between two pillars. Beyond the veil, we glimpse a body of water extending to land in the distance.
The cubical stone represents the material world, grounding the priestess in physicality. The water suggests the unconscious mind, while the pillars and veil evoke the First Temple, and symbolize the balance between our dual natures. Free-standing pillars have deep mythological associations stretching back to the Bible and far into the pre-history of the Near East. The imagery suggests that "hidden" knowledge is accessible; it is an integral part of our world, accessible through our awareness of the physical.
The Apparent Dualities of Human Nature
The crown on the High Priestess’ head, which represents the phases of the moon, and the equal-armed cross on her chest, symbolizing the sun’s cycles, remind us of the Jewish solar-lunar calendar. These celestial symbols remind us of the cyclical nature of life and our participation in the physical world. They also evoke dualities: conscious and unconscious, body and soul, good and evil. These are not separate realms; they are interwoven in the body which is the source of both consciousness and spirituality. The priestess's position between the two pillars suggests that she is the central balancing pillar of the Kabbalistic Tree of Life.
Connections to Jewish Tradition
Deuteronomy 30:11-19 teaches us to “choose life,” reminding us that divine wisdom is not distant or hidden. “The word is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to do it.” The High Priestess echoes this idea. Between her hands is a scroll displaying all but one letter of the word Torah, divine law. Her robe, flowing like water, is falling away to reveal the entire scroll, suggesting that wisdom and moral guidance are not so hidden, but are within our very bodies. (Her robes flow down to a crescent moon at her feet, suggesting the realm of Yesod.)
This message is reinforced by the image of Mount Gerizim and Mount Ebal, representing life and death, good and evil, respectively. Just as the Israelites were instructed to choose life, so too does the High Priestess urge us to choose wisely from within the framework of our physical existence.
For this command which I charge you today is not too wondrous (literally: hidden) for you nor is it distant. It is not in the heavens, to say, ‘Who will go up for us to the heavens and take it for us and let us hear it, that we may do it?’ And it is not beyond the sea, to say, ‘Who will cross over for us beyond the sea and take it for us and let us hear it, that we may do it?’ But the word is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to do it. See, I have set before you today life and good and death and evil, that I charge you today to love the Lord your God, to go in His ways and to keep His commands.
Holiness isn't achieved by asceticism or hope for release from the body, but by "choosing life," by feeling blood pulsing in our veins and intuition flowing through our minds.
Interpretations
The High Priestess represents the unity of body and soul. Rather than being a dualistic figure separated from the physical world, she embodies the idea that our spiritual and mental life arises from our biological reality. The water behind her reflects the flow of unconscious emotions and intuitions that are part of our physical and spiritual existence.
In Jewish thought, our two natures, the yetzer tov (good inclination) and yetzer hara (evil inclination) are are natural and integral parts of us, both essential for survival. The High Priestess sits as a mediator between them, showing that our physical nature can help us choose our thoughts and actions.
The High Priestess card contrasts with The Devil card, where chains and demonic imagery represent our inclinations. The High Priestess offers a choice of life and freedom. Freedom involves intimacy with the currents of the world. A soaring bird appears "free," but is, in fact, relying on its knowledge of wind currents, skillfully relying on them.
The High Priestess card is about choosing how to act in the world. As a human woman seated on a cubical altar, she reminds us that our physical bodies generate consciousness, which is so mysterious that we can never fully understand it. Yet, through our bodies, we receive intuitions guiding us towards life’s universal law, and the actions we take with our bodies shape our lives. She invites us to choose the path of life and to be aware of our own natures.
Modern Perspectives
Norma Cowie sees the black and white pillars as symbols of the contrasts within us, our unconscious negativity and conscious striving for goodness. Wisdom can be found within; our physical nature is a part of this journey, not a hindrance.
