The Banes: Turning Poison into Medicine

I am participating in an Instagram challenge this month hosted by @lionharts, called #thejunetarot, and the prompt for day eight is: "Last day of the Moon cycle focus."

I drew The Banes from the Druid Plant Oracle (by Philip and Stephanie Car-Gomm) 🌿

I love that the full moon makes an appearance in this card - quite fitting, I'd say, given the prompt! The Banes provide much food for thought...

These are plants that were so often feared for their poisonous qualities, and yet, handled with skill and respect, became powerfully effective medicines. Many such herbs were utilized in the preparation of "flying ointments" meant to induce astral travel and spirit exploration.

How often do we avoid our own dangerous qualities for fear of succumbing to them? Of late I have been pondering the deep power in diving into them; opening up to them; allowing them to teach us. I remember once, many years ago, a young man told me that at his Christian university it was not permitted for students to dance. I looked at him, mouth agape. He became defensive, and explained that as dancing led people to immoral behavior, it was best not to engage in it. I recall thinking about how disempowering that felt: we learn about will, and boundaries, and our Selves, by entering the dance, not by avoiding it.

But I can understand the fear. Our wildness can be intimidating, uncertain. It can loom large over and around and within us. And yet ironically, perhaps, that's the best part. It feels good to plumb our own depths, to see what lurks in our shadowy corners. You let it embrace you, and instead of being overtaken by its potency, you discover just how much power you wield when you are able to own your own skin, the entirety of your being within your grasp. Shadow and light, all the shades in between. There is something sacred and worth savoring in that - a holy medicine.

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I have also been pondering the power of owning our own experiences, from one moment to the next, and not allowing others' ignorance or negativity to poison our own emotional body. Last night we were at the store and while waiting in line to pay, a man told another (in Spanish):

"I just came from Puerto Rico, and I'm not used to seeing 'darkies' out shopping so late."

He was referring to Jorge (and his blackness), and was clearly assuming that we couldn't understand. I was incensed. But instead of confronting the guy (which he would have done some years ago), he said to me:

"You can stay quiet out of fear, or you can stay quiet out of strength. This guy isn't even worth it, and I won't let his stupidity ruin this wonderful night."

Hmmm..... turning poison into medicine.

Don't "Connect" With Your Deck? Be More Specific!

Tarot enthusiasts are wont to make the following sorts of statements about decks in their collection:

I really love the artwork, but I just don't connect with it.

I tried reading with it a few times but I couldn't seem to connect with it, so I gave it away.

I'd like to encourage the use of more specific language rather than the common refrain: I don't "connect" with it. What does that mean? It certainly doesn't mean the same thing for everyone who uses the phrase.

Golden Tarot - Liz Dean

When people talk about not "connecting" with a deck, they usually mean one (or a combination) of the following:

• They feel uncomfortable with the deck's theme
• They don't like the artwork
• They like the artwork but find it doesn't represent the card essences clearly or accurately enough
• They like the artwork but find each card too "busy" or the images too fine/detailed to read with easily
• They find non-scenic Minor cards a challenge to interpret 

Why does specific language matter? Well, speaking as a writer and language professional, I strongly believe in cultivating accuracy in expression. I also feel that working to be as clear and detailed as possible about our experiences is a wonderful exercise in mindfulness and self-awareness. And of course understanding exactly why someone else doesn't "connect" with a deck might help us to empathize more profoundly with their experience, and hence allow us to commiserate and/or offer better feedback.

There is some wisdom in not being overly quick to rid ourselves of decks that don't seem to do it for us in the moment: those that don't call to us now may call quite powerfully to us later. Sometimes particular decks seem to complement a particular phase of our journey, and thus make the ideal companion, even if only for a while.

And then there are decks that may collect dust for years, but are worth hanging on to anyway, such as....

My copy of the Prisma Visions Tarot - a beautiful deck, and a solid part of my collection, but one I rarely feel called to read with. Why? The artwork on some cards (ahem, Wands courts) is simply a bit "messy," which is not aesthetically pleasing to me, and in some cases has me examining a card up close muttering, "What the hell is happening in this picture??" I also think that in the creation of the suit storylines, aspects of each individual card's composition and unique meaning was sacrificed. Still, it's a lovely and extremely creative work of art.

Prisma Visions - James R. Eads

So, here's to clarity in articulation - may it serve us well!