Free Association Falling…


Welcome to the latest Tarot Blog Hop, wrangled by Morgan Drake Eckstein who set the succinct prompt of:

What I can (could) teach the world.

Well, well, well… I mulled this question over at great length and had a few flashbacks to teaching maths and thought about how what you teach is only half the equation and just because you can teach something, it doesn’t necessarily follow that the world wants to learn it… So I curtailed that train of thought and thought about looking at a couple of things I habitually do with varying degrees of success… Firstly, there’s my natural tendency to randomly ramble, which seems pointless to explain as that’s not so much something you teach others but more of a game that you suck them into…

The second habit is maybe the one I can teach, as it’s a habit that gets me into all kind of scrapes and maybe as a kind of public service announcement I should teach mindful manifestation… I am a manifestor par excellence… unfortunately I rarely think through my wording and so I often get more than I bargained for… sometimes it’s a favourable bonus such as a houseful of ginger stray cats and a garden full of hedgehogs… then there’s the less favourable result such as the bruised elbow I’m currently sporting after whipping out a card for this hop then asking for a good yarn to turn up… Anyway, my haphazard conjurings often leave me wishing that I had asked more precisely for what I wanted and so my teaching is to share a tale in the hope that that helps someone somewhere avoid a lesson learnt the hard way…

So, I know it’s a Tarot hop but it seemed a good idea at the time to dip into my W.I.P. oracle as I’m currently looking at the writing and storytelling aspects…

I’ve not fully landed on the final title for this card and it switches between Well of Wyrd, Well of Urd and Portal…

As I pulled the card, I looked at it and my free fall word fall was…

If you stare at one thing for long enough you will find a pattern even if that pattern is your habit of spinning until you go crazy…
Even the greatest turbulence in life when all said and done is little more than a storm in a teacup…
You can drink it down or pour it away…
And then that is when I made my gaffe that from previous experiences, I should have known better by now but no, I did it again and challenged the cosmos to send me something to write about…
A few days later, I’m walking from a client’s house back to my car and I feel my foot catch on the pavement… My brain goes into that slow motion, hyper-awareness thing, where thoughts stream through at a rate of knots and I’m mentally turning the air blue with profanities as FFS!!! This is going to end badly… I can visualise my size 24 frame smashing into the ground so I’m also cussing at the cosmos that I’m too busy to break bones this week… I visualise my crash landing and how I’m going to land on my bag and annihilate my phone plus both pairs of new spectacles and then something very strange happens… My left arm flings my bag out of harm’s way then slams down into a breakfall and I diagonally forward roll… hitting the tarmac and back up on to my feet. I swoop up my bag and stride to the car then as I get in I’m baffled and wonder if I’m actually tripping as opposed to having tripped up… surely that didn’t happen??? The throb in my elbow and the grit embedded in it, confirm that it did… It all feels a little surreal and I laugh at the thought that that is probably the coolest move my body has ever done and not a single soul was there to see it! 😀
I arrive home, looking a little wired I guess as the look on my face was enough to tear Mr S away from his Star Trek reruns… He applied his first aid skills as I expressed surprise that my body had done this stuntman manoeuvre and I guessed that my latent ninja skills must have been some kind of leftover muscle memory from when I did about a year or so of Judo about 35 years ago… I asked Mr S if he thought that was possible and he thought it probably was as I had taken my tumble in a way that smacked of being a textbook Ukemi roll…
I liked the way the word Ukemi landed on my ears and so I kicked it across in to the Google Oracle and discovered that the falling technique is not just about preventing physical harm, the Ukemi practice is also a philosophical lesson in learning to take the falls gracefully… to acknowledge that life has thrown you, to absorb the lesson and to get back onto your feet… and that’s when the penny dropped that I’d manifested my story…
Thinking about tarot/oracles/stories in general… I guess people are not interested in what you have to say per se but more in how you say things and transport them to a place where it doesn’t matter if the story is true or not… it takes them to a place where they can change the way they see the world and their place in it…  I’ll leave that thought there and you can do with it as you please…
And just for fun, I’ll share with you a silly game I like to play…
Autopredict divination 
I’ll give you the beginning of the sentences and you can type into your phone and then hit the predictive text buttons to complete them…
  1. I can teach the world…
  2. I could…
  3. I should…