Laura Tempest Zakroff likens the High Priestess to the heart, pumping blood and symbolizing the mystery hidden in the watery depths of consciousness. Our spirituality, like our consciousness, arises from our physical bodies. Knowing ourselves helps us become aware of the influences around us. I once intuited an empty canoe in the river behind the Priestess. A canoe appears to me when I make shamanic journeys, so if my consciousness originates in my physical body, this symbol is a reminder that my spirit travels in my bloodstream.
Christine Jette emphasizes the lunar aspect of the card: trusting our intuition and seeking hidden knowledge through dreams and art. But our consciousness is often associated with solar imagery. Disconnection from any part of ourselves, physical or intellectual, can lead us away from a worthwhile life.
Conclusion
The High Priestess invites us to choose life, not by ignoring the body but by recognizing that our consciousness and spirituality arise from it. She encourages us to explore the depths of our nature while embracing our physical life. We can balance the various aspects of our minds and choose a path of growth and wisdom. The High Priestess guides us to spiritual maturity: the recognition that freedom comes only after understanding and mastery of our physical life.
Suzanne Collin's book, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, explores the origins of President Coriolanus Snow and of the Hunger Games. While the book is filled with references to the original trilogy, it feels more like a manufactured history than a compelling story.
Despite my initial skepticism, which was based on casting that I saw in the trailers, I wanted to see the movie so I could hear the songs. The songs were indeed great, and to my surprise, I enjoyed the movie. The screenwriter crafted a well-paced adaptation of the novel. However, some casting choices and certain gaps in storytelling may confuse viewers unfamiliar with the source material.
Casting Critiques
The teenage characters were played by older actors. This wasn’t necessary, as there were no sexually explicit scenes to justify such casting.
Lucy Gray Baird: Rachel Zegler's singing is fantastic, but the orphaned entertainer from the poorest district in Panem is not who we see on the screen. Lucy’s vivid clothing and heavy makeup, which should evoke an unsophisticated performer's gaudy flair, are muted in the film. Zegler’s demeanor is too polished, lacking the grit and passion of the young woman in the book.
In the book, we spend most of the Games wondering where Lucy is and what she is doing. Coriolanus can only watch the Games on television; there are few cameras in the arena and fewer microphones. So, like Coriolanus during the Games, we worry about her, and like Coriolanus after the Games, we wonder uncomfortably about the killing she had to do to survive the Games. In the movie, Lucy Gray is uncomplicated: a girl fighting for her life. We don't have doubts or questions about her motivations.
Reaper: The casting of Dimitri Abold was good, but his character received little screen time.
For me, Reaper is the most intriguing and most frustratingly undeveloped character in both the book and the movie. Suzanne Collins leaves us to speculate what inspired his change of strategy in the book. Before the Games, Reaper apologizes to each of the other tributes for having to kill them and, when he first enters the arena, he is still prepared to kill them. However, in the end, he kills no one. Instead he creates a "makeshift morgue" covering the dead tributes' bodies with the flag of Panem. (In the movie, this occurs immediately after the death of the little girl from his district, Dill.)
In the movie, he dies bravely. I didn't mind that he dies much earlier in the movie than in the book, but I wanted some insight into his character. There is no indication of his internal struggle or shift in strategy.
Coral from District 4: Mackenzie Lansing steals Reaper's spotlight by being a believable bully. In the movie, her dying words, "I couldn't have killed them all for nothing," echo Cato's realization in the first Hunger Games movie. (In the book, Coral is literally a backstabber, but her role in the book is much smaller than it is in the movie.)
Dean Casca Highbottom: Peter Dinklage’s portrayal could have been stellar if only he had better direction. The character of Highbottom in the book is beaten down and passive aggressive. He has spent years nursing feelings of resentment and drugging his guilty conscience for the barbaric Games. He resents his own choices in life, blaming Coriolanus's father for them. His venom for Coriolanus is fully revealed only when they are alone together.
