The number of fools is infinite, from Memoires Pour Servir À L'histoire De La Fête Des Foux, Qui Se Faisoit Autrefois Dans Plusieurs Eglises by Jean-Bénigne Lucotte Tilliot, 1751.  (See our previous item about the fool's marotte here.)

Here's a soap box chariot from Otterbein College's The Sibyl, 1905.  Via our blog of Magic Words & Symbols Spotted in the Wild.

The "Seven Sleepers" Spread

Here's a seven-card Tarot spread based upon the ancient legend of the Seven Sleepers, a Greek story popularized in Christian and Islamic lore about a group of youths fleeing from religious persecution who fall asleep in a grotto outside of Ephesus and awake centuries later to find a very changed world.  (It's a rather heart-wrenching tale, as the awakened sleepers go off in search of their families and find only strangers living in their homes who treat them as if they've gone mad.  The seven finally realize that they had slept for centuries and do not belong to this new world, so they lay themselves down to die.)  The Roman Martyrology commemorates them on July 27, hence the timing of our Tarot spread in their honor.  Our illustration appears in a retelling of the story by the great American humorist Mark Twain.  Though the sleepers' names have been lost to the ravages of time, Twain identifies them thusly: Trump, Gift, Game, Jack, Low, High, and Johannes Smithianus.  

Draw one card for each sleeper in turn.  Here's how to approach the seven, and because the legend is so old, we'll include some antiquated interpretations:

Trump: Like the "trump card" of a game, this points to a valuable resource that you can use in order to gain an advantage, perhaps in a surprising way.  An antiquated meaning for "trump" is a helpful or admirable person.

Gift: This suggests something that ought be given willingly, without compensation, like a present or donation or bequest.  It may also suggest a natural ability/talent that you can tap.  An antiquated meaning for "gift" is a "thing lifted up," as in an offering or sacrifice to a higher power.

Game: This refers to a competition, a pleasurable distraction, perhaps a gambit.  Skill, strength, or luck may be at play.  Antiquated meanings of "game" are "a jest or joke" and "a laughing stock," so the Tarot card would identify something to be lighthearted about.

Jack: A jack is a device for lifting heavy objects, so a Tarot card placed here will identify a way to ease a burden.  An antiquated meaning of "jack" is an unskilled worker (hence the old saying, "a jack of all trades and master of none"), so the Tarot card would point to something that needs training, experience, or practice.

Low and High: The "highs and lows" of life recall the Hermetic axiom, "As above, so below."  Low (something worldly) will illuminate what is reflecting from on high (something spiritual).  A Tarot card on "low" might indicate a stepping stone, while that on "high" might point to something to reach toward.  An antiquated meaning for "high" is "holy," so the Tarot card would indicate something sacred.  An antiquated meaning for "low" is "shout," so the Tarot card would carry a strong emotion.

Johannes Smithianus: This is a fancy way of saying "John Smith," or a typical human being.  Everyman is the name of the principal character in the 15-century morality play.  The Tarot card here will point to your better qualities, such as kindness or sensitivity.  Originally, "human" and "humane" were the same word, so an antiquated meaning is "compassion."

Three optional cards to draw:

Mark Twain notes that on the gravestones of the seven sleepers were also inscribed, in ancient letters, the "names of three heathen gods of olden time, perchance: Rumpunch, Jinsling, [and] Egnog [sic]."  So three additional cards may be drawn:

Rumpunch: One of the original names for this sugarcane liquor rum was "kill-devil," so a Tarot card for "Rumpunch" would point to a way to dispel darkness.

Jinsling: An old nickname for this juniper berry liquor gin is "kill-grief," so a Tarot card for "Jinsling" would point to a way to dispel sorrow.

Egnog: This creamy egg punch ritualistically marks the occasion of a holiday and is synonymous with comfort, so a Tarot card for "Egnog" would point to a source of strength, relief, encouragement, consolation, and/or cheer.

A final possible card:

Some versions of the legend, including Mark Twain's, feature a canine companion to the seven sleepers.  The dog Ketmehr accompanied the seven when he accidentally ran his head through the loop of a noose that one of the youths was carelessly carrying.  When the seven fell asleep in the cave, Ketmehr lay at the entrance and scared off any strangers who approached.  So a Tarot card in honor of Ketmehr would point to a guardian or source of protection, perhaps even an accidental or unwilling safeguard.  In the legend, when the sleepers awaken, the dog is long gone, with nothing save the brass that was upon his collar as evidence that he had kept guard.

Mark Twain's account of the seven sleepers appears in The Innocents Abroad, 1869.  The earliest known version of the story traces back to the Syrian bishop Jacob of Sarug (c. 450–521), itself derived from an earlier though lost Greek source.  A well-known medieval version of the story appears in Jacobus de Voragine's Golden Legend (c. 1260).  The story is also told in the Qur'an (Surah 18, verses 9–26).