For the morbidly curious, mine were…

I can teach the world is a prelude to a whole new level
I could be a reminder to get the solution
I should probably start by clearing my desk
And on that note, you can either play the game or roll on by (bye bye) by hitting the links to my neighbours 😀


From The Emperor to the Poet and the Woodlouse…

Free Association Football

So this is a little game I play with myself, where I let my mind spiral out in mental fractals, with what ever takes my fancy…

I find a springboard and then hitch a wave and surf the google oracle…

I’ll share with you my starting point and finished (for now…) point… and you can make your own guesses as to how I got from one to the other…

Though… If you think you know the route, then let me know :D as often I don’t remember…

So… here’s one to kick you off…

I wonder how I got…


IV The Emperor (c) Jordan Hoggard 2010
IV The Emperor (c) Jordan Hoggard 2010


The Poet and the Woodlouse.

Algernon Charles Swinburne.

Said a poet to a woodlouse — ‘Thou art certainly my brother;
I discern in thee the markings of the fingers of the Whole;
And I recognize, in spite of all the terrene smut and smother,
In the colours shaded off thee, the suggestions of a soul.‘Yea,’ the poet said, ‘I smell thee by some passive divination,
I am satisfied with insight of the measure of thine house;
What had happened I conjecture, in a blank and rhythmic passion,
Had the aons thought of making thee a man, and me a louse.‘The broad lives of upper planets, their absorption and digestion,
Food and famine, health and sickness, I can scrutinize and test;
Through a shiver of the senses comes a resonance of question,
And by proof of balanced answer I decide that I am best.

‘Man, the fleshly marvel, alway feels a certain kind of awe stick
To the skirts of contemplation, cramped with nympholeptic weight:
Feels his faint sense charred and branded by the touch of solar caustic,
On the forehead of his spirit feels the footprint of a Fate.’

‘Notwithstanding which, O poet,’ spake the woodlouse, very blandly,
‘I am likewise the created,— I the equipoise of thee;
I the particle, the atom, I behold on either hand lie
The inane of measured ages that were embryos of me.

‘I am fed with intimations, I am clothed with consequences,
And the air I breathe is coloured with apocalyptic blush:
Ripest-budded odours blossom out of dim chaotic stenches,
And the Soul plants spirit-lilies in sick leagues of human slush.

‘I am thrilled half cosmically through by cryptophantic surgings,
Till the rhythmic hills roar silent through a spongious kind of blee:
And earth’s soul yawns disembowelled of her pancreatic organs,
Like a madrepore if mesmerized, in rapt catalepsy.

‘And I sacrifice, a Levite — and I palpitate, a poet;—
Can I close dead ears against the rush and resonance of things?
Symbols in me breathe and flicker up the heights of the heroic;
Earth’s worst spawn, you said, and cursed me? look! approve me! I have wings.

‘Ah, men’s poets! men’s conventions crust you round and swathe you mist-like,
And the world’s wheels grind your spirits down the dust ye overtrod:
We stand sinlessly stark-naked in effulgence of the Christlight,
And our polecat chokes not cherubs; and our skunk smells sweet to God.

‘For He grasps the pale Created by some thousand vital handles,
Till a Godshine, bluely winnowed through the sieve of thunderstorms,
Shimmers up the non-existent round the churning feet of angels;
And the atoms of that glory may be seraphs, being worms.

‘Friends, your nature underlies us and your pulses overplay us;
Ye, with social sores unbandaged, can ye sing right and steer wrong?
For the transient cosmic, rooted in imperishable chaos,
Must be kneaded into drastics as material for a song.

‘Eyes once purged from homebred vapours through humanitarian passion
See that monochrome a despot through a democratic prism;
Hands that rip the soul up, reeking from divine evisceration,
Not with priestlike oil anoint him, but a stronger- smelling chrism.

‘Pass, O poet, retransfigured! God, the psychometric rhapsode,
Fills with fiery rhythms the silence, stings the dark with stars that blink;
All eternities hang round him like an old man’s clothes collapsed,
While he makes his mundane music — AND HE WILL NOT STOP, I THINK.’

HTML edition by Ray Davis, free for any use