Dr. Volumnia Gaul: Viola Davis is stunning as Dr. Gaul! Suzanne Collins never convinced me that Dr. Gaul was a real person, but Viola Davis did. The actress isn't an old, stooped woman as described in the books, but she is a compelling presence. (Her name suggests she’s even more barbaric than others in the Capitol.)
Sejanus Plinth: I liked Josh Rivera, but the actor seemed too old to play a high school student, and the movie script transformed him into a confident and clever adult. In the book, he was an angsty teenager; a kid with a good moral compass, but immature and weak. Since we see him only from Coriolanus's perspective in the book, readers may find Sejanus frustrating, even though we know he is in the right. In the movie, we are free to like him-- which I did. (Suzanne Collins wrote Katniss in the first person; why did she write Coriolanus in the third?)
Tigris Snow: Hunter Schafer is the only actor I wholeheartedly love in the movie. She plays a young woman thrilled with fashion and grateful to her employer, as well as a thoughtful advisor, a protective mother-figure, a compassionate human, and, most beautifully, a woman saddened by shameful things she had to do to survive. In the book, Coryo fails to truly recognize Tigris's worth, even though he relies on her for good advice, guidance, and support. In the movie, we never doubt that she loves her younger cousin. We get to see mature Tigris, loyal, compassionate, and loving. We also have the opportunity to see her recognize Coryo’s dark transformation. (We know that Tigris-- not Tigress-- later emulates cats in her fashion choices, but I wonder why Suzanne Collins named her after a river where an ancient non-Roman civilization developed?)
Gradma'am: Fionnula Flanagan shines as the family's matriarch. In the books, she is deteriorating mentally and physically, but in the movie she clearly portrays the primary (and darkest) influence on Coriolanus’s world view and character.
Lucretius "Lucky" Flickerman: Jason Schwartzman's character highlights that the Games’ are just in their formative stages. The movie character is more competent and professional, but the movie still conveys his shallowness. (What is that pin he's wearing during the Games?)
Hilarius Heavensbee: Florian Burgkart as Hilarius Heavensbee is barely more than an extra. The character in the book is surprisingly forgettable, except for the name he shares with Plutarch Heavensbee who plays such a large role in the rebellion of The Hunger Games trilogy.
Pluribus Bell: Not every character in a book can be included in a movie adaptation, but I wish Pluribus Bell had received a cameo. Pluribus was a bit of light in a dark story. I wondered at his motivation for his support the Snow family. Did he recognize that "Snow lands on top" or was he simply a good guy and a friend of the family?
Coriolanus Snow: While no one could emulate Donald Sutherland's smile, Tom Blyth and the director could have at least tried to show the charm that was Coriolanus's original weapon of choice. I don't see a strong physical resemblance between Tom Blyth and Donald Sutherland, who played the older Coriolanus Snow, but his facial features would have been irrelevant if he had convincingly portrayed Coriolanus Snow's character.
Story Telling Critiques
Despite knowing what kind of person Coriolanus eventually becomes, readers of the book find themselves hoping that Coriolanus's good traits will triumph over his bad ones. The movie obscures those bad traits, and viewers who are unfamiliar with the series may be surprised by his actions at the end of the movie. The film also fails portray the two potentially life changing relationships in his story: with Sejanus and with Lucy. I never believed in the romance with Lucy Gray. That love should have been showcased in the movie and been the point at which Coriolanus becomes Snow.
The movie attempts to draw parallels between Coriolanus and Katniss (of the original Hunger Games series) by highlighting their shared experiences of hunger, the struggle to survive, and the loss of parents. Unlike Katniss, he doesn't take care of others, he doesn't recognize what he owes other people, he doesn't have friends, and he doesn't reflect on his motives. Why did the writer and director feel they needed to invent a similarity between Coriolanus and Katniss? (And why, as in a previous movie, did they again present the false narrative that Suzanne Collins implies is disinformation: Dr. Gaul, not the rebels, bombed the arena, just as Alma Coin, not President Snow, arranged the hospital bombing in District 8.)
