Tarot Reversals are scary and my simple little ‘Strength’ layout just handed out four of them. It was tempting to just turn them all the “right” way up but I gritted my teeth and set out to deal with yet more Tarot ‘tough love’.
The first card asks simply “What is my strength?” The 2 of Cups reversed suggests my strength is defined by its absence, by the suppression of ‘soft’ strengths like loving-kindness, giving and receiving joy and relationship building.
The second card build on this by asking where my strength is to be found. The Queen of Swords suggests I find strength in the heights – in intellectual strength and providing decisive action and leadership. But reversed, the card suggests a slide into solecism and pride. Pride comes before a fall and the Queen of Swords, enthroned on high, has a long way to fall
What nurtures my strength? The third card, the 3 of Disks or Pentacles reversed offers an answer. Failure or the fear of failure. Reversed, the pyramid of the Thoth version of the 3 of risks is precariously balanced. I nurture my strength by measuring its material impact or through unnerving myself for fear of the lack of it. And that is unlikely to end well.
Finally, the question “What do I use my strength for right now?” offers up the transcendence of the Star. Even reversed, the hopefulness of this card shines through. But it still has a tricky message – I’m using my strength against myself, blocking off the flow from a more numinous place. It’s striking that the ‘What’ card is the Two of Cups reversed – in this reading, I cannot help but see them as the cups The Star is holding.
When I try and pull this together the theme that unites the Star and the 2 of Cups is love and the power of love. What are we without love? When we are separated – or separate ourselves – from love, the love of loved ones or perhaps the infinite love that powers our world and universe, we dry up. Our powers wither or turn inwards to bite and wound us. Our achievements feel transient and wobbly. At those times, the Star reversed asks us to just drop everything and pour out a little compassion for ourselves and for others.
In times when every channel on every device is telling us to separate, not to touch, to stay apart, this is a difficult message to hear. Perhaps one thread through this arid, invisible labyrinth can be provided by the Shambhala Buddhist practice of ‘tonglen’ . I first read about this in a book by Pema Chödrön. In this article https://www.lionsroar.com/how-to-practice-tonglen/ she summarises the “sending and taking” of compassion:
“Tonglen practice, also known as “taking and sending,” reverses our usual logic of avoiding suffering and seeking pleasure. In tonglen practice, we visualize taking in the pain of others with every in-breath and sending out whatever will benefit them on the out-breath. In the process, we become liberated from age-old patterns of selfishness. We begin to feel love for both ourselves and others; we begin to take care of ourselves and others.”
How arid, how blocked might we too easily be becoming without our realising it? At what point does all this isolation risk turning our strength into a kind of damaged immune system, one that eats itself? The Tarot is, as ever, a stern but compassionate teacher for me, reminding me that those forms of strength built for dealing with the outside world and its challenges need work and adjustment and perhaps a little humbling when we have to live alone with ourselves.