 

 

From The Comic History of England by Gilbert Abbott A'Beckett and illustrated by John Leech, 1847.

Tarot "Witnesses"

Have you ever called upon a Tarot witness?  Our idea here shouldn't be confused with eye-witness testifiers in a law court, or with Christianity's idea of openly professing one's faith through words and actions.  There's a more metaphoric concept of witnessing, since even eye-witness accounts tend to be of questionable factual accuracy.  As Berel Lang notes in Philosophical Witnessing (2009), it is "less the specific details in [witness'] accounts that give them their special force, but the fact of their speakers' presence in the event witnessed, and the persistence of that fact in the continuing (in this sense, perpetual) present.  The metaphoric aspect of witnessing thus adds itself to the historical reference, even for those who were physically present" (p. 14).  And so when we call upon archetypal witnesses via Tarot cards, we summon a cultural or collective validation from visible, trusted presences who articulate after the facts so as to separate important events from the mundane, thereby facilitating understanding and meaningful change.

Imagine our delight to encounter in an old book four witnesses who can serve as a Tarot spread template.  Underground, or Life Below the Surface by Thomas Wallace Knox (1873) introduces us to "the interesting witness, the knowing witness, the deaf witness, and the irrelevant witness."

A Tarot card placed upon the "interesting" witness would testify to something in particular that should catch and hold the querent's attention.  This is something you should want to know or learn more about, and it's something positive, perhaps even exciting, but certainly worthy of curiosity.

The "knowing" witness points to something that you have knowledge or awareness of that others do not, or to something that you can now discover through observation or inquiry.  We say informally that to know is to be "clued in," and the "knowing" witness is your clue.

The "deaf" witness is oblivious or otherwise indifferent to what his Tarot card communicates.  This is a message that is within earshot but which hasn't yet penetrated and may need to reach shouting proportions before it does.

The "irrelevant" witness points to something that has been exhibited as evidence but which is immaterial or otherwise beside the point.  This is an issue that is actually unrelated to the matters at hand and can now be let go of.

 

For fans of the 60s cult TV show The Prisoner and the Welsh fantasy village of Portmeirion, our Tarot of Portmeirion deck is now carried by The Game Crafter.  (See Bonnie Cehovet's review of our deck over at Aeclectic Tarot.)

At least as far back as ancient Roman times, anagrams have delighted would-be prophets by unlocking mystical hidden meanings in words and phrases.  The names of Tarot’s Major Arcana make for some intriguing rearrangements, to be sure.  For example, we learn of The Empress that “she tempers.”  The World appears to have “held wort” (plant medicine).  The Hanged Man, not surprisingly, “hated hangmen.”  The Fool seems to ask to be allowed to walk on: “let hoof.”  The Chariot apparently operates according to a “Torah ethic.”  See the graphic for all the anagrams we were able to decipher.  You might have noticed that there are no anagrams for Strength or Judgment, as those two left us stumped.   But grab some Scrabble tiles and try your own hand at anagramming the Tarot.  See for yourself whether the Ace of Swords represents a “coward’s foes,” whether the Six of Pentacles “expels factions,” and whether “few pagans do” the Page of Wands.

Here's the question we asked of Taroist Mr Timothy Gray:

I once received a challenge of sorts from within the Magic Castle, perhaps even a profound test, and though I reached the figurative finish line, I surprised myself by choosing not to take the cup, as it were.  And I regretted it more than a little, once it was too late.  It was, of all things, an art challenge (my first, if memory serves).  Upon saying the magic word to the owl on the sliding bookcase, the first person I saw in the Castle [a famous individual whose name is withheld in the spirit of secretiveness] essentially commanded me to go forth and buy a particular (expensive) artwork.  He told me the artist's name, the title of the piece, and the location of the controversial gallery that housed it.  He told me that the piece might as well have been custom made for me and that I'd want it in my house.  As he held my gaze, it was clear that my procurement of the piece was not so much friendly advice as an outright dare.  And then the entire Castle began to vibrate steadily and worrisomely.  I thought it might be an earthquake, but I overhead someone claiming that the L.A. subway passes right under the building.  At that moment, though, what it felt like was some subterranean thing, perhaps pinned down by the Castle itself, getting restless.  And then it fell back asleep.  The why of this art challenge was deeply mysterious.  The apparent trophy was the artwork itself, but another, far greater (and likely non-literal) prize was implied.  Perhaps needless to say, I rushed to the gallery the next day.  The place is somehow designated a church so as to sidestep secular legalities about the public display of deviant subjects.  And the piece in question is a three-dimensional (and even electrically wired) nightmarish testament to humankind's eternal struggle with the interdimensional darkness that looms over our shoulders.  The piece is terrifying, especially in how it pierces some sort of veil and "gets into you."  Yet I was prepared for that very phenomenon, having seen it depicted in the film Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, when one Mrs. Chalfont gives Laura Palmer a painting to hang on her bedroom wall -- a painting that Laura finds herself inside of, even while she sleeps peacefully -- a portal that transports one into a parallel dimension or overlapping reality.  (See my documentary David Lynch and His Precursors for more on that striking scene.)  So I was predisposed.  Yet I left the gallery empty handed.  The price of this art portal was not inconsequential, but as a writer I haven't technically been able to afford anything I've bought for the last twenty years, so I can't say that price was truly an issue.  I'm honestly not sure why I walked away and conceded the challenge.  My best guess is that I applied some Robert Anton Wilson-esque agnosticism -- I didn't know if this portal (to use black and white terms) was good or evil, and so I decided not to meddle with unknown forces.  Of course, perhaps resisting temptation was in fact the victory.  Who knows?!  It's all so surreal, because even as [name withheld] was challenging me, it felt less like the present moment than a memory, and that weirdness was surely courtesy of the Magic Castle itself, a shrine to nostalgia for bygone evenings.  It's as if nothing technically happens in the Magic Castle -- it's all past tense and bittersweet.  That 600-year-old Japanese pagoda just above the Castle may very well be the time-warping engine.  Our hotel room was about five steps from the pagoda, so my metabolism of time was profoundly altered.  During the show at the Palace of Mystery, I wasn't at all surprised to find that the magician's corset was decorated with various clock faces, all sporting different times, or that her necklace was composed of fragmented clock wheels and pinions.  (And her advice re: my quest for an ever-chiming clock array: apply reverb!)  Which is all to ask: Should I have taken that artwork home?

Here's Mr Timothy Gray's reading:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nzy99jlFiBQ

And here's the artwork in question, entitled "They'll Probably Be Gone Soon," but don't look at it.

How to Use a Magic Word as a Tarot Spread Template

(from our guest post at Thematic Tarot)

The great alchemist John Dee designed a protective magical talisman under the direction of the angel Uriel: crossed lines, a central circle, and the letters A, G, L, and A.  These letters constitute an acronym (also known as a kabbalistic "notariqon") of the unspeakable primordial name that was lost through the ages.  It's a well-kept secret that this talisman can serve as a revealing template for a four-card Tarot spread.  

The Hebraic words of the acronym are understood to be: Atah Gebur Le-olahm Adonai.  This sentence is translated many ways, but you'll see the underlying similarities:

• "You reign for eternity, O Lord."
• "Thou art mighty forever, O Lord."
• "Thou art strong to eternity, Lord."
• "Thou art mighty to the ages, amen."
• "Thou art great forever, my Lord."
• "Thine is the power throughout endless ages, O Lord."

(Interestingly, in the Middle Ages, Christians in Germany used AGLA as a talisman against fire, the letters standing as an acronym for a German sentence meaning, "Almighty God, extinguish the conflagration," as noted in The Oxford Dictionary of the Jewish Religion by Adele Berlin.) 

We'll explore three approaches to AGLA for purposes of Tarot spreads.  The simplest is based upon this interpretation of the Hebraic words: 

"You are strong through the ages, so be it."

The card placed upon "You" is, of course, the significator.  The card placed upon "Are Strong" refers to the querent's greatest strength.  The card placed upon "Through the Ages" refers to an ongoing issue that seems woven into the entire course of one's lifetime.  The card placed upon "So Be It" refers to a truth or certainty that one need not waste energy upon resisting.

Here's how such a reading might go.  Drawing cards from the Tarot of Portmeirion, we place the King of Wands on A, "You"; the Ace of Swords on G, "Are Strong"; the Empress on L, "Through the Ages"; and the High Priestess on A, "So Be It."  As the significator, the King of Wands depicts a golden Burmese statue of a dancer high atop a stone column, communicating artistic flair and confidently setting a glowing example far and wide.  As the symbol of strength, the Ace of Swords depicts a sea-beaten shaft of iron that has survived the cliffside structure it once supported, symbolizing a steadfast spirit undaunted by adversity.  As a symbol of the ages, the Empress depicts a statue of the Nordic all-mother Goddess Frigga (labeled "Frix" on the plinth).  Wielding a broken crossbow in her left hand and the hilt of a sword in the other, the Empress stands assuredly atop a limestone pedestal, head turned toward her right.  She is framed by greenery and overlooks a small fountain -- a popular wishing well -- establishing her as a heeder of prayers and granter of desires.  Her broken sword (presumably ruined over time) is of interest, as it symbolizes a firm grip on intention, free from lacerations.  Within the context of this spread, we can interpret the Ace of Swords as depicting the Empress' lost blade.  The "So Be It" High Priestess is a trompe l’oeil mermaid "sculpture" painted on sheet metal.  She sports two tails, symbolizing duality.  They curl up to suggest, along with her curved arms, a figure-eight/infinity shape.  The infinity shape is echoed in the dramatic curls of her hair.  Eyes closed, she cradles a large fish from whose mouth flows the water of the deep realm of the unconscious.  The High Priestess, framed by an archway, meditatively sits atop a sphere in a stone pavilion near a tollgate.  In terms of "So Be It," she indicates the wisdom of the inner voice during contemplative silence, the need for patience, and the importance of a deep understanding.