In the book, Coriolanus Snow's character is already deeply flawed before the events of the story unfold. Raised as an elite Capitol citizen, he has a sense of entitlement and superiority. Despite his family's financial struggles, he strives to maintain an image of power and wealth, driven by a desire for control and dominance.
Coriolanus feels no gratitude and has no sense of indebtedness to those who have helped him, seeing favors and kindness only as opportunities to further his ambitions. He watches and tries to understand other people, but his relationships are calculated, aimed at maintaining his status and securing his future. He lacks both empathy and a moral compass, viewing people as tools to be manipulated. His friendship with Sejanus is deception and his love for Lucy Gray is possessive rather than selfless, showing his inability to form genuine connections.
His indoctrination and inherent ruthlessness, as described in the books, make readers realize that no amount of love or influence could have redeemed him. The film doesn't show those aspects of his character.
In the book, Tigris gives us a hint of his childhood innocence. “I keep wondering how it came to this. That my baby cousin, who wouldn’t hurt a fly, has to fight for his life in the arena... I just hate what they’re doing to you."
Since Coriolanus lacks self awareness, a reader may not recognize that he is a fundamentally bad person until the end of the story when he embraces Dr. Gaul’s mentorship. The movie does not show his deep character flaws, and that may leave viewers still wondering why he turned into a bad person. Before the denouement in the movie, we have no indication of his character until his Anakin Skywalker moment, when he tells Tigris that killing Bobbin, one of the tributes, "felt powerful."
The film progresses faster than the book but fails to fully explain its characters. We don’t see Coriolanus’s complexity and darkness or his disdain for Sejanus. The book has him doing significant things (the handkerchief and the recording) without conscious awareness of what he is doing or why. The book’s insights into his internal struggles are crucial to understanding his transformation into President Snow, which the movie doesn’t adequately convey.
The movie could have created a believable romance with Lucy Gray to suggest that there was hope for him. However, I never believed in their romance ("Make me believe it, Miss Everdeen") and I was completely thrown by Lucy Gray's bizarre lines near the end of the film.
Conclusion
We don't see the complexity or darkness of Coriolanus's character in the movie. In the books, we are aware of Snow's developing awareness that he feels something toward Lucy Gray and we are invested in his finding her after the Games. That romance is important because it might have drawn Coryo away from his destiny of becoming President Snow. The book's insights into Coriolanus's thoughts make us wonder if he can truly love. Unfortunately, neither actor seems to put any effort into portraying a love story.
In both the book and the movie, Lucy Gray remains an enigma.
In the movie, when the two reach the lake, Lucy Gray suggests they keep traveling in the storm, so perhaps she guesses that Billy Taupe's friend hid the guns in the cabin. While Coriolanus moves the floorboards to get fishing rods, Lucy remains planted by the door rather than entering the room to start a fire or sit down. After he finds and shows her the weapon that he had used to kill Mayfair, her words become sinister and threatening– it's startling and bizarre!
In the book, Lucy Gray's and Coriolanus's last scene leaves us with the possibility that what occurred was only in Coriolanus's obsessive mind. (On reflection, we know enough about Lucy Gray to believe that she is savvy and experienced enough to put the pieces together and then run for her life.)
The book and the movie attempt to show us how young Coriolanus became villainous President Snow. The movie does not succeed because it ignores character development. The book has better character development, but was too contrived. Nonetheless, I did enjoy them both.
The upper panel of the cartouche contains three symbols: the Hebrew letter Mem (מ), a letter from the angelic alphabet resembling the letter H, composed of three lines and four circles, and the hieroglyph of an owl. The owl was often seen as a symbol of evil and sickness in ancient Egypt, specifically representing "decapitation." Decapitated owls found at archaeological sites suggest that decapitating owls was a form of sympathetic magic to ward off illness. The hieroglyph may be a literal representation of the image of a sword at a person's throat.
The lower panel displays an arm holding a hook, which Stuart Kaplan states was the hieroglyph meaning "to show strength." This symbol may refer to the display of strength shown in the central panel of the cartoched.
The central image portrays two warriors with exotic headdresses that do not appear Egyptian. One warrior, kneeling, is about to be beheaded by the other. Both warriors hold shields and wear kilts. The standing figure, armed only with a sword and wearing a horned skull cap and sandals appears the likely victor. The left arm of the standing warrior is significantly longer than his right, perhaps symbolizing an unanticipated advantage. The kneeling warrior, barefoot, holds a spear in his right hand and wears a sheathed sword on his chest. His feathered headdress, held by the victor's elongated left arm, suggests his imminent defeat. The image evokes a moment of potential reversal, during which the kneeling warrior may turn the tables on his opponent.
Kaplan notes that much of the Egyptian army consisted of mercenaries from other countries. He identifies the victor as a Sherden and the defeated warrior as a Peleset. The Sherden were enemies of Egypt in the 13th century BCE, attempting to invade from the north. The Peleset or Philistines, allies of Egypt, settled eastern coastal towns in the 12th century BCE under Egyptian auspices, founding the five cities of the Plishtim, mentioned in the Bible. This historical context underscores themes of conflict and conquest within the card.
The title field of the card contains the astrological symbol for Saturn, the Latin letter X, and the Arabic numeral 8. Saturn symbolizes responsibility and restriction. The X shape resembles a shield or a target. The number 8 signifies victory and overcoming obstacles, with the eighth sefirah on the Tree of Life, Glory, linked to self-control and prayer.
Kaplan suggests the upright card may indicate bravery, skill, youthful strength, heroism, opposition, and mastery in warfare. Reversed, it can denote incapacity, imprudence, disputes over women, impulsive mistakes, conceit, simplicity, and disunion.
Nelise Carbonare Vieira identifies this card as the Knight of Swords, summarizing its meaning with phrases like stimulus, strength, challenges, bold projects, courageous attitude, and persuasive action.
Pamela Colman Smith's depiction of the Knight of Swords shows an armored knight (intellect) on a fearful horse (feelings), charging against a storm with his sword held high. This knight is an idealist, eager to fulfill his mission and save others, a dependable figure.
The Knight of Swords is the conventional view of a knight, focused and idealistic, flinging himself into battle in loyal service. Reversed, it suggests impulsiveness and reckless behavior, good intentions resulting in chaos and destruction, and rushing in where angels fear to tread, reminding us that haste makes waste. It might also represent someone who likes to fight, who creates chaos and turns lives upside down.
In conclusion, card 53, Hostility, suggests the need to accept responsibility and confront challenges with determination and strength, or it may serve as a warning against dangerous adversaries and impulsive actions. Ultimately, it underscores the importance of fighting for one's ideals, even in the face of potential loss.
The priest, barefoot in this sacred space, wears the skin of a blue leopard over his garment. The blue leopard, born from the tears of Hathor, symbolizes the blessings brought by the Nile's inundation. In his right hand, the priest holds an object identified by Kaplan as an unguent vase, while his left hand is raised towards the mummy in benediction and to perform the "opening of the mouth" ritual.
The mummy wears a bearded mask and a carved wig, with a compressed mass of perfumed wax and a lotus flower atop its head. The mummy's right arm is awkwardly stretched around the left hip, suggesting the possibility of a violent death and the improper reassembly of the body before mummification, raising questions about what impact that will have on the soul's journey in the afterlife. The mummy stands on a low green platform before the priest.
In the upper portion of the cartouche, the winged spirit of the deceased man (his ba) ascends, holding in its claws the "knot of eternity," the tyet representing eternal life. Also present are the Hebrew letter Reish (ר), symbolizing the back of the head or brainstem, the hieroglyph for an open mouth, and an angelic letter composed of two lines and three circles to form a 'V' shape.