Another way to approach AGLA is explained in Eliphas Levi's The History of Magic.  Levi proposes that the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet, Aleph, signifies unity; the letter Gimel, the third in the alphabet, signifies the triad and hence fruitfulness (as in two parents creating a third life); the letter Lamed signifies the perfect cycle; and the duplicated Aleph signifies synthesis.

Levi offers a third way to understand AGLA: syllepsis, analysis, science, synthesis.

Syllepsis (from the Greek meaning "taking together") is a term of semantics and refers to a word or expression that is simultaneously figurative and literal.  It's a word that we can understand in two different ways at the same time.  But those two ways are bound together like two sides of the same coin, as the theorist Riffaterre has put it.  Whatever card is placed upon Syllepsis refers to something whose polar opposite we're overlooking, like what's embossed on the back of a coin.  In other words, there's an inescapable duality at play.  To find the bright side, look for the humor in this, because Syllepsis is a form of punning, a wordplay of double meanings.

The card placed upon Analysis refers to what needs to be examined in detail to determine its constituent elements or structure.  Analysis comes from the Greek word meaning to "unloose," so on the bright side this is something about which we can loosen up, quite literally.

The card placed upon Science refers to something that could benefit from discipline, observation, and experimentation.

The card placed upon Synthesis (from the Greek meaning to "place together") is a call to combine ideas into a theory or system.

Levi reminds us that "according to Kabalah, the perfect word is the word realised by acts."  Acting upon AGLA with Tarot cards can be a profound way to translate its knowledge into action and thereby understand its mysteries.

For more details about the talisman AGLA, see The Young Wizard's Hexopedia (pictured below) and Magic Words: A Dictionary.

 

—Craig Conley is author of The Young Wizard's Hexopedia, the Tarot of Portmeirion, HarperCollins' One-Letter Words: A Dictionary, Pomegranate's One Letter Words Knowledge Cards Deck, and Weiser Books' Magic Words: A Dictionary.  He is co-author of New Star Books' Franzlations: A Guide to the Imaginary Parables.  He has published dozens of articles in such magazines as Verbatim, Pentacle, Mothering, and Magic.  His work has been profiled in the New York Times, the New York Post, The Wall Street Journal, The Chicago Tribune, National Public Radio, The Dallas Morning News, Publishers Weekly, The Associated Press, and dozens of others.

From The Choice Works of Thomas Hood, 1881.

"We shall have a fall of some kind."  (Circa 1874.)

You've heard of "forced perspective," but we call this unusual effect "horsed perspective."  From Across France in a Caravan by George Nugent Bankes, 1892.

An illustration from an 1883 issue of Frank Leslie's Pleasant Hours magazine.

An illustration from an 1896 issue of The Idler magazine.  The caption reads: "Shadow of a Soul by Alan Wright"

From Prof. Oddfellow's sketchbook:

Today's Question:

Was King Ludwig II of Bavaria declared insane just days before his mysterious death in 1886?

With hindpsych, the regrettable answer is "yes."  On the left side of our striking Tarot spread, the Moon card speaks of Ludwig's vivid imagination and his shadow self.  Indeed, Ludwig was famous for his moonlit excursions and night owl schedule.  His enemies would have used this card as evidence of chasing after fantasies (at best) and entertaining distorted thoughts.

In the central card, the hands of the lovers don't touch—Ludwig's connection to love isn't through physical union.  Rather, a higher ideal (the angel) governs a mountaintop in the clouds—home of Neuschwanstein castle.  This card would have reminded Ludwig's enemies of the king's failure to secure an alliance through marriage, not to mention the rumors of the king's homosexuality.

On the right, the young man of the Two of Pentacles skillfully juggles a couple of gold coins.  This of course symbolizes the king's playful nature as well as his confident investment in personal projects.  His enemies would have used this card as evidence of reckless spending—note the infinity symbol around the coins.

The moon faces left; the juggler of coins faces right; the lovers in the middle don't touch.  We see an unmistakable polarity in this spread of cards.  Is it evidence of a strong Anima/Animus personality or of mental instability?  Ludwig's enemies saw imbecilic dancing in the juggler and heard mad howling from the moonlit wolves.  They declared the king insane and deposed him in 1886.

I dreamed someone told my fortune: the Tarot Hanged Man, inverted.