In the lower portion of the card, a cartouche contains symbols resembling the planet Jupiter and its rings, a fish, and a gallows. Kaplan translates these hieroglyphs to mean "the body as it is corruptible."
The title field of the card include the symbol for Venus, the Latin letter E, and the Arabic numeral six. The number six means harmony and caring for loved ones. (The Hebrew letter Reish above indicates the number 200.)
Stuart Kaplan provides insights into the process and beliefs surrounding mummification. The "opening of the mouth" ceremony, crucial for allowing the deceased to breathe in the afterlife and speak his name before judgment, suggests a departure from the past and an opening to new experiences. Upright, the card signifies departure, advancement into the unknown, alteration, evolution, and change of residence. Reversed, it indicates discord, interruption, and unexpected change.
Nelise Carbonare Vieira connects card 60 with the traditional Six of Swords. The RWS depiction of this card shows a boat with a standing man punting it, six swords, and a veiled woman seated with a child, moving from troubled waters to calmer shores. This imagery represents a rite of passage, escaping danger, or a secret journey. Reversed, it suggests a difficult journey, speaking up, and disrupting longstanding situations. It advises traveling light and not looking back. The six swords may symbolize the six working days of the week and the journey to a Sabbath of rest and harmony.
The traditional meaning of the Six of Swords aligns well with the imagery of card 60, Evolution. It represents a time of actual or metaphorical travel, transition, and new objectives. The soul leaves the body and journeys to a different realm, signifying a shift in perspective and a new phase of life.
Card 60, Evolution, embodies the essence of transformation and transition. While highlighting the afterlife journey of the soul from the physical to the spiritual realm, it also emphasizes the importance of embracing change in this life, encouraging the reader to leave the past behind and be open to new experiences and perspectives.
The two canines howling at the moon in this card are not the traditional dog and wolf of the RWS and Marseille decks, but rather a black jackal, symbolizing Anubis, the guide of the dead, and a domestic dog. The structures depicted are pyramids, appropriate to the Egyptian setting. The traditional crayfish emerging from the water in RWS and Marseille has been replaced by a water scorpion framed by a downward-pointing triangle, symbolizing the element of water.
Symbolism and Associations
Pyramids:
There are many theories about the role of pyramids in ancient Egypt, with one theory suggesting they were a bridge or stairway to the heavens, aligning neatly with the card's meaning of guidance and transition.
Water Scorpion:
The water scorpion, symbolizing the goddess Selket, is an aquatic insect without a stinger but with a breathing tube, associated with Selket's epithet "she who allows the throat to breathe." Selket, the patron goddess of healers and protector of the dead, guards the canopic jar containing the intestines of the deceased. She is also associated with the first morning rays of sunlight and the crowning head of an infant during birth, connecting her to themes of new beginnings and protection.
Occult symbols:
The upper third of the cartouche displays four symbols on a blue background: a serpent hieroglyph (representing an umbilical cord, royalty, or evil forces), a sigil resembling a fish hook, a letter from the Alphabet of the Magi, and a crescent moon with its horns pointing downward. The letter from the Alphabet of the Magi, both curved and jagged fascinates me, but even Stuart Kaplan's LWB does not elaborate on its meaning.
Astrological and Esoteric Symbols:
The card’s title includes the symbol for Scorpio, the Hebrew letter Tzadi (צ), meaning fishhook, and the symbol for Uranus. In Western astrology, Uranus is associated with freedom and vision, while in Indian astrology, it is linked to eccentricity, originality, and sudden change.
Lack of Traditional Moon Imagery
The card lacks the traditional feel of the moon or its magical light. The gold background of the central portion of the cartouche is the only indication of the moon's ambiance. Unlike other decks, it does not depict the phases of the moon or its cyclical nature, which evokes the cycles of time and the fluctuating energies within us.
Missing Reference to the Egyptian Moon God
It is curious that the creator of the Egipcios Kier Tarot did not include a reference to Thoth, the Egyptian moon god and once credited with the creation of the Tarot. Papus, in 1892, claimed that Tarot preserved the wisdom of the Egyptian god Thoth, and Aleister Crowley named his the book that accompanied his and Lady Frieda Harris's tarot deck "The Book of Thoth."
Kaplan's Interpretations
Stuart Kaplan provides various meanings for the upright card which align with older interpretations: twilight, obscurity, trickery, disillusionment, danger, error, caution, warning, bad influence, ulterior motives, craftiness, disgrace, slander, superficiality, unknown enemies, the meeting of many divergent influences, or mystery. He suggests these meanings for the reversed card: a minor deception recognized before damage is done, trifling mistakes, gain without payment, or exploitation.
Traditional and Modern Interpretations
Traditionally, The Moon indicates self-deception, subconscious influences, mood swings, mental health problems, doubt, confusion, or being enchanted/tricked. Historically, the card symbolized hidden danger, illusion, enemies, terror, or occult forces. Papus described it as indicating "the material body and its passions," reflecting the belief that we are spirits fallen into a lesser, grosser realm.
With the rise of neo-Paganism, the moon came to symbolize more positive ideas about our bodies and wildness, as well as the concept of a feminine divine. Before that, the moon was considered a lesser celestial body for merely reflecting the sun's light. I see the moon, a fractured piece of the earth, as our sister, whose magical illumination lovingly guides us.
Over the years, I've noticed the clear path moonlight creates, while darkness softens the harsh edges of daylight reality. The Moon card suggests guidance on your spiritual journey, prompting our intuition and instincts to help us navigate life. Trust your feelings and approach each situation gently the influence of the moon. Like the tides it controls, the moon's energy can guide you if you pay attention.
Perhaps the image also suggests spiritual evolution, with the crayfish rising from the water toward a path that leads to the mountains of enlightenment.
Kabbalistic and Mythological Connections
Greek thought divided the mind into solar and lunar aspects, and Kabbalah associates Kuf ק (The Moon) and Reish ר (The Sun) with the back and front of the head, respectively. The brainstem, shared with creatures like the crayfish and water scorpion, symbolizes primal fears and instinctive responses. The light of the moon can calm our primal fears allowing us to find higher guidance.
The jackal and the dog look up to the moon, which in the Marseilles deck is shown shedding soothing moondrops (in the RWS, they are Yods, the fist letter of God's name.) In Kabbalah, the lunar realm of Yesod connects the earthly and the divine. Dion Fortune called it "the Treasure House of Images, the sphere of Maya, Illusion."
Wicca, neo-Paganism, and feminist "thealogy" view the moon as a goddess, though some cultures, like the Japanese and Canaanite, had moon gods. And significantly, the Egyptian moon god, Thoth, was also the god of writing, science, wisdom, and magic; his connection to the moon emphasizes that intellect and lunar consciousness are intertwined.
Vieira's Interpretations
Nelise Carbonare Vieira calls this card Twilight and offers key phrases summarizing her interpretation:
- Awareness of one's own roles
- Rescue of gifts
- Search for a better way of expressing oneself
- Subtle memory of past lives
- Rescue of aspects of the Self that were repressed
Vieira posits that the theme of this card is the search for one's true identity. This introspective journey may make you feel vulnerable, but it will help you distinguish inherent qualities from external expectations, enabling you to live authentically.
Conclusion
The Moon card in the Egipcios Kier Tarot is one of aspiration, whether it involves escaping the physical body or understanding the world intuitively. Guided by the moon's light, this card invites you to trust your instincts, navigate gently, and explore the depths of your subconscious. Embrace the journey of self-discovery and spiritual evolution, allowing the moon's energy to illuminate your path.
